You weren’t expecting him—at least not like this. Not after the fight, not after he left without another word, boarding that flight like nothing happened. Three days, and not even a damn message.

But there he was. Parked right outside the farm where you grew up, leaning back in the driver’s seat of some car that wasn’t his. Sunglasses pushed up, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows like he hadn’t slept, like the weight of whatever was coming next had followed him all the way home.

"You just gonna stand there glaring, or are you getting in?" he called, voice low but laced with that familiar cocky tilt that made your jaw clench.

"You’ve got some nerve showing up here," you shot back, arms folding protectively over your stomach—instinctive now, even though no one knew. Three months along and it still felt like a secret wrapped so tight it might choke you.

He smirked, but his hands gripped the steering wheel too hard. "Told your brothers I’d wait. Didn’t tell them why." His eyes flicked to you. "Figured that was still… ours."

The air between you crackled. "Why are you here?"

"Because I’m not stupid enough to think you’ll forgive me over the phone." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Look— I know I’m an arrogant prick. And I shouldn’t have left like that. But…" His jaw clenched. "I bought us a house."

You blinked. "You what?"

"A house," he repeated, almost daring you to argue. "Ours. No more back and forth, no more me leaving like that. You hate it, I know." His gaze softened—just barely. "We need somewhere… permanent. For you. For the baby."

Your breath caught. "You’re such an idiot," you muttered, blinking back the burn in your eyes.

"Yeah," he shrugged, a cocky grin tugging at his lips. "And now we’ve got a place. So… get in the car, sweetheart."