Fourteen

FOURTEEN

Mia

I'd just gotten out of the shower when the doorbell rang.

It was getting late—I'd already had dinner—so I could only assume it might have been Brock at the door.

As quickly as I could, I got myself dressed and descended the stairs. When I opened my front door, nobody was waiting on the other side. And that's when I saw the delivery truck driving away.

My eyes shifted to the side and landed on the package that had just been delivered, a feeling of excitement moving through me.

The crib.

After the discussion I'd had with Brock just over a month ago when we had dinner together followed by feeling my baby move for the first time the next day on our walk, I realized I couldn't continue to put off getting the crib much longer. This pregnancy was real, the baby was coming, and whether I wanted to admit and accept it or not, I was going to be a single mother. I needed to start making the decisions on my own.

Between work, a doctor's appointment, a visit from my family, and a girls' night in with some of my friends from work, just over two weeks had passed before I got around to ordering the crib. The crib wasn't expected to ship for another two to three weeks. And though I hadn't realized it was set to arrive today, I was ecstatic to see it there. Now, I could spend the weekend getting it assembled and all set up.

Much to my dismay, I stepped outside and attempted to move the box, but it wouldn't budge. I could have carried it inside one piece at a time if I opened the package where it stood, but it was leaning against the house at an awkward angle, and I didn't trust it wouldn't tip over if I cut open the top and began removing pieces haphazardly from inside.

Instantly, my gaze drifted toward Brock's place. I felt bad for immediately assuming I could ask him to help me move it—even though I knew he would—and decided instead to walk over to my neighbors on the opposite side. Maybe Russ could help carry it in for me. He and Janel had already indicated months ago that if I ever needed anything, I could call on them.

Yes.

Yes, I needed to stop relying on Brock to be there all the time.

Things had been wonderful between us over the last month or so. He and I were still getting along great, meeting at the mailbox nearly every day unless I had a doctor's appointment, and walking together after work whenever it was nice outside a couple of days a week. Izzy had even returned for a visit with her uncle during that time, and I was fortunate enough to be able to spend some time with the two of them together.

It had all been great. I loved having Brock's friendship, and I adored the way he treated me.

But I was developing feelings for him that went beyond surface level attraction.

And that made me feel like I was entering dangerous territory. Brock hadn't necessarily gone out of his way to do more for me than I believe he would have done for any other neighbor or friend.

Sure, there had been a handful of moments that felt like there could be an attraction there on his end, but some of those came before I announced the pregnancy. The others, well, either I'd been in a nightie that showed off more skin than usual or I was having an emotional moment, often related to my pregnancy, that led to him offering comfort.

Mistaking his kindness or empathy for something more wasn't smart. Todd's reaction to the pregnancy news had made it possible to feel enough disappointment for a lifetime. I didn't need to pile more of it on by having the wrong ideas about Brock's compassionate nature.

On that thought, I descended the stairs and made my way over to the house opposite Brock's. Sadly, despite both ringing the bell and knocking on the door, neither Russ nor Janel came to the door. It was a Friday evening, so they probably went out on a date.

With no other choice, unless I was prepared to wait until tomorrow to try again at their place or go through the entire neighborhood in hopes of finding someone else to help me, I went over to Brock's.

The moment he opened the door, I felt nothing but regret.

Sweet regret.

Because there wasn't anything I didn't like about what I was seeing. Evidently, Brock had just gotten out of the shower, too. His hair was still slightly wet, and his face freshly shaved. But the biggest indication he was settling in for the night was that he was wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung sweats. Not a shirt to be found.

Try as I might to force my attention to his face, I failed. There was a wall of strong, solid muscle in front of me. It had to be by sheer luck that I didn't drool on the spot. I couldn't remember ever being impacted by the sight of a man like this. Was it because Brock was that devastatingly handsome, or was it because I was a pregnant woman with raging hormones? Perhaps it was a combination of the two.

"Mia? Is everything okay?"

I shook my head, blinking my eyes several times, and craned my neck to help myself avoid looking at his naked torso. "No. No, I'm so sorry for disturbing you tonight. I tried to go over to Russ and Janel's place first to see if Russ could help me, but they didn't answer, so I think they might have gone out on a date or something."

A wounded look washed over his expression. "You needed Russ to help you with something?"

I shrugged. "I just needed someone to help with something, not necessarily Russ."

"Why didn't you come here first?" he pressed.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, I dropped my gaze from his face. It landed on his chest and sent a wave of desire through me. Licking my lips, I returned my attention to his face and confessed, "I didn't want you to think I expected you to be the guy who helps me out every time I have a problem."

"I don't think that at all," he said, his voice gentle as ever. "In fact, I like being able to lend a hand whenever you need something. So, why don't you tell me what you tried to avoid coming to ask me for help with?"

I swallowed hard. "The crib was just delivered. But when the delivery driver rang the bell, I had just gotten out of the shower, and I didn't make it to the door fast enough to ask for help with getting the box inside. I attempted to move it myself, but there's no way I can do it alone without risking an injury to myself or the baby."

Brock stared at me in silence for several long seconds. I squirmed under the intense scrutiny of his gaze, wondering what was going through his mind. Eventually, he took a step back and said, "Come inside while I change my clothes and throw on a pair of sneakers."

"Oh, Brock, that's?—"

"Mia?"

"Yeah?"

"Come inside."

Gone was the gentle voice he'd spoken to me with only moments ago. His tone now indicated he was in no mood to be questioned. I'd never heard him speak with such a serious tenor to his voice that I could only propel myself forward into his house in response.

Once he closed the door, he said, "I'll be right back."

As he walked away and up the stairs to change his clothes, I wondered where the sweet guy had gone. Had Brock been that upset that I'd gone to ask Russ for help first instead of him. And if so, why? Wouldn't he have preferred to have his quiet evening alone without needing to be burdened by what was happening in my life all the time? I thought he'd welcome the break.

Brock returned almost as quickly as he'd gone, and the next thing I knew, he was ushering us out the door and back toward my house. We made our way there in silence, the walk feeling extraordinarily tense.

Suddenly, I was questioning everything. Maybe he was bothered by needing to help, but since he didn't want to tell a pregnant woman to get off his doorstep and find help somewhere else, he felt he had no choice.

I was trying to figure out what to do, how to fix this, when we climbed the stairs to my porch. Despite whatever was happening inside his head, Brock was still a gentleman and urged me up the stairs ahead of him.

"It's just this box?" he asked, speaking for the first time since we were inside his house.

"Yes," I murmured.

His eyes cut to mine, questions lingering there. Whatever he wanted to ask, whatever was burning in his stare, he never shared. Instead, he looked away, focused his attention on the box, and said, "Grab the door, and I'll carry it in for you."

"Do you… I can help carry it," I offered.

Brock shook his head. "No. No, I can get this for you. Just open the door."

"Okay."

As he wrapped his hands around either side of the box and lifted it, doing it almost effortlessly, I opened my front door as wide as it would go to allow him to get inside without banging or scraping his knuckles on the door or the frame. Once inside, he set the box down and asked, "Where do you want this?"

"You can just leave it here, right inside the door," I said. "If you don't mind laying it down for me, I'll take care of it tomorrow."

Brock's eyes narrowed on me. "Are you planning to have this baby sleep at the front door?"

I shook my head. "No."

"So, how do you intend to take care of it tomorrow?" he questioned me.

Sweeping my hand out in front of me and toward the open space in the foyer, I explained, "Well, I just figured if you could lay it down for me, I'll open it tomorrow and carry the individual pieces upstairs to the baby's room before assembling it."

"If you're okay with it, I can carry the whole box up there for you now and save you the trouble and risk of doing it on your own," he returned.

"That's kind of you to offer, Brock. I appreciate it and don't have a problem with you doing it, but I didn't want to make more work for you."

He sent an incredulous look my way, slipped off his sneakers, and urged, "Lead the way."

I hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

I gave him a nod, turned, and made my way up the stairs toward the baby's room. Surprisingly, Brock was right on my heels. Maybe I'd made a bigger deal out of this being difficult or an inconvenience to him than it was. Even if I wasn't pregnant, I'd never have been able to carry the box up the steps with as much ease as he had.

We made it to the room I intended to set up as the nursery, where Brock ultimately set the box down carefully in the center of the room for me.

"Thank you so much for doing this for me tonight," I said.

"You're welcome."

His words were kind and exactly what I expected, but his tone wasn't what I'd grown accustomed to hearing from him. "Brock?" I called when he looked away from me.

"Yeah?"

"Are we… is everything okay?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"I can't help but feel like you're upset about something."

He shrugged and sighed. "I don't know. I guess I should be asking you the same question. I don't understand what happened tonight. I thought I made it clear I'd be more than willing to help you out whenever you need, and you wound up going to ask Russ for help instead."

Was this jealousy?

Why would Brock feel jealous over anyone, namely Russ, who was a married man?

I looked away, hating that I'd made him feel this way. "I… I… I just didn't want you to think I was trying to take advantage of you."

His brows pulled together. "Why would I think that about you? Have we not become something more than just neighbors over this last month and a half or so? God, Mia, we walk together after work several days a week, having conversations about our days at work or simply getting to know each other. You've met my niece and even joined us for lunch on two separate occasions. You and I have had dinner together three times in that time. How is it possible that you thought you needed to go to Russ to help you carry this crib in when I was the guy who was standing beside you the first time you felt that baby move in your belly? What makes you think I wouldn't want to be the guy to do this for you?"

What was I supposed to say to that?

He was right to question me, to be upset.

While I had moments when I considered how different things would be if Brock and I were in a relationship, I hadn't believed it was even a remote possibility that he'd want the same.

And because I'd been struggling with how much I liked him as more than just my neighbor, I did what I'd done today.

But Brock was right. We had moved beyond just being neighbors. He was, if nothing else, a genuine friend, had proved himself to be just that, and he deserved more than what I'd given him.

Feeling like I had a boulder lodged in my throat, tears welling in my eyes, I croaked, "I'm so sorry, Brock."

In an instant, the hardness of his features vanished. He stepped close and wrapped his arms around me. I held on to him, my hands gripping the material of his shirt at his sides. "It's okay," he assured me.

Shaking my head, I argued, "It's not. I probably would have been just as upset as you if you'd done something similar."

His hands stroked up and down my back, comforting me. "It's done now. We can't go back and change it. I just want you to know that I've meant every word I've ever said to you, Mia. If you need my help with anything, all you've got to do is ask."

Easier said than done. I was mere months away from becoming a single mom. Sure, I knew my family would step up to help whenever they could, but they didn't live close. Maybe I'd have their help in the beginning, but the reality was I needed to learn to do things on my own. And I wasn't a stranger to it—I'd saved up for and purchased my home on my own. I knew I could do this, too.

"It's one thing to ask to borrow eggs I can replace, and it's something else for me to ask for help with something like this," I explained. "I don't think I'm very good at it, because I don't want to place expectations on anyone and wind up disappointed."

Understanding seemed to dawn in his expression, and a moment later, he offered a smile. "Then I guess I should just come right out and ask what's on my mind now, shouldn't I?"

My brows furrowed. "What's on your mind?"

"Are you planning to build this crib yourself tomorrow?"

My eyes went to the box and back to Brock. "That was my hope."

"Do you have the tools you need to do it?"

I shrugged. "I don't know yet."

He laughed, the sound relieving so much of the tension I'd been feeling, as he continued to hold me close. "If this is something you feel compelled to do on your own, I get it. But if you're just afraid to ask me for help for fear of inconveniencing me, then I'd like to make the offer to come over tomorrow and help you get this assembled."

I tipped my head to the side, my eyes roaming over his handsome face. "That's really sweet of you to offer, especially because you told me today on our walk that you didn't have any work you needed to do in your garage and that you intended to relax. Helping me out with this would prevent that from happening for you."

"I don't find spending time with you to be particularly taxing, Mia."

Spending time with me.

He didn't say building a crib or helping me out. He referred to it as spending time with me.

Maybe it was okay for me to have hope about Brock's intentions. It was entirely possible he was just being a really good man to a woman who needed some support. But what he'd said to me tonight made it clear that it wasn't out of the realm of possibility for him to have some interest in me that went beyond friendship.

Wouldn't I be a fool to look the other way?

"Okay, Brock. If you have nothing better to do with yourself, I'd love to have some help assembling this crib tomorrow."

Brock grinned at me. "Looks like I have plans for tomorrow. What time do you want me here?"

If I was honest, I would have told him I never wanted him to leave. Not wanting to ruin his opportunity to sleep in and relax a bit if he intended to do that, I said, "How about around one o'clock? Would that work for you?"

"That works for me. Should I bring some lunch with me?"

Did he want to have lunch together?

Feeling so much better about where we were, I felt safe enough to tease him. "You've never tried my peanut butter sandwiches. Maybe I could dazzle you with one tomorrow."

Laughter spilled out of him, and his arms tightened briefly around me. "I'll prepare myself to be dazzled."

He released his hold on me, and we descended the stairs again. Once we were at the front door, I held his stare for a few seconds. "Thank you for doing this for me tonight and for offering to come over tomorrow. It means a lot to me."

"You're welcome. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Brock."

"Goodnight, Mia."

The next thing I knew, Brock was gone. No matter how easy it had been for me to fall asleep recently as I made it to the end of each day, tonight was different. Because I couldn't stop replaying Brock's words in my head from the second I closed the door behind him.