I hadn’t slept for crap the night before. I kept picturing Caleb’s face when he walked out my front door, and the pain I felt at that memory was just as acute as it had been the first time around.

I wanted to fall apart, wallow in a shitload of self-pity like I had when my engagement went belly-up, but I knew that wasn’t an option this time around. It wasn’t just me I had to take care of. I had my little bean. I had to pull up my big girl panties and carry on with my life for his or her sake.

That meant I was only allowing myself one day to binge on Ben & Jerry’s while crying over sappy Hallmark movies where the woman overcame some clichéd adversity and got the man of her dreams in the end.

I started the moment the sun rose and was a good four hours into my sob-athon when my front door was thrown open. I was mid-lick on a spoonful of Chunky Monkey when Caleb came walking in, hauling two large suitcases behind him.

“You really shouldn’t leave your door unlocked like that. Anyone could just walk—” He stopped the moment he set eyes on me. “Have you been crying?”

I pulled the spoon from my mouth, still in shock at the unexpected sight of him, and used it to point at the TV. “The guy in the movie grew up in a foster home,” I said on a sniffle. “He never experienced love and believed he’d be alone forever. But then he hired a quirky book nerd as his assistant, and she broke through the walls he’d built around his heart to show him true love did exist.” I let out a hiccupped sob as I finished with “It was very touching.”

“Dear god,” he muttered, looking at the TV in abject terror. “Do you watch shit like that all the time?”

“N-no,” I stuttered. “Just when I’m having a pity party. But it’s worse now that I have all these pregnancy hormones coursing through my system.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Wiping at my tearstained cheeks with the neck of my ratty sweatshirt, I asked, “What are you doing here? And what’s with the luggage?”

“I’m moving in,” he answered simply, like he was announcing the day’s weather forecast.

“I… you… what?”

He left the bags by the door and moved to the couch where I was sitting, taking a seat on the cushion next to mine. “I’m moving in. I gave it a lot of thought last night, and decided that our baby needs to be raised with both its parents living under the same roof.”

I could barely comprehend what he was saying, but the one thing that stood out the most was the way he said our baby. Hearing Caleb string those two little words together in his rich, velvety voice made my belly flutter. I gave my head a shake to try and stay on topic. “But what about your apartment?”

“I’ll put it on the market,” he said with a casual shrug. “I don’t think it’ll take long to unload it, especially since I’m selling it fully furnished—”

“Wait.” I closed my eyes and held my hand up to stop him. I was struggling to keep up with everything he was saying. “Fully furnished? But that’s all your stuff.”

“It’s not like I’ll need it. Besides, my stuff would clash with everything you’ve got going on here. And I like your style better anyway.”

“I… you….” Tears started leaking from my eyes again. “You’re giving up all your stuff because it doesn’t go with mine?”

“And I like yours better,” he said softly.

“Oh god.” I started blubbering uncontrollably. “Th-that’s the sw-sweetest thing I’ve ever h-heard!”

“Fuck me,” he mumbled, pulling me against his chest in a tight hug. “You really are a mess, aren’t you?”

“I-it’s the b-baby. It’s t-taking over my b-body,” I sobbed. “I c-can’t control a-anything!” I finished on a loud wail.

Caleb rubbed soothing circles along my back while I used his T-shirt as my own personal tissue. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but he didn’t let me go until I finally got ahold of myself.

Wiping under my eyes, I inhaled deeply, blowing the air out past my lips before looking at him again. “But I thought you hated me,” I whispered.

“I don’t hate you,” he said softly, brushing at a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “I’m pissed, but I don’t hate you.”

It took every ounce of courage I had to ask my next question, knowing there was a strong possibility I wouldn’t like that answer. “So what does this mean for us?”

My anxiety doubled with each second that ticked by without his answer, until he finally said, “Well, that depends.”

I chewed on my bottom lip until it became raw. “On what?”

“Did you mean what you said last night? Do you really love me?”

My head bobbed up and down in a frantic nod. “I do.”

His shoulders slumped on a deep exhale, like me confirming my feelings for him had just lifted a weight off his chest. “I want to make this work,” he said with such fierce determination that I could practically feel it radiating from him.

They were sweet words. What they weren’t was a declaration of love. But that was okay. After all, I was the one who’d broken the trust between us; it was my responsibility to heal the breach I caused.

I could do that. And I could wait for him to finally love me the way I loved him, because for the first time in my life I finally felt like I had a man worth waiting for.

I only hoped I hadn’t broken us so badly that I wouldn’t be able to put us back together again.