For the most part, I’d always thought I was a logical person. But if I was going to be totally honest with myself, when I had been super pregnant, I would lie in bed and cry over the idea of him being with someone else while I gained weight and my boobs hurt and I couldn’t poop and got irritated by everything even more than usual. I had thought about him spending every night with someone different… even if he had told me before we’d done it that he rarely had sex too. Can’t trust anyone, sweetheart. Hope I don’t bugger this up, he had laughed while he’d taken my clothes off that first time, slowly, letting those big hands linger in all the bare places he came across. And I had laughed and told him I hope you don’t either. And we had both laughed some more after that.

There had been a reason it had been him. Because he had seemed so nice and fresh and honest and good and not at all like the horny assholes I had known who slept with everyone. Or the guys I knew too well to be attracted to. There were good guys out there; of course I knew that. But most of them had girlfriends, and the ones who didn’t were like Jonah—except I felt nothing for them. They knew who they were, they weren’t addicted to sex, and they were particular about who they let into their lives and their beds. And there was nothing there for me.

Some of the most successful men I knew were almost abstinent. Because they knew what it was like for people to want them for all the wrong reasons. You didn’t find real things by looking, usually.

And that’s why I hadn’t second-guessed too much Jonah’s insistence that he was out of practice. He had seemed too real. Too himself. For a while there, he had given me the idea that maybe he could have been mine if we had been together long enough.

That wasn’t how it had worked out, but it’s how I thought it might have. If we’d had time. If he hadn’t been derailed with his injury. If he had liked me more, I guessed.

But that unreasonable part of me that was connected straight to hormones reared its ugly, no-reason-to-be-possessive-but-I-was-going-to-be-a-possessive-psycho-anyway head and made me want to kick the Asshole’s ass all over again for being off living his life, forgetting about me, probably making out with a different woman every week, while I’d been at home, substituting coffee for a hot mushroom drink, missing food I craved out of nowhere that Grandpa wouldn’t let me have either, while my skin stretched and my organs moved with the life I’d been carrying inside of me.

I was a jealous motherfucker, even when I hadn’t had a boyfriend. God knew I had wanted to kill Noah every time I saw him with a different girl while I’d thought I’d been in love with him when I’d been younger. The bitch.

Just thinking about Noah right then made me want to kick his ass too while I was at it, but for a completely different reason.

Keep it together and quit being a psycho.

The fact was, I could be with whomever I wanted to be with. I hadn’t been abstinent because I was pining over the dumbass in the room or because of the one I had thought I liked as a teenager. I’d had more guys flirt with me while pregnant than when I hadn’t been for some reason.

Thinking that eased the tension in my chest a little more. It made the crazy take a step back and see that I’d always had options too. I had done what I wanted to.

But by the time I managed to zone back into the conversation that Jonah and Peter were having, I had missed part of it. I figured I had skulked around long enough while eavesdropping. Fortunately, Peter saw me out of the corner of his eye right as I stepped into his line of view so I didn’t have to speak first.

“Morning,” my second dad greeted me. “General Mo has been keeping me company this morning. We agreed we’d let you sleep in.” He gave the baby a tickle.

“Aren’t you two the best?” I asked as I took a couple steps into the room, finally conscious I was just wearing a long T-shirt in front of Jonah. Whatever.

Mo made a happy squeal and a “Ma!” at the sound of my voice, lighting up my entire life with every little, joyous sound she made. Glancing at Jonah, who was still on his knees, I slid him a blank look before scooping her up for a hug.

“Hi, Jonah.”

At nine in the morning, his eyes were clear and wide awake, everything from his white and black pullover hoodie to his jeans clean and fresh looking, and his bristly facial hair hugged the shape of his annoyingly almost-perfect face. But it was the easygoing, pleasant expression he wore that got on my nerves the most. Like nothing was wrong and it didn’t bother him that I couldn’t stand him. “Good morning, Lenny.”

I wanted to grumble, but I didn’t. Instead, I gave Mo kisses on each cheek and pretended I was going to eat her hand while she babbled before saying, “I thought we were meeting in the afternoon.”

“Yeh.” He flashed me another little smile that was a little too friendly for how crabby I was feeling at him being here unexpectedly, looking all nice and shit. “Couldn’t sleep much last night.” His attention flicked from me to the baby and back before he added quickly, “You said I could see her whenever I wanted. Hope it’s all right.”

It wasn’t, but that was Asshole Lenny speaking. I had said those words, and I’d meant them, but I guess I hadn’t expected him to show up early in the morning the next day, either. He had me there. “It’s all right.” I switched her to one arm as she tried to stick her finger in my nose and focused on Peter, attempting at the same time to will the grumpiness away because I had put myself into this situation. “Did you eat breakfast already?”

“Not yet. It’s Gus’s turn, and he was still cooking when our visitor arrived.”

Our visitor.

Luna would tell me to be a better person, but that wasn’t so easy. Still though, I grabbed what I had to work with—just the tiniest bit of understanding and patience—and dragged my gaze back to the biggest person in the room even though I didn’t really want to.

He was here for Mo, and this was the rest of my life.

“Jonah,” his name in my throat was irritating, but I hoped it would get easier with time “would you like to eat breakfast with us since you’re here? It’s vegetarian.”

Those brown eyes flashed with surprise… and then he nodded.

*

Inviting Jonah to breakfast wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever had. It wasn’t even in the top twenty or possibly even fifty things, but it was fucking up there.

Because if I could have taken a picture of Grandpa’s face when I walked into the kitchen following Peter, with the Dickwad trailing behind, I could have found at least fifty people who would have paid for the image. That shit was priceless. Grandpa’s mouth had dropped a quarter open, his eyes had gone pretty squinty, and it was just… something.

But whatever magic Peter had worked on him was carrying over because he pressed his lips together after a heartbeat, flared his nostrils, and gritted out, “Four for breakfast?”

Luckily it was Peter who answered with laughter in his voice because he was probably thinking the same thing about the face my grandpa had made—you know, about it being priceless. “Yes, Gus, four of us today.”

The smile that had come over Grandpa’s face was so brittle I was surprised it didn’t break into pieces. To give him credit, he kept whatever was on his tongue to himself as he turned around and faced the stove again. His shoulders were stiff, and I didn’t need to see him to know he was making faces down at the stove. Knowing him, he was probably whispering to himself in a whiny, high-pitched voice.

Luckily, I hadn’t expected it to get better as we ate, because it didn’t. Not when I was being quiet and grumpy as I fed Mo and myself. Peter was being himself, eating, talking to Mo, nudging Grandpa from time to time, and sending me these looks I wasn’t totally sure what the hell they meant. Meanwhile, Grandpa Gus stabbed at his roasted potatoes like they had tried to kill him.

That was when the questions started.

And I didn’t stop them. Because I had compromised with myself: they were going to happen sooner or later, and unless he got ugly, I wouldn’t step in. But if Jonah was going to be in Mo’s life, he was going to be in the rest of ours too.

“So…,” Grandpa muttered as he started attacking a piece of pineapple with his fork. “Edward—”

I was 100 percent sure he knew damn well that wasn’t his name. Knowing my grandfather, he probably knew everything about him by then. Birthday, height, weight, every team he’d ever played for, the names of every member of his family. Everything his stalker self could find on the internet.

“Where are you from? Australia?”

All right. This was where he was going with this. Being a pain in the ass was what came the most naturally to him. I eyed Jonah as I tried to spoon a little bit of extra mushy oatmeal into Mo’s mouth.

He chewed, eyes on my grandfather. “Auckland. New Zealand, Mr. DeMaio.”

Mr. DeMaio? Somebody was laying it on thick. I made a face at my girl who responded by grinning.

“New Zealand,” my grandfather echoed with an ornery tone that only those who knew him really well would recognize. “Is that where your parents are from?”

“Yes. My great-great-grandparents on my mum’s side immigrated there around the 1870s from Scotland and Norway,” Jonah explained, glancing up and focusing on Mo. He took a breath and exhaled out another smile as his eyes slid to meet mine. “My other granddad is Samoan, and my nan’s got some Māori and Samoan. Some Pakeha too.”

That had all three of us looking over at him blankly.