Chapter 2: The Leather Seats

When we reached the pickup lane, Logan suddenly stopped.

At first, I assumed he had forgotten where he parked.

Then he stared through the rear window of his luxury car and frowned.

“I’m not putting the baby in my car,” he said.

I blinked.

“What?”

For a second, I genuinely thought he was joking.

He pointed toward the back seat.

“The leather.”

I waited for the punchline.

It never came.

“Logan,” I said slowly, “open the door.”

He unlocked it, but continued staring at the seats as if they were priceless museum artifacts.

“My leather is brand new,” he said. “If she spits up in there, the smell will never come out.”

I laughed once.

Not because it was funny.

Because my brain refused to believe what I was hearing.

“I just gave birth.”

He shrugged.

“That doesn’t change the seats.”

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