Page 39
“Absolutely. I’ll teach you if you want. We can use the pool here or the one on my houseboat.”
“Your houseboat has its own swimming pool?”
“It’s not as big as the one here, but it’ll do the job.”
“I’m game. Either is fine.” I make a mental note to buy a maternity swimsuit and a cute little two-piece for after the baby is born.
“Good,” he says, seemingly satisfied as his fingers glide over the laptop keys.
I finish the rest of my breakfast burrito with two bites before draining half of my water bottle. “My sister wants to throw me a baby shower. Would you like to come? We can make it coed. No pressure, though,” I add.
“Is that a thing? Coed baby showers?” He takes a sip of his coffee.
“It is. But it doesn’t have to be our thing.”
“I don’t mind it being our thing.”
I school my smile from taking over my entire face. But then I think about Niko and how they don’t get along, and my smile withers on its own.
“What’s the matter?” he asks over the rim of his Le Cordon Bleu mug.
“Nothing.”
He pins me with an impatient expression.
“It’s just … if we have a coed baby shower, Niko will be there, and I know things are not great between you two.”
“I don’t hate your brother, Yasmine. Will we ever be friends? No. But he’s your brother and our son’s uncle. I respect that.”
“I’m sorry he didn’t offer you the same courtesy of respect when it came to your wife.”
“Ex-wife.” Hunter closes his laptop and pins me with his brilliant blue eyes. “And don’t do that. Never apologize for someone else’s mistakes.”
“Mistakes? It was more than a mistake.”
“Shit happens.”
My brows draw together. That’s how he sums up being cheated on? “Shit happens?”
“All I’m saying is that we’ve all made mistakes. Look how I hurt you.”
“But you’ve already apologized.”
“And you haven’t forgiven me—not fully.”
“I …” Is he right?
“It’s okay. I told you. I’ll earn it. Anyway,” he continues. “Niko and I can be in the same room together and not behave like children.” His lip twitches in an almost smile. “This time. And I certainly don’t want you to think you have to pick a side. I know I won’t win. He’s blood.” He opens his laptop and starts to type. “What do you need from me?”
“For?”
“The baby shower.”
“Sorry. Pregnancy brain.” Not really. Sometimes I lose my train of thought when looking at him. Ugh. “Just your guest list.”
“What’s the guest list capped at?” he asks, still typing.
“I’m not sure.”
