Finding a family...

...with her ex?

In this Billionaires for Heiresses story, Autumn is stunned when Hunter Lee, her billionaire ex turned best friend, appears on her doorstep—with a son! Their relationship changed because she wanted a family and he didn’t believe he’d make a good father, but they never stopped loving each other. Now he needs her help. Will caring for baby Eli together make them realize how much they both want this little family...forever?

Being an author has always been THERESE BEHARRIE’s dream. But it was only when the corporate world loomed during her final year at university that she realised how soon she wanted that dream to become a reality. So she got serious about her writing, and now she writes the kind of books she wants to see in the world, featuring people who look like her, for a living. When she’s not writing she’s spending time with her husband and dogs in Cape Town, South Africa. She admits that this is a perfect life, and is grateful for it.

Also by Therese Beharrie

Tempted by the Billionaire Next Door

Surprise Baby, Second Chance

Her Festive Flirtation

Conveniently Wed, Royally Bound miniseries

United by Their Royal Baby

Falling for His Convenient Queen

Billionaires for Heiresses miniseries

Second Chance with Her Billionaire

From Heiress to Mum

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

From Heiress to Mum

Therese Beharrie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09105-3

FROM HEIRESS TO MUM

© 2019 Therese Beharrie

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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For Grant, who sees me when I can’t see myself.

I love you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

A POUNDING WOKE her up.

At first Autumn Bishop thought it was a dream. She’d gone to bed with one hell of a headache. Unsurprisingly: she’d spent a weekend away with her parents and sister, dealing with family drama, and had then driven six hours back to Cape Town.

The familiar throbbing had come shortly after she’d arrived at home. Right on time. Her head always ached when she was far enough away from her family to brood about how different she was from her sister. And how those differences made her feel like a failure.

When she heard the pounding, she thought it was that. Perhaps the pounding headache had manifested into a drumming. But then she heard a shrill ringing, and she woke up fully. Throwing the covers off, she ran to the front door, her stomach dropping when she opened it to Hunter Lee.

Her stomach kept free-falling as her eyes swept over him. His brown hair was wild, a sign that he’d let the wind style it. The strong features of his face were tight, as if someone had attached them to a string at his nose and pulled, forcing everything to be drawn to the centre of his face. Even the muscles of his shoulders—his chest, his entire body—were tense.

Something about it sent a wave of emotion, of awareness through her. When that wave collapsed, a second one of nausea replaced it.

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Everything.’

His voice, usually steady and strong, was hoarse, the word cracking. A part of her wanted to turn on her heel and climb back into bed; another, more forceful part spurred her forward. Before she knew it, her arms were circling around his significantly larger body.

She wasn’t sure why she was hugging him. They’d avoided this kind of contact since they’d made the transition from lovers to friends a year before. Besides, he wasn’t the kind for contact, unless in affection, and in private. But her instinct had been to comfort him. And, though she would never admit it aloud, to comfort herself at seeing him this way.

She drew back and took a deliberate step away from him.

‘What happened?’

He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. Her eyes automatically followed the movement, and she shoved away a kick of appreciation. It didn’t matter that his legs—those powerful, strong legs—deserved appreciation. Now was not the time.

‘Can I come inside?’

His voice was steadier.

‘Of course,’ she said, opening the door wider.

Two things happened then. One, she held her breath, not wanting to get a whiff of his cologne. The smell never failed to twist her insides, even after their break-up, and she’d become accustomed to not breathing it in when she was around him. Two was that a light breeze followed Hunter through the front door. It wasn’t particularly cool—cool and summer in the Western Cape of South Africa rarely went together—but Autumn shuddered, her skin shooting out in gooseflesh. And suddenly she realised how she looked.

She was wearing a silk nightdress, a gift from her mother, since it was the first thing she’d found in her cupboard before falling into bed. She groaned softly. It wasn’t demure, though she might have been able to ignore that if her breasts had played along. They currently were not, having reacted to the breeze, and, along with the silk material, she knew she’d give Hunter an eyeful if she turned around like that.

Not that it was something he hadn’t seen before. It was just... Autumn liked boundaries. Preferred them, where he was concerned. Where they were concerned. So she closed the door and crossed an arm over her chest. She wondered how terrible it was that she was thinking about her breasts when he was clearly upset.

‘This is an emergency, I’m assuming,’ she said when she turned around, crossing her free arm over her chest as well.

‘Yes.’ It was all he said for what felt like for ever. Then his eyes sparked. ‘Not so much that you can’t put on something that makes you feel more comfortable.’

Her cheeks heated. Instead of giving him the sarcastic reply she truly wanted to, she nodded, and went to her room. She grabbed the first thing she found to cover up—ironically, the silk kimono that, for reasons only her mother and heaven knew, matched the nightdress—and slipped her feet into a pair of sandals.

When she returned, she found him on the patio.

‘Still can’t get used to this view,’ Hunter said quietly as she stopped next to him.

She followed his gaze onto the city of Cape Town. When she’d moved out of her family home—the Bishop mansion, as some people liked to call it—she hadn’t tried to find somewhere outside the city she’d grown up in to live. She’d merely been drawn to the Bouw Estate.

It had green fields that exploded with wildflowers; rolling hills beyond the fields; a river that surrounded the estate. The old manor and barn on the property had been renovated into what were now her home and her bakery, respectively. Every time she stood outside on the patio, at the top of the mountain that led out of Cape Town, staring down onto the city, Autumn thought that the Bouw Estate might not have been intentional, but it had been necessary.

‘You didn’t come here at...’ She paused, frowning when she realised she hadn’t seen the time. ‘What time is it?’

‘A little after eleven.’

So she’d had all of an hour’s worth of sleep.

‘You didn’t come here at eleven at night to talk about this view.’

His eyes slid over to her, the brown of them a well of emotion, before his head dipped in a curt nod. ‘You’re right.’

‘When am I not?’ she muttered. She gestured to the outdoor table she’d lovingly selected when she’d furnished her house. ‘Shall we?’

He nodded, pulled a chair out and stepped back. With a sigh, she sat down, thanking him when he pushed it back in. She waited as he sat down opposite her. A long silence followed. She used it to study him. To watch the emotions play over his face.

When his eyes met hers, she caught her breath, and wished she had something to drink to distract herself from how vulnerable all of this made her feel.

‘I don’t know how to say this,’ he admitted eventually.

She let air into her lungs slowly. ‘Just...get it out.’

He angled his head, as if accepting her suggestion, but didn’t speak.

‘Hunter.’ She paused. ‘Are you in trouble?’

He opened his mouth, and Autumn could almost see his lips forming no, but then he closed it again. Rubbed a hand over his face; took a deep breath.

‘I am.’

She straightened. ‘Yeah? You’re in trouble?’

His eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t quite define. It disturbed her. She’d dated him for two years; they’d been friends for one more. She should be able to tell what he was feeling.

‘Yes.’

After a brief moment of hesitation, she laid a hand on the one he’d rested on the table. ‘What’s going on?’

He took a breath, then exhaled sharply, his gaze lowering.

‘I’m a father.’

‘What?’

‘I’m a father.’

She tilted her head, tried to process. But she couldn’t. Her headache had dulled to something bearable, but it felt as if her mind had fallen out of her ear with that head tilt.

‘I’m sorry, I thought you said—’ She moved her head again. ‘Did you say—?’

She broke off, told herself the question was ridiculous. He didn’t say he was a father. He didn’t say it twice. No. No. This was Hunter she was talking to. The man who’d gone quieter and quieter whenever she’d talked about their future together. The man who’d started pulling away from her long before they’d ended things because he’d realised he didn’t want children.

There was no way that man, this man, was a father.

She let out a small laugh. ‘You know...’ she lifted her hand, though she didn’t have any reason for doing it ‘... I thought I heard you say you’re a father. Which is ludicrous, right?’

‘It is,’ he agreed quietly.

Relief burst in her chest as if it were a diva arriving at a party.

‘Oh. Well, then, what is it? Because—’

‘But it’s true, Autumn.’

The diva was assassinated. The party turned into a funeral.

‘Huh?’ she said, inelegantly. ‘What? No. You’re not a father. You’re... You’re you.’

He inclined his head in both acknowledgement and acceptance, then folded his arms. ‘I know. I responded in the same way,’ he told her after a moment. ‘I didn’t believe it when she told me at first either.’

‘She?’ Autumn repeated through numb lips.

She tried to swallow, but the simple task seemed awfully hard. It was as if her throat had forgotten its entire purpose was to swallow. As if it, too, were stunned by what Hunter was telling her.

‘She,’ he confirmed with a tight nod. Though he had every right to be amused by the stupid question, Hunter spoke seriously. ‘A woman I met a...a year ago.’

‘A year ago.’

She was still so numb.

‘After our... After.’

The words sounded distant, as if she were listening to him through a wall or through glass or perhaps under water. She blinked, trying to figure a way out, then lifted her hand to her hair, tucking it behind her ears in case it was obscuring the sound. But when he started speaking again, it was the same.

‘I...was trying to deal with our break-up,’ he said deliberately. ‘It was hard, for both of us.’

But I didn’t sleep with anyone else.

Her mouth almost said the words. Somehow, by nothing short of a miracle, it didn’t.

‘I wasn’t dealing with it very well.’

Was she dreaming? Maybe she was having a nightmare.

‘I went to the bar close to my house.’

She brought her hand to her legs under the table. Discreetly, she pinched her thigh, hard, but Hunter kept talking. She was awake.

‘It was the night after we decided to end things. I started drinking. I didn’t stop.’ He paused. ‘It was a drunken mistake. I... I made a mistake.’

Autumn sat back, her eyes sweeping over the frame of her house. She’d rebuilt it by herself, this house. It had been stately, impressive when she’d bought the estate. It had been falling apart, too, and she’d rebuilt it. The red brick outside, the balcony above them, all of that had been her.

When she’d struggled with her life, with trying so hard for people to see her, to love her, she came out here and looked at it. At what she’d built. It never failed to make her feel proud. Steadier.

Tonight, it couldn’t anchor her.

She felt as if she were floating away. She wasn’t quite sure where to, until she saw herself as a child, following her father around the Bishop Enterprises building. The home of their family empire. She watched as the child asked questions, was answered, but curtly, as if to brush her off. Summer, Autumn’s twin sister’s questions were answered patiently, though.

Then she was at home, at the Bishop mansion, listening to her mother talk about Summer. Autumn said the right things in response to her mother’s concern. Waited patiently for her mother to ask about her. About Autumn. It never came.

Finally she saw her gangly frame at fifteen. She was standing outside her parents’ house, waiting for her date to the school dance. When he arrived, he asked her where her sister was. Looked behind her—no, through her—to check for Summer...

The hurt that had informed her every action since those days flared again now. It asked why she wasn’t enough. Why, even when she tried, people still didn’t want her.

Even Hunter didn’t want her. Of course, she’d known it when he’d agreed to break up. But they’d stayed friends. And she didn’t have to try as hard with him. She felt the most like herself when she was with him. She almost felt like...like she was enough. As if she were the first choice.

Except she wasn’t. She very clearly wasn’t.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS AS if Hunter had been given X-ray vision and could suddenly see through flesh and bone. As Autumn sat staring at him, Hunter saw her hurt, the desire she had to scream at him. He saw how badly she wanted to run. From his news, from him. He wouldn’t have blamed her.

He probably looked like a nightmare. He’d pitched up at her house at eleven at night, having got into his car almost as soon as Grace had left his place. He should have tried to get some sleep first, after he’d heard the news. He shouldn’t have arrived at Autumn’s house in a panic. But he doubted his ability to sleep. He probably wouldn’t be able to for the foreseeable future, considering what it might hold.

What it would hold, he thought, Grace’s words echoing in his ears.

He’d felt better when Autumn had opened the door, concern in her eyes. Something had clicked back in place when she’d put her arms around him. Now, that seemed like an appropriate punishment for coming to her with this.

Seeing how hurt she was, seeing her wanting to run, sent an unbearable ache through his body. Another appropriate punishment.

He’d thought he’d grown accustomed to her disappointment. Every day towards the end of their romantic relationship had been stained with its stickiness. She had never said it in so many words, but he’d sensed it. Every time he hadn’t responded to her gentle probes about their future. Or when he hadn’t added anything when she’d spoken about her dreams about having a family.

In truth, he’d been figuring out his answers. First for himself; then what he would give her. She wouldn’t like them, despite the different ways he’d tried to phrase them in his mind. He’d spent too long trying to figure out what to tell her in the end, desperate for her not to have a low opinion of him.

But it had happened anyway, rightfully so. Just as it was happening now.

He could see it. In the tightness around her eyes. In the crease between her brows. More than that, he felt her disappointment, sharp and acute. Felt sharp and acute pangs in his chest as well. So he supposed he hadn’t got used to it after all.

But no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t say what she needed to hear: that he wanted to have a family with her. He couldn’t. The desires she’d expressed when they’d been together had reminded him of how families broke. How siblings got sick. How losing them felt like losing everything in the world.

Each person involved in a family would get hurt. Would be irrevocably changed—or worse. He’d seen it with his own parents. With his own sister. He had no desire to put himself in a situation to feel that way again. Let alone with a woman he genuinely cared for.

And yet the first thing he’d done after their break-up was forget his responsible nature and get a woman pregnant. Then he’d come to her, to the woman he cared about, to tell her that their break-up had resulted in the very thing she’d wanted and he hadn’t: a child.

The thing he now had and she didn’t. What painful irony.

‘Autumn,’ he said when the silence extended long enough that even he, who was at home in silence, felt uncomfortable. ‘Say something.’

Her lips parted, and for a split second Hunter remembered that they did that just before he would kiss her. But that memory was unwelcome, untimely. How could he think about kissing her when he’d just told her he was a father? When he’d just discovered he was a father?

He was a father.

Bile rose in his stomach. It was the same thing that happened whenever he thought about his own father. The man who’d put his feelings above his dying daughter’s.

‘Autumn,’ Hunter said again, more insistently.

Autumn’s eyes met his, and his breath did something strange at the gold that flickered in their brown depths.

‘Are you okay?’

Her eyelashes fluttered. ‘I—Yes.’ She straightened. ‘I’m okay.’

Her voice sounded strange too, as if someone had taken a hold of her voice box and were squeezing tightly.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, because he needed to.

She closed her eyes, and he wanted to reach out. To brush a finger over the line where her dark lashes lay against the brown of her skin. To smooth the lines at her forehead.

Her eyes opened right then and before he could avert his own, their gazes locked. His heart stumbled in his chest, resulting in an uncomfortable beat against his chest bone. The thump-thump of his heart sounded in his ears, except he heard it as laughter, a mocking ha-ha at what he’d given up to ensure that what he’d told her tonight would never happen.

He forced his eyes away, onto the night lights of Cape Town. It used to comfort him once upon a time. Now it mocked him.

‘You found out tonight?’ she asked after some time had passed.

He nodded. Still, he couldn’t look at her.

A voice in his head called him a coward.

‘Grace, the woman I—’ He stopped before he said something stupid. ‘The mother of the child. She showed up at my place.’

‘You didn’t know before that?’

He shook his head.

‘How old is the... How old?’

‘Three months.’

She pursed her lips, though he’d caught the trembling long before she’d done it.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, eyes resting on her face now. She nodded.

‘You’re here because you’re surprised.’

It wasn’t a question.

‘I’m here because—’ he hesitated ‘—it’s the first place I wanted to go. I needed to see you.’

Her tongue darted out, wet her lips.

‘Why?’

He took a breath. ‘You’re my friend.’

‘Not your only one.’ She pushed back at some of the curls exploding over the silk band she wore. ‘Certainly not the best one to deal with this.’

‘No,’ he agreed, but didn’t say anything else. Couldn’t. Because she was right.

She wasn’t his only friend; not that he had many more. In fact, he had one more: his second-in-command, Ted. Most of his peak making-friends time—school, university—had been focused on other things.

Most of his school life he’d spent helping his parents take care of Janie, his baby sister, who’d had cystic fibrosis. Ha! a voice in his brain immediately said. He hadn’t helped his parents take care of Janie; he’d helped his mother take care of Janie. His father had tapped out of her care early on, pronouncing himself too clumsy to help.

Hunter supposed he could understand that when it came to helping clear Janie’s lungs of the mucus. The airway clearance therapy could have posed a problem for someone who was clumsy. But he didn’t know how that prevented his father from helping to get Janie to her doctor’s appointments. Or helping to keep her active. Getting her diet right. Doing anything, really, that would make Janie’s life easier. Or make her feel as if she weren’t a burden for the man who should have loved her unconditionally.

She was a bright kid who’d picked up on things without much encouragement. She’d noticed their father’s lack of interest. Hunter had done everything he could to make up for it.

When she’d passed away, he hadn’t wanted friends to know how much his life had changed. How his heart ached, all the time. How alone he felt. How...broken. He hadn’t been able to tell his parents about it when they’d been fighting, all the time. So he’d stuck his head into books, reading about technology and then, after his parents’ divorce, renewable energy. It had distracted him enough to survive. To thrive, even, if he thought about the tech business he’d started ten years ago during university.

But that had meant he’d spent his entire university career studying or working. And when his business had taken off, he’d spent his time making sure it stayed in the air. He’d hired Ted to help with that. He hadn’t even thought about Ted when it came to this, though.

When he’d first seen Grace. When she’d told him about the baby. When she’d showed him pictures, and he’d seen a face that looked so much like Janie’s his heart had flipped over in his chest. When she’d asked Hunter to help take care of the child.

No, for that, he’d immediately thought about Autumn.

‘You’re the only person who knows why this is...’ He trailed off. He hoped she’d interrupt him. That she’d finished his sentence for him. She didn’t. ‘You’re the only person who knows about my family.’

He didn’t let her speak when she opened her mouth. Too late, he thought. Because if he didn’t continue, he’d lose his courage.

‘You have to help me take care of him.’

‘What?’

‘You... You have to help me. She wants me—needs me—to take care of him while she’s finishing her articles at a law firm in Gauteng for the next three months.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. A rasp. A sacrifice. ‘I... I don’t know how. Please, Autumn. Please, help me.’

* * *

Hunter’s gaze felt like lasers pointed straight at her heart.

‘I... I need a moment,’ she said, and rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘Coffee?’

He angled his head, looked down, and she chose to interpret the gesture as a yes. Though in all honesty, he could have shaken his head for no and she’d still have made him one. She was barely paying attention to him. She was only focusing on getting away from him.

She strode by him, through the glass sliding doors and past the stone-coloured furniture and yellow pillows she’d chosen because they made her happy. It had been the same reason she’d chosen the bright paintings on the walls, and why she’d stacked the bookshelves beneath them with romance novels.

Her kitchen looked much the same: splashes of colour that made her feel bright. Light. But the appliances were sleek and top of the range; the cupboards meticulously arranged for optimum usage; the pantry filled with every ingredient she needed for when she experimented with cakes or biscuits or cupcakes or desserts or, really, anything that tickled her fancy.

With unsteady fingers, she popped a pod in the espresso machine, put a mug where it was needed, pressed buttons and let the machine do its work. She frothed the milk while she waited, keeping her hands busy, avoiding the thoughts speeding through her mind. She placed the second mug in the machine with a new pod, added milk to the first, then did the same for the second when it finished. She set them both on a tray, fixed a plate of cookies she’d baked before she’d left for her parents’ anniversary weekend, and set that on the tray.

She was ready to go out. Except she couldn’t. She...didn’t want to. Not yet. She braced her hands on her kitchen counter, lifting her head so she could see out of the window. She’d insisted the window be included when she’d been fixing up the house. Had insisted on the same thing when she’d built the bakery.

Usually, she’d take her coffee there in the mornings, about an hour before she’d have to be at the bakery, which was about the time the sun rose in summer. She’d watch the golden orb appear from over the hills in the distance; she’d see the faint blue of the river that ran along the edge of the Bouw Estate; and her eyes would rest on the fields of flowers she refused to cut, giving the estate a wild feeling she genuinely enjoyed.

Now, all she saw was blue-black darkness. It seemed like an appropriate representation of what was going on in her mind.

The rope that had been keeping her together since their break-up felt dangerously frayed. Which was in itself a danger, as pretending everything was fine was the only way she kept her insecurities at bay. The voices that told her it wasn’t that Hunter didn’t want a future, a family; it was that he didn’t want one with her.

Look at how he spoke about his sister, the voice said. With such emotion. Respect, fondness, love. How could a man with so much to give not want to share that in a family?

She’d managed to dismiss it with Hunter’s words. The truth, he’d assured her, was that he couldn’t bear to repeat the painful experiences of his childhood. His sister had been sick, then died; his father had been physically present, but emotionally absent; and his parents had eventually divorced after Janie’s death. How could she argue with that?

But she had. In silence, with herself, her insecurities making damning arguments. Convincing arguments. Hunter’s news made those arguments hard not to believe.

As she thought of it—that he had a child—a fresh bomb of pain went off inside her. She closed her eyes, held her breath, hoping it would stop the devastation. But it didn’t, and she felt her insides be destroyed. Felt them crumble and lie disintegrated inside her.

As she let air into her lungs, she took the tray outside. Hunter sat exactly as she’d left him—stiff, staring out over the city—and she put the tray down in front of him.

She settled in with her coffee, but since her back was towards the city she was forced to look at Hunter. She sipped thoughtfully, waiting for him to look at her, ignoring the throbbing in her chest as she did. When he finally met her eyes, she tilted her head.

‘How did it go?’ she asked quietly. ‘When she told you.’

He stared at her for a moment, then picked up his coffee.

‘I...struggled.’

‘So you were perfectly stoic, but freaking out inside.’

His mouth lifted. ‘Pretty much.’

‘You don’t think she’s lying?’

‘No.’

The answer was quick and immediate, his voice hard. He was defending the woman, Autumn realised, though she didn’t understand why the woman needed defending. She was only asking a question. But then, this was Hunter. Protecting what was his. And the woman was his now.

Her stomach twisted.

‘She has no reason to lie,’ he continued. ‘And she showed me a picture. He looks...exactly like Janie did when she was a baby.’

‘Oh.’

It was all she said; it was all the pain allowed her to say. All the other words that came to mind were selfish.

We could have had a child who looked like Janie. We could have done this together, and you wouldn’t have had to ask for help.

‘Is he sick?’ she asked.

The cup he’d lifted crashed against the table as he set it back down. ‘I... I don’t know.’

‘You didn’t ask?’

‘No.’

‘Hunter, why the hell wouldn’t you ask if your baby was sick?’

He didn’t answer her, only looked stricken. Her heart softened, though she refused to allow herself to show it. Beneath the softness was a pain she hadn’t known she could feel.

He’d told her it was probably good he wouldn’t have children when he was a carrier of the CF gene. There were zero chances then that he’d pass it down—the disease or the gene. Now she was supposed to believe he’d forgotten about it?

‘She would have told me if he was sick,’ he said.

Autumn set her mug down, her own fingers trembling too much for her to hold it.

‘How would she have known? Newborns aren’t tested for CF here unless it’s specifically requested. What?’ she asked defensively when he looked at her. ‘I did the research.’

She continued so neither of them would dwell on why she’d done it.

‘Besides, Hunter, what do you know about this woman?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You met her twice. Once the night you two had sex, and tonight. Now she’s asking you to take care of your child?’

‘It’s fair,’ he said in a back-off voice.

‘Of course it’s fair,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘But you don’t know her. You have no idea what she would have told you.’ She paused. Saw his face. Sat back slowly. ‘You’ve already realised that.’ There was barely a second before she said, ‘And you know you didn’t ask because you don’t want to know whether he’s sick.’

Time passed. Seconds, minutes, she wasn’t sure.

‘You’re right,’ he said quietly. ‘But I’ll find out tomorrow.’

Tired now, she sighed. ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

‘She’s dropping him off.’ He picked up his coffee again, brought it to his mouth. When he was done, he looked her dead in the eye. ‘Be there with me.’

CHAPTER THREE

THE SITUATION REMINDED him of his father.

Calvin Lee had expected Hunter to fill in where he’d lacked with Janie. Hunter knew it because his father would call him whenever he was expected to care for Janie on his own. Now, Hunter could see himself doing the same to Autumn. Treating her with that same selfishness. But he couldn’t stop. Was urged forward by something he didn’t understand.

‘Hunter,’ she said quietly, ‘I can’t see what either of us could possibly gain from me being there with you.’

Hunter thought about the hug she’d given him when he’d first arrived. He remembered the steadiness of her gaze, despite the news he’d told her. He could hear the concern in her voice, and, beneath it, a strength he desperately needed.

That was why he was here. He’d known she’d offer comfort, steadiness, strength. Because she was his friend. She cared about him. Even though he’d broken her heart by being unable to say yes to the family she wanted. Even though he’d seen some of the light in her eyes go out that day.

It had been part of what had spurred him to the bar the next night.

Her casual talks of a future and a family had forced him to face memories he’d been running from. Of him curling up to Janie as their parents argued in loud whispers outside Janie’s door. Of distracting her when the arguments turned louder. Of almost being relieved that she hadn’t been there any more when the arguments graduated into shouting.

And then, of the silence.

He couldn’t imagine putting a kid through it. Through what Janie had suffered with her illness. Through what he’d suffered with his parents’ marriage. Through what it felt like to have the possibility of carrying the cystic fibrosis gene hover like a noose around their necks. Or through having to make the hardest decision in his life about having a family because of it.

Now he was being forced to imagine it. He was being forced to face the fears.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, over his face.

‘I need you there,’ he rasped, shame straining his voice. ‘I don’t know if I can do it.’

‘Of course you can,’ she said. ‘You took care of Janie.’

The feeling he couldn’t explain swelled, compelling him to beg.

‘Please.’

The skin around her eyes crinkled in tension. She gave a curt nod. ‘Fine. If it’s that important to you, I’ll go.’

‘Thank you.’

He wanted to tell her she shouldn’t have agreed. That she was being too nice to him; that he didn’t deserve it. Neither did she. She deserved more than her ex-boyfriend and pseudo-friend asking this from her.

He left it at thank you.

‘She obviously knew your name if she knew how to find you,’ Autumn noted slowly, almost carefully after a bit. ‘Or did you...?’ She cleared her throat. ‘Did you go back to your place?’

Heat curled around his neck. ‘We, er, introduced ourselves when we met.’ He didn’t answer her question.

‘So she knows your surname, too?’

He angled his head, trying to remember. The entire event was a little hazy. Another great example he’d set for his son.

His son.

‘I think so.’

‘Okay, then. So she looked you up on the Internet—’

‘How do you know that?’

She gave him a look. ‘If some guy I had a one-night stand with knocked me up and I knew his name, you can be sure I’d do an Internet search on him before finding him.’

His mug stopped halfway to his mouth and he just stared at her, his mind playing her words over and over again.

‘If some guy I had a one-night stand with knocked me up...’

Purposefully, and much too violently, he brought the coffee to his lips, swallowing down the hiss when the still-hot liquid burnt his throat. But he relished the pain, since he deserved it for the criminal thoughts he’d had at Autumn falling pregnant with someone else’s baby.

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

‘Hunter?’ she asked with a frown. ‘Did you hear anything I said?’

‘About the Internet search?’

She nodded.

‘Yes. I probably should have thought about that.’

She studied him over her mug. ‘I imagine you were...too surprised to think.’

‘An understatement.’

‘That bad?’

‘It was fine,’ he denied. Her eyebrow lifted. ‘Shocking. It was shocking.’

‘Enough for you to want to avoid the gene issue.’

He gritted his teeth, guilt flaring in his gut.

‘Yes.’

‘Enough for you not to realise what comes up when you do an Internet search for Hunter Lee.’

He didn’t get what she was talking about for the longest moment, and then he shook his head.

‘You don’t mean—’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Afraid so.’

And he thought the situation couldn’t get worse.

‘Oh, no,’ he groaned. ‘She’s seen me...’ He couldn’t finish the words.

‘It wasn’t that bad,’ she said kindly.

‘You have to say that,’ he said, his jaw tightening, ‘because you’re the reason it’s there.’

‘Maybe,’ she allowed. ‘Or maybe it’s there because you were having fun—’

‘And you filmed it.’

‘It was a social media challenge. I was supposed to film it.’

‘I did it for you.’

‘I appreciated it.’

‘You utilised it.’

‘A self-made billionaire doing a ridiculous dance for a social media challenge in my bakery?’ She snorted. ‘Damn right I filmed it. And look how amazingly it turned out.’

‘For you,’ he muttered darkly.

‘I only used it to promote the bakery. I didn’t sell your body parts on the black market.’

‘It went viral.’

‘Technically,’ she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘I didn’t film it. Mandy did.’

‘Yeah. We’re no longer friends.’’

Autumn snorted again. ‘Yeah, you two looked real enemy-like when you were bribing her to make you some cupcakes last month.’

He lifted a shoulder now, refusing to be taunted any further.

‘And besides the ridiculous dance, you actually did something sweet, too.’ Her eyes were happy. ‘You took me into your arms, spun me around, dipped me right under a wedding cake and laughed.’

‘You used that on your social media as part of a #BakeryBoyfriend campaign,’ he accused.

‘An icon was born.’

She grinned at him, and—damn it—his lips twitched. How could he resist that smile? The way it softened her eyes, lit up her face. The way it widened her full pink lips, and made her look years younger than she was.

It was enough to distract him from the fact that he was smiling. It felt like a feat. Hell, it was a feat. He didn’t think he could feel anything other than the pure panic that had fuelled his actions until he’d started speaking with her. He shouldn’t have been surprised. It had always been part of what had drawn him to Autumn, the way she made him feel. The way she made him forget.

When he’d met her at the wedding of one of his employees—which Ted had forced him to attend—he’d carried an anchor around with him. That anchor had tied itself to his ankle when he’d been six and his sister had been born with cystic fibrosis. It had grown heavier with each of his parents’ arguments. With each disappointing prognosis from Janie’s doctors.

When Janie had died, he’d just about sunk into the depths of the ocean from that anchor’s weight. It had felt as if he’d been living under water from that moment forward.

Then he’d met Autumn, and he’d felt as if he’d been given air for the first time in almost two decades. Which was why he’d allowed their relationship to go on for longer than he should have. After a year of dating, she’d brought up their future together. The year that had followed had been a slow decline into the realisation that he couldn’t have what he wanted with Autumn.

And he’d sunk right back into the ocean, reaching the floor of it when they broke up. He could almost understand why he’d looked for a lifeline in a random woman one night.

Not that it had worked. But it had brought him here again. With her. Predictably, he felt as if he was breathing again.

‘The reason I bring it up,’ Autumn said after a moment, ‘is because she’ll recognise me.’

His mind took some time to follow. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly. ‘We’re friends.’

‘Do you think she’s going to believe that?’

‘She won’t care.’

Her eyes had gone serious, and didn’t waver from his. ‘How sure are you about that?’

He searched her face. Saw what she needed to hear. ‘One hundred per cent. There’s nothing there beside this connection. The child.’

My son.

She didn’t reply immediately.

‘We’ll see.’

‘Autumn—’

‘No, Hunter,’ she interrupted with a tight smile. ‘It’s fine. If you think this isn’t going to be a problem, then I’ll help you get settled with the baby.’

For how long? He didn’t ask it. She was giving him something here. Because of it, he felt stronger. More in control. Not like every force in the world had turned on him. So he would give her something, too.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow with the details.’

‘Fine.’

‘And I’ll leave.’ He stood, then stilled when she shook her head. ‘What?’

‘It’s after midnight. You’re physically and emotionally drained. You can’t leave.’

His heart thumped. ‘What’s the alternative?’

‘You stay here. In the spare bedroom,’ she said wryly, when his mouth curved. He’d been planning on teasing her—heaven only knew why—and she’d caught him in it.

Instead, he said, ‘I don’t have to do that.’

‘Yes, you do. I’m not interested in getting phone calls about your death.’ Now she stood, picked up the tray. ‘Down the passage, third door to the left.’ Her eyes met his. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WAS THAT—? DID I see Hunter’s car leave as I drove in?’ Mandy asked as she walked into the bakery’s kitchen the next morning.

Autumn’s back was facing Mandy, so she allowed herself a quick breath and silent moan that Hunter hadn’t left before her pastry chef had arrived at work. The rest of her team were already there, bustling in and out of the kitchen as they prepared for the breakfast rush that would soon begin. Autumn took another breath, then turned to Mandy with a smile.

‘Yes,’ she said brightly. ‘He came over last night for dinner.’

Mandy’s eyes narrowed. ‘And he’s only leaving this morning...?’

‘We finished late, and we’d been drinking.’

‘Hmm.’

Ignoring the disbelieving tone of the woman she considered a friend, Autumn quickly changed the subject.

‘Give me highlights of what I missed this weekend. Then tell me how the Thompson wedding cake is coming along.’

‘Good morning to you, too.’

‘You were the one who came in here without a greeting.’

Mandy sent her a look, then launched into a concise report as she got ready for work. It had been that kind of efficiency that had helped Mandy work her way up to pastry chef in the six years since Autumn had started the bakery.

If she was honest, it felt like longer than that. Perhaps because she’d spent most of her childhood in the kitchen. At first, it had been out of curiosity. She’d strolled down to the kitchen as the staff had been preparing for one of her parents’ numerous parties, and had found herself hypnotised.

The pastries had drawn her attention almost immediately. She’d loved the colours and the smell of them; wondered at the skill and caution they were being decorated with. When one of the chefs had encouraged her to join in, starting her off slowly, patiently, she’d fallen in love with the creation process. And her parents’ parties had become a way for her to participate in something she loved.

Later, it had been a chance to contribute to the functions in the only way she could. When she’d got older she’d realised the parties weren’t only social events, but networking opportunities. Autumn didn’t have Summer’s business acumen, nor did she have the professional knowledge her father had invested into her sister. She couldn’t talk potential foreign or domestic clients. She had no idea about the details of global merchandise and distribution.

So she baked. And when she left the kitchen, she charmed. And felt like a failure for it.

The smell of sweetness and coffee mingled with the faint freshness of the fields around the bakery usually comforted her. Today, her thoughts turned them sour. For a moment, they even tarnished the efforts she’d put into creating her bakery. The stained cement floors and wooden panelling looked dull. The natural light and countryside atmosphere she’d incorporated when renovating the barn felt kitschy. So did the neat rock-filled paths leading to the bakery; the gardens beyond it.

She’d thought it such a good idea. A cute bakery and café with great food and even better desserts a short trip outside Cape Town that felt like the middle of nowhere. Now, she doubted it. Her memories of growing up tended to do that.

They were always accompanied by the comparisons, starting much earlier than she could even remember. All she knew was that the visits to Bishop Enterprises hadn’t been for her benefit. That her questions hadn’t been answered in the same way that Summer’s had. That the there, there nature of the response to her complaints to her mother had been meant to placate her. And that being sent to the kitchen to ‘bake something’ had been to distract her.

Any desire she might have had to join the family business had been stifled then already. But it had been well and truly shattered after her father’s affair.

When Summer had found out Trevor Bishop had cheated, she’d pulled away from him. From Autumn and their mother, too. Autumn knew now that was because Trevor had asked Summer to keep the affair a secret, which had been a burden Summer had carried with her for years. Autumn had only discovered that this past weekend, at their parents’ thirtieth anniversary.

It had upset her. Not because of her father’s actions, though those weren’t great. No, she was upset that Summer had kept the truth from her. And she was worried about what she’d done to bring that about.

Autumn was sure Summer didn’t know she harboured a tiny bit of resentment towards Summer because their parents preferred her. But what if she did know?

Autumn had pushed the concerns aside during the weekend. It hadn’t been important then anyway. Summer had needed her. Autumn might have been jealous of Summer—only a tiny bit—but she would be there for her sister.

She’d done something similar after her father’s affair. Then, she’d thought her father needed someone to take over from Summer. Someone in the family who could run the family business. There had only been her, and she’d been so damn hopeful. But she still hadn’t been good enough. In fact, her father had gone in an entirely different direction. He’d trained someone new; the man who had become Summer’s husband. Then ex-husband. Now boyfriend.

The anniversary weekend had...complicated things.

The point was that her father had not once thought to focus on Autumn the attention he’d spent on Summer. Even when Autumn had asked if she could help, and how she could help, he’d told her she’d be better off elsewhere. She’d realised then that whatever she achieved in her life would have nothing to do with the Bishop family business. The Bishop money would get her foot in the door—and it had, with her father’s start-up contribution to her bakery—but kicking it open would be up to her.

She had her doubts about that though. Still did, if she was being honest. Despite the success of her bakery, she worried something would happen that would take it all away from her. She’d do something wrong. Or people would finally realise she didn’t know what she was doing. That she wasn’t good enough. Her parents had believed that, hadn’t they? They’d put Summer first, so they must have.

It didn’t help that that was how things had gone with Hunter, too. Their relationship had been going well, and suddenly he’d been pulling away from her. She’d tried to talk away the insecurities as she usually did, but, like always, they were valid. Despite her trying to be a good girlfriend. A perfect girlfriend.

She was still doing it. Trying to be the perfect friend. What she couldn’t figure out was why. She had nothing to prove to Hunter any more. They were friends because he’d approached her after their break-up. She hadn’t been desperately chasing after him. In fact, she knew a friendship with him was a bad idea. And his situation with his baby? This request? It proved that. Because she knew it would bring her nothing but pain.

So why had she agreed to help?

‘Autumn. Autumn.’

Autumn’s eyes widened before they settled on Mandy.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Did you hear a word I said?’ Mandy poured herself a cup of coffee. ‘Or are you too busy thinking about Hunter?’

‘I’m tired,’ Autumn replied prudishly. ‘And not for that reason,’ she said when Mandy opened her mouth. ‘I didn’t have much rest over the weekend.’

‘Was your parents’ anniversary that good?’

‘Yeah,’ Autumn said. ‘It was touch and go for a moment. Some other time,’ she told Mandy with a wave of her hand, ‘but they’re still in love. It’s nauseating.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Mandy said, her expression dreamy. ‘I think it’s brilliant. Two old people, still in love after all these years.’

‘My parents are not old.’

Mandy stared at her.

‘They’re older,’ Autumn conceded, ‘and, trust me, it’s less appealing when your mother and father are sticking their tongues down each other’s throats.’

Mandy pulled a face. ‘Ugh.’

‘Exactly.’ She paused, and when the thought popped in her mind, Autumn went with it. ‘Could you keep an eye on things for a few hours?’

‘Sure.’ Mandy frowned. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah. I thought I’d try and catch an hour of sleep before I switch the sugar with salt in a batch of cupcakes.’

Mandy winced. ‘You don’t have to keep bringing that up, you know. I felt bad enough when it happened.’

‘Me too, considering I can still taste it.’ She mock shuddered, and then laughed when Mandy mimicked throwing something at her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll only bring it up until you do something similarly atrocious.’

Mandy glowered at her, and Autumn grinned.

See, a voice in her head told her, you can do this. You can totally pretend like your brain isn’t malfunctioning and your heart isn’t questioning your sanity.

Except she wasn’t sure how sustainable it was. It felt as if she was offering Mandy a fake shiny version of herself that would crack if anyone stared at it too long.

‘I’ll see you later,’ Autumn said, taking her apron off and grabbing her purse and keys.

‘Don’t think you got away from the Hunter question,’ Mandy called after her.

Autumn’s shoulders immediately tightened. She didn’t bother turning around, just lifted a hand in a wave and left Mandy to speculate.

She didn’t mind Mandy’s curiosity. They weren’t simply friends because they worked together. Mandy didn’t ever question who Autumn was, or seem to expect anything from her. Autumn didn’t have to worry about being on, though most of the time, she couldn’t help it.

She was always playing a role. Perfect daughter. Perfect sister. Perfect girlfriend. And asking herself questions: what did her mother, sister, boyfriend need from her? Who did she need to be to provide it?

The problem with it was that she was consistently putting others first. More significantly, she was placing herself last. Just like with the situation with Hunter, she knew what moulding herself to other people’s needs would bring her. Disappointment when they didn’t see her, appreciate her. Hurt when their actions told her they didn’t value her efforts.

And just like with Hunter, she couldn’t figure out why she still did it.

She gritted her teeth, pausing to catch her breath. Seconds later she realised she’d reached her house. She looked up at the tall white building with the dark wooden frames. After years, it still made her happy. Her steps crunched on the white pebbled pathway, and she tried to let the roses along it calm her as she made her way to her patio.

It was a simple pleasure, standing there and looking at the city she’d grown up in. Buildings of various colours looked back at her, along with Table Mountain in the far distance, and bodies of water and houses. If she looked to the left, she could see the green grass spilling over the inclines and declines of her property. If she walked in that direction, she’d be able to see the river she could sometimes hear at night.

She took a deep breath and settled down on one of the recliners she’d bought for the pool. Her body sighed in relief. It felt as if it had been in a fight. Or perhaps it felt as if it was preparing for an onslaught. She’d barely got any sleep the night before, the thought of Hunter in the other room too much of a distraction. The memory of what he’d told her too much of a disturbance.

I’m a father.

She wanted to take those words and crumple them up. Throw them down at the city she loved so much. They filled her with so much pain, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Was it because they symbolised something she would never have? Certainly not with him. Or was it because they confirmed that he’d moved on from her?

She had no right to be upset about it. He hadn’t cheated on her. They’d broken up. And while she’d stayed on her couch for weeks, crying about a man she’d thought would fulfil the perfect plans she’d had for them, he’d been giving someone else everything she’d wanted.

Autumn.

She sighed, knocked her head lightly against the headrest of the recliner. She couldn’t help him if she felt like this. Since she’d already agreed to it, she didn’t have much choice now. She would just be...cautious. She would try and protect herself.

Though she wasn’t sure how she was going to do it, she was content with realising she had to. Content enough to close her eyes and sleep as the sun’s rays touched her legs.

* * *

Grace would be bringing Eli, his son, over in an hour. He paced the room, the thought of it, the realisation of it, worrying him as he waited for Autumn to arrive. He needed her with him so his mind would stop tripping over itself. So his heart wouldn’t feel as if it were beating in a compressed space.

He ignored the guilt that accompanied the need.

It had encouraged him to offer to pick her up, though. She’d refused.

‘Even if we ignore how silly it would be for you to drive an hour out of the city to help me,’ she’d started in a tone that had brooked no disagreement, ‘how would you take me home when you have a three-month-old to get settled?’

He hadn’t even considered that, which had pushed his thoughts back over a cliff.

He was worried, deeply, that he wouldn’t be a good father. That he’d follow his father’s footsteps and act selfishly. Or that he wouldn’t be able to give his son what he needed.

That fear was deeper than the ones he had about repeating his father’s mistakes, though more obscured. He could see it was there, like a red light flickering under black material, but he didn’t know what it said. His emotions curling into themselves, rocking back and forth, told him it had to do with Janie. But he couldn’t unfurl the emotions or still their movement long enough to figure it out.

So they stayed in his stomach, making him ill. And he waited for Autumn to arrive so he wouldn’t have to focus on them.

The doorbell rang then; an answer to his prayers. He nearly flung it open in his haste, and his throat went dry. Every part of him stilled, his eyes sweeping over Autumn.

There was one tiny part that began moving again though, jumping up and down, telling him he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be overwhelmed by how beautiful she was. He had to pretend he didn’t find her attractive. But he nearly snorted at that part because he had eyes in his head. He couldn’t pretend the woman standing in front of him didn’t take his breath away.

She was wearing a pretty summer dress, peach-coloured, which somehow stood out against and moulded to her bronze-tinted skin. Her hair had been tied back into a bunch of curls at the nape of her neck. He was sure that when she turned around, he’d see a ribbon the same colour as her dress keeping it there.

The dress scooped over her neck, giving him a tantalising glimpse of her cleavage; it ended right above her knee, giving him a generous view of smooth, defined legs. The gold sandals she wore wound around feet he’d always thought extraordinary and clung to ankles he could remember kissing.

Logically, he knew he wouldn’t be able to run from the fact that he was attracted to her. Because it was simply that—a fact. And he was an adult, who could process facts and control impulses.

But he wouldn’t lie: at that moment, it felt as if the universe were testing his ability to do either.

‘I was going to say hello,’ Autumn said slowly, ‘but considering your expression, I now feel like I should ask about your fire extinguisher?’

A fierce blush hit his face.

‘I have wine.’

‘Hello to you, too,’ she said, amusement making her even more beautiful. Annoyingly so. He nearly growled. ‘Wine sounds lovely.’

She walked in, past him, and he let out a tight breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. After giving himself a stern talking-to, he followed her into the kitchen, and poured her a glass of wine. He didn’t pour himself one, though he wanted it. Or something stronger. But he couldn’t drink when he had to take care of a kid. Besides, he’d been put off by drinking since it had put him in his current predicament. Abstinence—in more than one way—was his strategy moving forward.

‘You’ve set the table,’ she commented, sipping from her wine, looking around.

His eyes moved over to the dining room, which he’d decorated with the white runner his mother had sent him when she’d visited the Seychelles some time back. Since he’d opened the glass sliding doors leading into his garden—things had seemed too stifling otherwise—he’d added two citronella candles on either side of the table. He’d thrown some straw placemats around the table after, thinking it made his place look homely. Now, he wondered.

‘Too much?’

‘No, it’s nice.’ She turned to face him, and her expression softened. ‘You’ve got to calm down, Hunter.’

‘I’m perfectly calm,’ he lied.

Her brow arched. ‘Really? So that twitch at your right eye is because you’re Zen, huh?’

‘Just a tic.’

‘The frown, too?’

He immediately relaxed his forehead.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Why are you nervous?’

He made a hand gesture that was supposed to indicate everything. She nodded.

‘Well, the upside is things can hardly go worse than the first two times you’ve met her. Neither of them was particular positive, I don’t think.’

‘Hey,’ he said without heat.

‘What?’ she asked dryly. ‘You think you’re a stud when you’re drunk? Because I’ve got to tell you—’

‘You’ve never complained.’

‘You always made up for it sober.’ Her mouth curved up at the side, though the rest of her face was tight. ‘She didn’t have that opportunity.’

He grunted. Tried to figure out what he felt about the casual way she was talking about him having sex with another woman. It couldn’t be easy for her—or perhaps he was overestimating how much she cared about his love life. Then he remembered how she’d needed him to tell her nothing more was going on between him and Grace. And what her face had looked like as she’d asked.

Maybe not.

Except that she was dealing with this pretty casually, which was messing with his head. Did he have to tiptoe around it? Or could he talk about it freely? Not that he wanted to.

‘Just ask me whatever’s going on in your head instead of trying to figure it out,’ she told him wanly. He took a deep breath, then let it out with a shake of his head.

‘Fine, then.’ Her grip was tight on the wine glass. ‘I’ll ask you this. Why does she trust you to take care of the child? She doesn’t know you.’

‘She doesn’t have a choice. She doesn’t have any family. She was visiting a friend here when...’ He trailed off.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘There’s more.’

‘She thinks I’m decent,’ he said, unsurprised by her intuition.

‘Based on what?’

‘Not sure. You’ll have to ask her.’

‘What’s available on the Internet does make you look good.’ She gently swirled the wine in her glass, tilting her head to the side. ‘The fact that your company provides renewable energy to townships. The charity work. That video of you—’

‘Autumn.’

‘I was going to say presenting the cheque to the CF Institute,’ she said dryly. ‘Also, the donation to the non-profit caring for orphaned CF kids. How you spent the day with them.’ The pause before her next words lasted only seconds. ‘Though being the Bakery Boyfriend must have been what swayed her.’

She grinned. He wanted to scowl back, but of course he didn’t. Instead, he smiled, and wished he could capture the moment to return to later. The little bubble of warmth floating in his chest because of her would no doubt pop soon, and he wanted to protect it for as long as he could.

He’d done the same thing in their relationship, when he’d started realising he couldn’t have a future with Autumn. But he’d known then, just as he did now, that he was living on borrowed time. Seconds later, his time ran out.

‘You don’t have to be afraid,’ she told him, settling the glass down. ‘You know how to take care of a child.’

‘I’ve never taken care of a baby.’ The word came out hoarsely, and he cleared his throat. ‘I don’t know how to.’

‘You’ll learn.’

She said it so simply he wanted to believe her.

‘How do you know?’

‘When you interact with them enough, you’re forced to. I’m speaking, of course, as someone who was coerced into taking care of my mother’s friends’ kids. Clearly, I’m an expert.’ Her voice softened. ‘Your baby is too small for you to mess up anyway,’ she said gently. ‘You just have to keep the kid alive.’

‘What if I can’t?’ The words sprang from his tongue; his hands curled into fists. ‘What if I can’t keep him alive, Autumn? What then?’

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