“You what?” I hiss, my body going rigid, the urge to run for the lobby, to protect Kyle from what’s about to come, overwhelming.

He holds his hands in the air. “I didn’t. I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

I sink with relief into my chair.

“So I want you to know that I’m not okay with this, and I’m probably going to be a dick every once in a while because I’m not okay with it.” He frowns. “But I won’t tell Kieran. I don’t want him to do something that would hurt you.”

My annoyance with David softens. Words like that don’t come easily for a man as self-absorbed as he is. “Thank you for the warning. But please don’t harass Kyle. It’ll make people talk.” Thank God Gus is already aware of our relationship.

“I was just letting him know that if he hurts you, he’ll have to deal with me.”

Kyle and David are the same size, but something tells me Kyle would win that fight. I bite my cheek to keep the laughter at bay. “You’re still an idiot. But that might be the most considerate thing you’ve ever said to me.”

His lips twist as his gaze drifts across the way. “Maybe I should start screwing the help, too.”

And . . . he’s back.

“I think that’s a great idea. She already has your children’s names picked out.”

“What?” Panic flashes across his face.

“I’m kidding. Now go away so I can work.”

Except now my focus is splintered between pie graphs and babies.

“Hello?” I holler, kicking the door shut and slipping off my shoes. I’m exhausted, it’s a quarter to ten, and I told Kyle I’d be home two hours ago. The kitchen and living room are empty. He’s not in our bedroom, either, I note with dismay.

I’m just about to call his phone when I catch movement on the patio.

I smile. Kyle, Ashley, and Christa are standing beneath a canopy of lights strung from every corner.

“There you are,” I murmur, wandering out to wrap my arms around his waist from behind. His cotton T-shirt is soft against my skin. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

His fingers graze mine. “That’s okay. Ash put me to work as soon as I got here.”

“It looks great.” Outdoor furniture, surrounded by gauzy curtains and tall palms, fills the formerly empty patio.

“See, Christa? Piper thinks it looks great,” Ashley says, in a way that tells me Christa’s had a few criticisms.

“We need to move that end over by a foot,” Christa directs, pointing to a far corner, waving the staple gun toward Kyle.

He shifts in my arms and leans down to kiss me. “Your dinner is probably cold by now.”

“I know. I’ll heat it up in a bit. I need to talk to you first.” I hook my finger through his belt loop and tug, leading him inside and down the hallway, all the way into my bedroom.

He smirks. “So, is talking code for—”

“Do you want to have kids?” I blurt out.

Kyle’s mouth drops open. “Uh . . .” He pushes my door closed behind us. “Eventually.”

“How many?”

He hesitates, frowning. “What’s going on, Piper? Where is this coming from?”

I sigh. “Renée.”

“Renée knows about us, too?”

“No. We were talking about life and she started talking about her three kids—”

“She has three kids? Wow. You’d never guess.”

“No! But she knows she wants them. She’s got their names and nursery colors picked out, and everything!”

His eyebrows arch. “Renée sounds a little bit intense.”

I let go of his belt loop and begin pacing around my room. “I know. But she made me realize that here we are, falling deep and fast into this relationship. I’m ready to hand you a key after not even a week together, but I don’t really know you!” Worries that have been simmering all day bubble to the surface now, and I can’t keep the panic from my voice.

“Yes, you do, Piper.”

“I don’t, though. Not anymore. I’m not talking about the little things, like your favorite color or your favorite song, or that you broke your arm when you were six, or that you love jumping off cliffs.” All the small, seemingly important Kyle-facts that I collected over that summer. “I’m talking about the big things.”

He slides his hands into his pockets. “You know about my family. I don’t tell anyone about them, Piper.”

“Yeah, but it’s not even that. I’m talking about the things that will make or break a relationship. Things you don’t talk about when you’re sixteen and skinny-dipping and racing around in golf carts. And I am terrified that once we start finding out all those things about each other, what if we don’t work at all?” What if my mother is right?

Kyle sighs heavily. “Okay.” He reaches for the door.

My anxiety flares. “Where are you going?”

“Relax. I’ll be back in a minute. Just . . . get changed.”

I watch him stroll out the door, wondering if unloading on him like that was the best way to approach this conversation. It’s too late now.

By the time I’ve washed up and pulled on my lounging clothes, Kyle is shifting furniture around the little seating area. I catch the smell of warmed Mexican food and my stomach growls in response.

“Hang out over here with me for a while,” he beckons.

Not until I reach the armchair do I see the tattered blue sleeping bag spread out on the ground, the woven flannel interior faded. No way . . . “That’s not the same one from camp.”

“The one and only.” He smiles and drops down on his knees on one side. “Don’t worry, it’s been washed.” He holds a hand out for me.

“Who knew you were so nostalgic?”

He peers up at me, sincerity shining in his beautiful eyes. “You knew.”

I scan the leather band around his wrist, the tattoo engulfing his arm. “Yeah, you’re right.” I did know that. I settle down next to him, accepting the plate and one of two glasses of red wine. “You drink wine now?”

He chuckles. “Eat, before it gets cold again.”

I marvel at the softness of the worn flannel under my bare feet as I take a mouthful of Spanish rice and chew slowly.

“Yes, I would like to have kids.” Kyle swallows. “Eventually.”

“How many?”

“I figured I’d start with one and see how that goes. Well, unless I end up with twins right off the bat.” He eyes me warily. “Do you have twins in your family?”

I shake my head.

“Me neither. So . . . one to start. Then maybe a second, so I can pit them against each other. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“You wouldn’t do that. Well, maybe you would.” I laugh, but I don’t miss the underlying message there—he’s talking about us having kids. Together.

My heart skips a beat. Maybe I’m not crazy to have these thoughts sitting heavily in my mind so soon.

He hesitates. “What about you? Do you want kids?”

“I think so. Eventually. I just don’t know how I’m going to fit them into my life.”