She rolled her eyes. “Everybody says that. I think it’s supposed to make me feel better about my jeans not fitting anymore.”

“I always thought you could stand to gain a few pounds. You were tiny before-you nearly disappeared when you turned sideways.”

This conversation between them felt too weird. Last time they’d talked face-to-face, they’d been in a canoe together, having one of their predictable lovers’ quarrels, then Soleil had given West a possibly well-deserved shove into the lake and rowed away.

The subject matter of that final argument-motherhood and pregnancy-now seemed eerily timed.

Here they were, five and a half months later, talking like casual acquaintances when what they should have been doing was picking up that conversation where it had left off before she’d abandoned him in the lake.

Too, too weird.

She turned back to the loaf of brown bread she was slicing on the counter.

“How can I help?” West asked as he went to the sink to wash his hands.

“Whatever you’d like to drink, you can get for yourself from the fridge. You and I can eat first, before I call the kids in.”

So she was allowing him a few moments alone with her. Did that mean she was ready to confess the truth? Over sandwiches and potato salad? It didn’t exactly sound like Soleil’s style.

“How about you? What would you like to drink?” he asked.

“I’ll have mineral water. It’s in the door of the fridge.”

They were still doing the awkward polite small-talk thing, conversing as though they didn’t really know each other.

Did they really know each other?

It was hard to say. He felt as if he knew the essence of her. But there had to be a lot he didn’t know, such as whether she was a woman with whom he wanted to share a child.

“Listen, Soleil, there’s something I need to say.”

She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. “Yes?”

“About last summer-what happened between us, I know we had our conflicts, but I’m willing to put all of that aside.”