He sat, folding his too-long frame onto the stool like a child in the principal’s office. Margo resumed her slicing, needing something to do with her hands.
“Tell me,” she said quietly.
Tyler took a breath, then another. “Everything?”
“The parts that matter.”
He told her everything he’d shared with Meg and Anna, his voice growing steadier as he went. Fiona’s ultimatum. The twice-yearly visits. The constant fear of losing Stella entirely. When he finished, Margo set down her knife.
“Fourteen years of secrets,” she said carefully.
“I wanted to tell you every day.” The words rushed out. “You have to know that. Every time I came back, every photo I couldn’t show you, every story I couldn’t share?—”
“Tyler.” She moved around the counter, surprising them both. “Come here.”
He stood uncertainly. She pulled him into a hug, feeling him stiffen in surprise before crumbling against her, not sobbing but shaking slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I was so scared of losing her, and then I was scared of disappointing you, and then it had been so long I didn’t know how to?—”
“Shh.” She held him tighter. “I know.”
“She’s amazing, Margo. You’ll love her. She’s smart and funny when she forgets to be angry. Has this dry sense of humor that catches you off guard.” His voice warmed despite the tears she could hear. “She’s stubborn like you. Sees everything like you do, notices things others miss.”
“Tell me more.” She kept her arms around him, feeling him relax incrementally.
“She pretends not to care but she does. The way she looked at the shells yesterday—like she was trying tomemorize them. And Bernie made her smile, actually smile, when he started his knee story.” Tyler pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes. “When she thinks no one’s watching, she’s gentle. I saw her help this little kid at the airport who’d dropped his toy.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She is. When she’s not terrified and defensive.” Tyler’s face crumpled again. “What if she never forgives me? What if she goes back to Sydney and?—”
“Then we love her for the summer we have,” Margo said firmly. “We show her what she’s been missing. Not by pushing, but by being who we are.”
“The Circle women will probably want to adopt her.”
“Of course they will.” Margo’s mouth quirked. “Eleanor will probably try to teach her to paint.”
“God help us.” But Tyler was almost smiling. “Can I help? With prep? Like?—”
“Apron’s where it always is.”
He fetched it, tying the familiar strings with hands that still shook slightly. They fell into their old rhythm without words—Tyler handling the bread, Margo working on fillings.
“I keep thinking about Sam,” Tyler said after a while.
“What about her?”
“A grandmother who doesn’t know she has a granddaughter. A granddaughter who doesn’t know she has a grandmother who’s...” He shrugged. “Whatever Sam is.”
“Your mother makes her own choices,” Margo said carefully. “Always has.”
“Will she come? When she finds out?”
“I don’t know.” It was honest, at least. “But that’s not your burden to carry.”
They worked in silence, the hurt healing slowly in the familiar motions.
“Thank you,” Tyler said quietly. “For not hating me.”
