Matthew
I close the door to the bedroom behind . My shoulders are tight, and my mind is a tangled ss. The day was long, filled with problems in the office I didn’t have the energy to solve. And now Sarah is asking about cheesecake.
Cheesecake.
I let out a dry chuckle, running a hand through my hair. Why does it even matter? Chocolate, strawberry, plain—I don’t care. It’s just dessert.
I start to unbutton my shirt. All I want to do is to lie down and shut the world out.
The door creaks open, and I glance up to see Sarah standing there.
"What is it?" I ask sharply.
She flinches slightly, and I curse myself under my breath. Even though I made it my mission to be an to her, I am still not used to the sight of her cowering.
"I just..." She hesitates, her gaze dropping to the floor.
I let out a slow breath, leaning back on my hands. "What is it?"
She takes a tentative step closer. "I made a doctor’s appointnt for tomorrow."
I freeze, my fingers still on the last three buttons of my shirt.
"A doctor’s appointnt?" My voice is flat, emotionless.
She nods, still not eting my eyes. "For the baby."
The baby.
I exhale through my nose, pushing down the emotions threatening to surface. "And you’re telling because...?"
Sarah lifts her gaze, uncertainty flickering in her green eyes. "Because I thought you might want to co."
I bark out a humorless laugh. "Why would you think that?"
She flinches again, but this ti, she doesn’t back down. "Because it’s your child too, Matthew."
"I don’t need to be there," I say finally, standing up and turning away. "You can handle it yourself."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sarah’s shoulders slump, her fingers twisting together.
"You don’t have to do this, you know," she murmurs.
I pause. "Do what?"
"Pretend like you don’t care." Her voice is soft, but there’s a strength beneath it. "I know you, Matthew. And I know you care."
A bitter taste fills my mouth. "You don’t know anything."
Sarah steps closer and reaches for .
For a mont, I contemplate slapping her hand away, but I don’t. I watch as she reaches out and starts to unbutton my shirt.
Her fingers are cool against my skin, and I hold my breath. I should stop her. Push her away. Say sothing cutting that will make her retreat back through that door.
But I don’t.
"I know enough," she whispers, undoing the last button.
My jaw clenches, but I don’t say anything.
A sad smile plays on her lips. "You’re trying so hard to be cold, Matthew. To push away."
"I truly do not want anything to do with you or this baby, Sarah. I am rely tolerating you both. At least for now," I declare, even though deep down, I know it’s not true. Ever since she told about this damn baby, it’s all I can think about. I’ve always wanted to be a father and have a family of my own. I just never imagined it would be with Sarah.
And now, it’s really happening.
"The appointnt is at ten," Sarah says. "I’ll understand if you don’t co."
"I won’t," I say.
She slides the shirt down my shoulders and grazes her fingers over his chest, leaving trails of warmth that contradict everything I’m trying to feel. Her touch is light, almost reverent as if she’s mapping territories she fears might soon be lost to her.
I should step back. I should put distance between us. Instead, I stand frozen as her fingertips trace the contours of my collarbone, then drift down to the center of my chest. She pauses over my heart, and I wonder if she can feel it betraying , hamring against my ribs.
"Your heart is racing," she observes quietly, her eyes following the movent of her hand. Her palm flattens against my chest, warm and steady.
"Stop," I manage, but it cos out hoarse, unconvincing.
"Why?" Her fingers continue their exploration, tracing the lines of muscle down to my abdon.
I exhale sharply and step back, breaking the contact. "Just stop touching ."
She gives a small smile. "Fine. It’s almost ti for dinner, so take a shower and et in the dining room."
I raise an eyebrow. "Ordering now?"
Sarah tilts her head slightly, her lips curving in a way that almost seems amused. "No. It is a request," she says, turning toward the door.
I watch her leave, my chest tightening in a way I refuse to acknowledge.
She’s right—I don’t want to care. But I do. And no matter how much I push her away, she keeps finding a way back in.
Damn her.
With a low curse, I head into the bathroom. The hot water scalds my skin, but it does little to ease the tension coiling in my muscles. My mind keeps circling back to the way she touched .
It was a very tentative touch, and yet, I am as hard as a rock between my legs.
I finish my shower quickly, trying to shake the lingering sensation of her fingertips against my chest. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I step out into the bedroom.
I get dressed slowly, pulling on a dark sweater and jeans. I run a hand through my damp hair before heading downstairs.
The dining room is dimly lit, the aroma of sothing delicious lingering in the air. Sarah is already seated at the table, her back straight as she pokes at her plate with a fork. She doesn’t look up when I enter, but I know she hears .
I take the seat across from her, dragging the chair out a little too harshly. The scrape of wood against the tile is loud in the silence.
She finally glances at , her gaze skimming over my face before settling on my hands, which I keep clenched on the table. "You ca."
"Why wouldn’t I? I am starving," I bark.
Sarah nods slowly, then takes a bite of her food. I watch as she chews, my appetite is nonexistent.
"Are you going to co tomorrow?" she asks after a mont.
I already told her no.
But the words won’t co out as easily this ti.
I clear my throat. "I don’t know."
Her lips press together. She sets her fork down, looking almost resigned. "Alright."
And just like that, she drops it.
She doesn’t push. She doesn’t plead.
Sohow, that makes it worse.
I clear my throat. "Maybe you should ask soone else."
She looks at questioningly. "Soone else?"
"Yes. Maybe ask Josh. He lives close by, doesn’t he? Maybe he would like to play daddy since he is always so eager to see you," I say, not even attempting to hide the bitterness in my voice.
Sarah’s eyes narrow, and for a second, I swear I see sothing flicker behind them—anger, maybe, or disappointnt.
"Maybe I will ask him," she says evenly, picking up her fork again. "I could use the support."
She wouldn’t dare.
Would she?
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