My irises shift to Leo. He’s been less energetic since Flo left. Grumpier. He’s not sleeping as well, and as much as I try to convince myself it’s just because he’s feeling a little under the weather, I know better. I swear, the kid isn’t even enjoying Whisker Wheelers as much anymore. I asked if he wanted to go to see the movie for the third time, and he said no.
“You want her back. I can see that, but do you want Flo back as a nanny… or something else, West?”
“Do you really need me to answer that?”
Bennett rolls his eyes. “Oh, to be in love. But yes, I need an answer.”
“I don’t want Flo as a nanny, because they’re temporary, and things with her feel anything but.”
“And you’re really going to keep that inside of you and live with regret for the rest of your life?”
Leo then rushes up to me, tapping on my phone and babbling into it as if he’s actually using it, which makes Bennett repeat the button-pressing and robotic noises. My son has been obsessed with my phone lately, so I trade Donkey for it and pocket the device, but not before dragging him onto my lap and blowing a raspberry into his neck, making him squeal and pull away.
I can’t be the sad single dad who has no drive and doesn’t put my child first. Leo is everything to me, and I have no idea where I would be without the little miracle. He made me a better person, made me feel like I have a purpose in this world, and I’d walk through fire for the kid over and over.
We’re still here, back to the routine we had before Flo came long, but it now feels like our jigsaw’s missing a piece and doesn't fit the way it used to, and I’m not sure it ever will if she’s not in the picture.
But then my son has to look me in the eyes and mutter, “I miss Flo, Daddy,” and my body feels like it’s crumbling.
“I know. I miss her too, buddy.”
Leo’s still my absolute world—I’m nothing if not his father—but our world feels a whole lot smaller without Flo.
34: Flo
Tell me why I should be enjoying myself at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens in Georgia, but instead, I’m in a coffee shop around the corner, doom scrolling on the internet because yet another fake report has come out about Evan.
I want to text him to ask if he’s okay, but we haven’t spoken since I left, and I’m unsure if he’d appreciate me popping up out of the blue.
I’ve even succumbed to searching for Zara Scott on socials and discovered that her due date is just days away—something she’s flaunting to her many followers she’s gained since marrying a famous athlete. For my own peace of mind, I’ve had to block her so I don’t look again, because all it does is upset me.
It’s so unlike me to be jealous, to be insecure about something like this.
I’m not happy on this trip, even though I’m attempting to force myself to look at it from a positive perspective. Only, I’m now a couple thousand dollars down, and it doesn’t even feel worth it.
I place my phone back in my bag, refusing to look at it, before collecting my drink from the barista and heading to the self-service station to sprinkle it with cinnamon.
Okay, it sounds gross, but it was Mae’s suggestion, and surprisingly, it works. It makes me feel like I have a little piece of her with me whenever I drink one—the little cinnamon-obsessed demon.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” says a voice with a heavy twang from beside me at the same time a hand hits mine.
“No, you’re good,” I tell the tall thirty-something man in front of me, wearing a cowboy hat, plaid shirt, and boots. He looks like he got lost on the way to the cattle auction.
He shoots me a smile. “Whatcha drinkin’, darlin’?”
Shrek blended up, as Evan would call it.
“The only thing holding me together,” I say with a smile, holding up my drink to bid him farewell, but the man begins walking in my direction. Looks like he’s seated at a table right beside mine.
His brown eyes linger a little longer to be polite, his lips finding the brim of his hot drink, which he’s sprinkled with chocolate.
Sure, he’s good-looking and has the whole southern charm going for him. Anyone could see that, but I haven’t looked at another man in the same way I look at Evan since walking into his life.
I’m just not interested, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be. Evan West is my standard, and nobody will beat that man. So I sit with myself for a little while.
After a long moment, I eventually pull my phone from my bag to text Jenna and ask where to meet her and the others, but I see I have a missed call from Evan, and my heart flies into my throat.
He’s left me a voicemail.
