“Yes, yes!”
Ollie nodded like it was the most important thing in the world. Then, with careful hands, he picked up his golden, crispy fried egg and dropped it into Emmy’s bowl.
“Eat more, Emmy! That way the baby will grow up faster and bigger. She needs to be a big sister, not the little one anymore!”
Emmy couldn’t help it—the way he said it, all serious and bossy, made her burst out laughing.
James was watching her, his eyes dark and thoughtful, lingering on the way her dimples showed up when she smiled. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple shifting.
“Having a kid doesn’t sound so bad,” he murmured quietly. “What do you think?”
Emmy’s smile faded a little.
She knew James wanted a child. He’d never made a secret of it. But her? She just wasn’t ready for that.
“Let me think about it, okay?” She dropped her gaze, studying her bowl instead of his face. “We’re still young. Aren’t we?”
“I’m not that young anymore,” James replied. His voice was calm, but there was something steady and serious underneath.
Emmy hesitated. She didn’t really have a comeback for that.
He was six years older than her, already twenty-eight. But if you added in the seven years from her last life, she was actually a year older than him. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes inside, but out loud, she teased, “Come on, men can have kids at eighty. What’s the rush?”
Suddenly James scooted his chair right up next to hers, closing the space between them.
He leaned in so close his voice was practically in her ear. “This is prime time for my swimmers. The baby would be extra smart, right?”
His breath was warm against her skin, and her cheeks went instantly red—hot enough to fry an egg.
She grabbed her milk, chugged the rest, and wiped her mouth with a napkin, not meeting his eyes.
“I’ll think about it!” she blurted, then snatched her bag and made a beeline for the door.
Behind her, Ollie’s laughter rang out. “Emmy’s blushing! Ha ha!”
She hurried out even faster.

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