Baby Daddy Wanted (Crescent Cove 5)

Especially when it ended with a professional baker’s dream kitchen.

At least that’s what I figured based on my one clue.

I was learning that my even-keeled Murphy was very stubborn about certain things. I forgave him because it was all about me. Hey, I can be selfish too. The fact that he asked to watch me bake in the cafe kitchen was when I got really excited at the prospect.

I’d always dreamed of a personalized workspace.

I even caught him designing an under cabinet mount for an iPad Pro.

I mean, for that alone, I’d attacked him to show him how appreciative I was. He didn’t exactly know what I was thanking him for, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying himself. It was for a good cause. He was so excited to design the whole thing for me, I couldn’t ruin it for him.

Even if I did want to string him up from the beams for all the dust and noise that invaded our quiet little cabin most nights.

I flipped back to my personal calendar and skimmed through the handful of personal appointments we had. A few couples dinners and we had with Sage, then a birthday party for Jodi that I’d agreed to bake a special cake for. A girl only turned eighteen once.

My finger slid past the small pink color code I used for…

Wait.

I paused, then glanced down at my watch.

I was six days late.

I’d been keeping track of my cycle. We’d decided to just live and let live about the baby thing. The stress we’d put ourselves under about it had almost cost me Murphy.

I curled my hand between Latte and my flat belly. Well, mostly flat. We’d done a lot of indulging in Colorado. Ice cream was truly evil. Especially the Murphy-sized bowls I’d been eating.

But could it be true?

I fumbled for my phone and swiped for the baby app I’d deliberately buried in a folder where apps went to be forgotten.

I will not obsess.

I will not obsess.

I will not…

The app date blinked red as soon as it opened.

Missed period.

I dropped my phone and Latte yelped when I shoved my chair back. I set him in my seat and ran to the back of the house. I halted at the large black zippered tarp barrier my husband had put up. “Murphy!”

The music was blaring. I raised my voice and called his name again.

When the volume lowered, his disgruntled voice came from somewhere back in project land. “I’m not falling for that again. You cannot come back here.”

“I have to. Murphy, you don’t understand.”

“Yesterday you told me it was an emergency because you had ideas for the size of the oven.”

“I know, but it’s not about that. I mean I still think you should check with me about what oven you’re buying, but it’s about something else.” A whole different oven. My oven and the possible bun in it.

“I’m almost done with this one thing,” he grunted. “Then I’ll be right out, I promise.”

“It can’t wait.”

He blew out a breath and I heard a thud, then his voice got closer. “Are you bleeding?” He unzipped the tarp and tugged a dusty face mask down as he shouldered his way through the small opening.