“So,” Taylor Ballantine said, sitting back in her chair and giving Hunter and Brit a knowing look across the table. “Now that we’re on to dessert, can we talk about that you two are boning?”

Nick rolled his eyes at his wife. “Jesus, Tay.”

“What?”

“We didn’t invite them over for a spontaneous weekday dinner to interrogate them.”

She lifted her shoulders. “I sort of did.”

Hunter laughed, unperturbed by his friend’s boldness.

They were sitting at Nick and Taylor’s kitchen table with the Ballantines’ dog flopped at Nick’s feet, patiently waiting for leftover pork chop. Their infant was sleeping against Brit’s chest; her fingers occasionally drifted over Aidan’s downy hair, even as Hunter had his hand around the back of her chair, occasionally playing with her hair.

“Well?” Taylor demanded.

Brit gave her friend a look, and a kick under the table, if Taylor’s slight wince was any indication.

“Oh, come on,” Taylor said, scooting back, likely out of range of Brit’s stiletto. “We’ve been waiting forever for this to happen.”

She glanced at Nick. “Haven’t we?”

“Leave me out of this,” he muttered into his red-wine glass.

“I will not. You said yourself you thought it was just a matter of time until they hooked up.”

Hunter gave his friend a sharp look, and Nick shrugged.

“Seriously?” Brit asked. “You guys thought we’d get together and never bothered to mention it?”

“Wouldn’t have been as fun without the surprise,” Taylor said with a grin.

“She has a point,” Hunter said, removing his arm from around Brit so he could turn to face her more fully with a smile. “It is fun. Though I suspect it would have been with or without the surprise factor.”

Brit gave a shy smile and kissed the baby’s head.

“Ooh, now we’re getting somewhere,” Taylor said, doing a little dance in her chair. “So the sex is fun, huh? Like, naughty fun, or . . .”

“You do realize your son is right here,” Brit said, indicating the baby in her arms.

“Oh, we have years before we have to start talking in code. Might as well take advantage of it,” Taylor said.

“Okay, invasive sex inquisition aside,” Nick said with a warning glance at his wife, “what’s the deal with you two. Together?”

Brit stiffened slightly, and Hunter reached under the table to set a reassuring hand on her knee.

He noted that Nick’s perceptive gaze tracked the motion, eyes narrowing, but Hunter ignored it. What was between Brit and him was exactly that—between them.

“We’ve decided not to put a label on it,” Brit told Nick and Taylor. “We’re just sort of seeing where it’s going.”

“Well, if you keep having the naughty sex, it could be heading toward that,” Taylor said, nodding at her son. Her voice was joking, though her eyes were full of love as she gazed at the baby.

“Oh, we’re not . . . we’re . . . you know, protection,” Brit said awkwardly.

Taylor snorted. “So were we.”

Nick looked at the ceiling. “Are there any topics off-limits with you, Taylor?”

She pursed her lips. “Not really.”

Hunter smiled, more than used to Taylor’s bluntness. He also knew the circumstances of Aidan’s conception—not planned but welcomed all the same.

Hunter glanced over at Brit and the baby, waiting for the expected surge of terror at the thought that that could happen to them. Whatever they were, they weren’t on the baby track. Not even close, and yet . . .

Brit murmured something unintelligible against the baby’s head, her finger stroking softly over Aidan’s cheek, and he felt something twist inside him.

Not a twist of fear, but a twist of longing. A vision, almost, of Brit holding a baby, except it wasn’t Taylor and Nick’s son but their own, a little boy or girl . . .

Hunter gave a quick shake of his head to clear the mental image that was suddenly entirely too compelling. They’d only been doing whatever it was they were doing for a couple of weeks. Weeks spent with them keeping it professional at work (well, except for that one time), but nights and weekends were for them. For dinners. Brunch. Movies. Sex. Lots of sex . . .

It was too soon to be thinking in that direction, and even if it wasn’t, there was always the looming knowledge that eventually Hunter would have to choose. Between a life here with Brit, and a life at home near his family.

Unless . . .

No. He wasn’t even going there. Not yet.

Aidan began to stir, making fussy little noises, his tiny fist gently thumping against Brit’s chest.

“That’s his poop dance,” Taylor announced.

“And, it’s my turn,” Nick said, setting his wineglass aside and standing. “Brit, can I rid you of the little stink pile?”

“Only if you bring him back when you’re done,” Brit said, reluctantly handing over the increasingly fretting baby.

Brit stood as Nick took his son into the bedroom, the dog racing after them with a squeaky toy in his snout.

“Pardon me while I powder my nose,” she said.

Taylor waited until Brit had disappeared into the bathroom before fixing her icy-blue gaze on Hunter. “What’s your plan, Cross?”

He didn’t play dumb. Taylor had always been a straight shooter, and avoiding her questions only made her more persistent.

“It’s like Brit said. We’re not putting labels on it.”

“So, you sleep with her, date her, work with her, and yet she’s not worthy of being your girlfriend.”

Hunter sat up a little straighter, his easygoing mood turning sharp. “Not what I said.”

“So she is your girlfriend.”

“Well, now, I don’t know, are we in high school? Should I ask her to go steady?”

“I don’t know,” Taylor said with a deceptively sweet smile. “Should you?”

“I’m not boyfriend material,” he said quietly.

“No, definitely not.” Her voice was sarcastic. “Steadily employed at a cushy job, recently renovated apartment. Holds doors for women, loves his mom . . . yeah, no, you’re right. Who’d want to date you?”

“I’m just not in the market for anything serious right now.”

“Does Brit know that?”

“Yes.” At least, he was pretty sure.

Taylor refused to let up. “Do you love her?”

Hunter froze in the process of pouring himself more wine from the bottle on the table.

Love.

He wasn’t one of those guys who got freaked out by the word. He loved his family. Loved his friends. And, yeah, that included Brit, obviously.

But that wasn’t what Taylor was asking. . . .

The bathroom door opened, and Brit’s reappearance saved Hunter from having to respond.

Taylor’s warning glance told him that the discussion wasn’t over yet, but he was more than grateful for the reprieve. He didn’t know how he’d answer that question for Taylor.

Wasn’t sure he could even answer it for himself.