Upstairs, they heard some chatter, a surprised laugh, and the baby crying.
“I’m going to see if there’s any chance that a mere strand of pasta is left over,” she said, inching away.
He just nodded and let her go. Alone, Eli stood in the quiet room, listening to the echo of her retreating steps. Something inside him—a sliver of certainty, or maybe fear—settled deeper.
She didn’t believe. And no matter how much he loved her, he knew faith wasn’t something he could compromise.
And now…he wasn’t sure she’d even meet him halfway.
“They’re coming? Here?” Meredith froze mid-shake, the baby bottle still in her hand. She stared at Jonah, who leaned against the kitchen counter like he’d been tossed there by a rogue wave, his expression unreadable.
He nodded, scrubbing a hand through his already-mussed hair. “That’s what I said. Carly’s parents want to see their grandson.”
“Here?” she repeated. “As in this house?”
He lifted a brow. “Do you see any other houses around here full of Wylies and Lawsons and drama and sand in the sofa cushions?”
She blinked, a long To Do list suddenly forming in her head. “How much time do we have? What room will they stay in? Is her sister coming, too? We’ll need space. There’s a twin bed in the nursery, which won’t work. I’ll move out of the upstairs guest room and crash down there. Or do you think we should put a queen bed in there—oh, does the sofa pull out? They may want to be with him. I can help clean. It should all be clean and tidy and?—”
“Perfect?” Jonah deadpanned, staring at her with a hint of amusement in his exhausted gaze.
“Well, why not?” she fired back. “You want to impress them, right? To know Atlas is in a clean and comfortable environment?”
He gave a low grunt and headed to the fridge, opening it and staring at the contents like it was the horizon, calling him to escape.
“And now,” he muttered, “we have yet another opinion on how to handle this.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He grabbed a yogurt and peeled off the foil top. “Let’s just say Dad and Kate weren’t exactly on the same page.”
Meredith arched a brow as she placed the bottle under hot water, still not happy that the contents weren’t yet precisely 98.6, the gold standard of formula warmth. “What does that mean? Like, disagreeing on what to serve them? Or how long they should stay?”
Jonah found a spoon and dug in. “Try good cop-bad cop. Christian and atheist. Grace and science. Black and white.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait. What?”
He shrugged. “Don’t worry. I handled it.”
“Youhandled it?” She laughed a little, disbelieving. “You’re a sleep-deprived single dad who still uses his sweatshirt as a napkin. What does ‘handling it’ even look like?”
Jonah leaned against the counter, then pointed at her with a spoon dangerously close to dripping peach Yoplait on the floor. “Like letting both of them talk at me for twenty minutes, then agreeing with two differing opinions. I handled it,” he repeated, “so they can be equally annoyed and call it compromise.”
Atlas, seated in the bouncer on the kitchen island, chose that moment to let out a high-pitched coo and thump both his feetagainst the padded edge like he had something to say about it, too.
Meredith sighed and snapped the bottle cap to test the temperature. “I didn’t realize Kate and Dad were that…different.”
Jonah scooped the last bit of yogurt and tossed his spoon into the sink. “Yeah. They are. Which is kind of the point. But also, kind of the problem.”
Meredith paused, satisfied with the temperature, but not her brother’s vague response.
He’d been around here longer—he knew them better. Would he tell her if there were any red flags? Would he even notice if Dad was flying headlong into a relationship that would break his heart?
“Do you think she’s not right for him?” she asked.
“I told you, I think Kate is pretty amazing. She’s helped me so much.”
“I know she wrote a letter of recommendation for your culinary program, but…”
