It was supposed to be one night to feel alive after getting out of a dud of a relationship. Now I’m having a baby, and I only have the soon-to-be dad’s first name. After my breakup, I need to find a job and place to live, but I can’t move into the house my grandma left me unless I’m married. Fortunately, the guy renting the place doesn’t know that, so I stop by and find out if he can move at the end of his lease. Only when the door opens, it’s him. My one-night stand. I do the only reasonable thing possible. I tell him we’re going to have a baby and promptly puke over the railing of the porch. Next thing I know, I’m on his couch, and he’s demanding a paternity test. Except he doesn’t just want the test. He wants to make sure I don’t tamper with the results. He doesn’t believe me. Apparently showing up jobless and homeless to persuade him to move doesn’t make me trustworthy. Guess I’m not the only one with a dating history that leaves me jaded. He insists I stay in the house that should be mine, right where he can monitor me. And the longer I’m around him, the more I can see that below his gruff exterior is a softie who planted acres of pumpkins for his cousin. A guy who wants to reconnect with his family. A man who makes me want to be more to him than violet promises.
