Her Motherhood Wish (Parent Portal 3)

And any time Alan was in town, he had dinner ready every night when she got home from work. Had always insisted on doing the dishes, too.

Her mom had actually cried a little, wishing things had been different for all of them. But Cassie figured they’d worked out as they’d been meant to. It was like Susan had said the day before. If she’d stayed, she and Alan would most likely not have remained friends. They’d have been bitter housemates at best. And Cassie would have grown up with all that tension instead of with two households full of love.

And if Cassie, in her current state of flux, started something with Wood, she could end up just like her mother. Accidentally hurting a good man with whom she had little in common except the child she carried, then having to live with that knowledge, and the regrets it brought, for the rest of her life.

As she waited for Wood’s truck outside her law office, she started to feel a little better about their situation. She wasn’t psychic. Couldn’t see into the future, but she had a feeling that all would resolve itself. As long as she listened to her heart and to her conscience. As long as she didn’t grasp for something she only wanted in the moment.

Climbing up into Wood’s truck was beginning to feel like habit. She knew the exact height of the running board, where the handle was that she could grasp and exactly how the seat felt against her legs and back. She knew the musky, masculine smell.

He, on the other hand...had clearly come straight from work and was the quintessential stereotypical male fantasy model in construction gear. All he needed was a hard hat and a bare chest and...

The hard hat was on the seat beside him.

Which left her imagining that chest...

“Is something wrong?” he asked, waiting as she fumbled with the seat belt before he drove away.

“What? No!” She’d left her satchel in her car. Had only the cross-body clutch she wore into stores when she shopped. Nothing she could bury herself in, looking for something, anything, as a means of hiding her embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I should have gone home and changed after work. I probably smell like sawdust. Or I’m wearing it.” With a glance in the rearview mirror, he brushed off the top of his head.

Nothing fell.

“You look wonderful. A little too good,” she added. If things were going to work between them for the long term, they had to be honest with each other. And with themselves.

“What’s that mean?” He glanced her way, but she was pretty sure there was a bit of a smug smile on his face.

Woodrow Alexander being smug? That was a new one for her.

Dangerous for her. She couldn’t be pleasing him. Not in that way.

“I just...this is...you, me, the baby...it’s all new territory, you know?”

Pulling to a standstill at a four-way stop, he looked over at her, his expression serious. But open, too. “I do know,” he said. “Have you changed your mind? About me being involved?”

Did he want her to? Disappointment crashed through her. And then dissipated. Because she pushed it away. “No. But I keep the door open for you to walk out at any time. You have no responsibility or obligation here.”

It was his turn to speak. And he did. Not saying a word.

Cassie spent the rest of the short trip to the store reminding herself of the waves.

* * *

Pulling into a spot far back in the lot, Wood put the truck in Park and turned to Cassie as she unbuckled her belt and reached for the door handle.

“Can we talk?” he asked. He’d had no intention of doing so. But she’d broached the subject, which meant she could have spent a weekend similar to his. He had to do all he could to put her mind at rest.

With a look of concern framing her beautiful features, she gave him her full attention.

“You’re right,” he said. “This thing that we’re doing...” He had no other words to describe them. “...it’s brand-new territory. Odd territory,” he added. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but, first and foremost, you can rest assured that I will never be walking out that door. Open or closed. I’m in, unless you tell me to go.”

She smiled, glanced out her window for a second, and he suspected he’d seen a sheen of tears in her eyes—suspected that she didn’t want him to see them.

They were still there when she glanced back at him. “I want you in, Wood,” she said. “I don’t ever see myself telling you to go. How could I deny my son the chance to know such a good man? Most particularly when he is flesh of your flesh?”

The old-fashioned phrase reached out to him. Into him.

“You’ve only known me for a little over a week,” he had to point out.