My phone buzzes again. Zara:So? Don’t leave me hanging.
It went well.
Define well.
Her kid hugged me. Rye held my hand. I ate homemade dinner.
She HELD YOUR HAND? This is huge!
I can’t help but laugh.
It’s progress.
It’s more than progress.
Maybe.
Don’t maybe me. I know you, little brother. You’re already half in love with her.
Zara—
And from what you’ve told me, she’s worth it. Complicated and damaged and careful, but worth it.
Yeah. She is.
rye
. . .
The house soundswrong without Lily. I keep expecting to hear thundering down the hall, yelling my name or her music through the walls. She packed her overnight bag three times, adding and removing items until she had exactly what she needed—clothes, her dinosaur, and the twenty I tucked in her pocket.
“Call if you need anything,” I told her at Felicity’s door, fighting the urge to walk her inside and check the sleepover setup myself.
“Mom, I’m literally next door.”
“I know, but?—”
“Mom.” She gave me that look, the one that says she’s ten going on thirty. “I’ll be fine. Sophia’s mom has your number, grandma’s number, and probably NASA’s number just in case.”
Smart ass.
Right. Next door. Where she’ll eat junk food and stay up late and forget about me until tomorrow afternoon when I pick her up, probably overtired and slightly nauseous from too many Doritos. Which gives me eighteen hours that belong to just me.
The venue’s covered—I arranged everything yesterday. Jovie’s handling tonight with Gus on security, plus the new hires we brought on last week. Jessa’s proving herself behind the bar already, and Cade’s eager enough that he’ll probably reorganize the entire storage room just to impress someone. They all insisted I take a full night off.
“Go live your life,” Jovie said, practically shoving me out the door yesterday. “Between me, Gus, and the newbies, we can manage one Saturday without you hovering.”
“The newbies need more training,” I protest.
“Jessa mixed drinks in Memphis for five years, and Cade’s been haunting this place for so long he knows where we keep the extra toilet paper. They’re fine. We’re fine.”
She’s right. They can manage. The question is whether I can manage this—whatever this is about to be.
I check my phone again. The text I sent Darian twenty minutes ago shows delivered but unread.
Lily’s at a sleepover. Come over if you want. I’ll make dinner.
Not exactly subtle, but after weeks of careful distance, even this feels huge. We’ve been navigating around each other since the family dinner, since Lily decided he was worth her French toast, since my boundaries started feeling less necessary and more like obstacles to something I actually want.
