“I’m aware. The truth is, when I saw you, I was back home.”
“You were in Italy?” I almost laugh, almost.
“I was supposed to be back in the States in a couple weeks. But I had a family emergency. I stayed longer than expected. When I did come back, I messaged you.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just say everything, “I can’t slam you and tell you that you should have been honest, because I wasn’t completely honest myself.” I shake my head. “That’s not true, I was, but now?—”
“Things changed. My father is alive and feels better than he has in years. You have a daughter who is healthy, happy, and lucky to have you as a mother.”
“Your father…”
“My mother is our local family doctor. She knows everyone in our town. They listen to her. He,” he stops and chuckles, “He never complains. Thinks he’s invincible.”
“And he’s well.”
“He is.” He looks up, eyes meeting mine. “I would never have forgiven myself had I left them when they needed me, even though they insisted.”
I swallow back the emotions at how raw his statement is, at the love he has for his family.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m real f’ing sorry we didn’t meet up back then, but sitting here right now, knowing my father is good, and seeing you as a mom?” he shakes his head and leans back into the chair. “Wouldn’t change a thing.”
As Savannah finishes, and I situate myself to burp her, I tell him, “I’m glad your father is healthy.” At the same time, he says, “You let me know when we can have a do-over.”
I can still feel his gaze on me, the weight of it, the warmth. I should look away, but I don’t.
He’s sitting there, hands braced on his knees, eyes soft in a way that makes me forget how to breathe. He’s the kind of man who carries gravity with him — not heavy, just inevitable.
My heart trips over itself, stupidly. I’m not supposed to feel like this. Not now. Not while I’ve got a baby asleep in my arms, drooling on my shirt, acting as the universe’s most effective chaperone.
I want him. God, I want him. But that want terrifies me.
Savannah sighs, a small, perfect sound that tugs me right back down to reality. I press her closer, bury my nose in her hair, and hold on tighter — to her, to this moment, to the reminder that I don’t get to lose myself in anyone anymore.
Deacon doesn’t look away, and that only makes it worse. His words from moments ago still echo in my head… unfinished business.
Yeah. No kidding.
Before I can spiral too deep, the front door bursts open. The smell hits first: garlic, tomato, and hot bread.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dash declares like he’s addressing a Broadway audience, announcing a show, “your dinner has arrived! And before anyone asks, yes, I dropped Paul’s order off first because a legend’s gotta eat.”
Deacon chuckles, leaning back in his chair.
Dash drops the bags on the counter, breathless and proud. “Minus the chickens, he’s inspiring.”
I can’t help it — I laugh. The sound feels lighter than it should. Savannah stirs, then settles again against my shoulder, warm and safe.
“Give me Savannah and eat,” he says.
“I feel like I’m missing out on baby time,” Dash says, unpacking the bags. “But also, I’m hungry. Anyway, I got the goods. Chicken Marsala, parm, rigatoni vodka, eggplant, soup, knots, fries, and tiramisu for dessert. The older woman at the desk says hi, by the way, and that you’re corrupting me, Deacon.”
Deacon lifts an eyebrow. “She said that?”
“She said it with her eyes,” Dash says seriously. “Her very Italian, judgmental eyes.”
I hide a smile, pretending my pulse isn’t still thudding in my throat while trying not to brush hands with Deacon as I hand him Savannah.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, not to disrupt Dash, who’s talking too fast for anyone to think too hard, which might be the only thing saving me right now.
