"I know, I know, I'm the worst," Caleb laughs, trying to juggle all of them at once. My heart stumbles watching him baby-talk to our ducks. Because that's what they are—ours. Even if we never say it out loud.
"Incoming!" I call as Louie barrels ahead, eyes locked on the watch strapped to Caleb's wrist like it's committed a personal betrayal. Our smallest duckling has no fear, and even less coordination, slipping on the dewy grass as he hurls himself toward his target.
"Jesus, when did you get so fast?" He catches him mid-flight, laughing as Louie starts to peck at him. "Still putting everything in your mouth, huh?"
"Here." I drop down beside them, pulling a handful of dried mealworms from my cardigan pocket. "Before he decides your shirt is an all-you-can-eat buffet."
Caleb's fingers graze mine as he takes the treats, and that familiar spark snaps through me. His gaze meets mine for a beat, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"You're still spoiling them," he murmurs.
"Says the guy who taught Ducky to beg for pizza crusts." I shift closer, helping him pass out treats while our little crew flocks around. My knee bumps his, and neither of us pulls away.
Ducky waddles between us, demanding attention from both his parents, and warmth blooms in my chest as Caleb scratches the spot under his chin that turns him to putty.
"Rememberhow tiny they were?" His voice is low, intimate. "That first night when we had to keep them in that basket by your bed?"
I do remember. Remember falling asleep to their tiny peeps, and waking up to find Caleb passed out on the couch because he was worried they'd need midnight snacks. Remember thinking even then how natural this was, us raising these ridiculous birds together.
"You were convinced Louie wouldn't make it," I say, as our smallest terror tries to scale his arm. "Now look at him."
"Yeah, well." Caleb's hand finds mine in the grass, and my heart stutters. "He just needed someone to believe in him."
The weight of those words settles between us. I turn toward him, finding his face inches from mine. There's grass in his hair, Ducky attempting to nest in his collar, and Quackie Chan systematically destroying his shoelaces—and god help me, he's never been more attractive.
"Ivy," he starts, voice rough. His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. "About everything—"
A chorus of demanding quacks cuts him off as our children decide dinner cannot wait another second.
"I should . . ." I pull my hand from his.
"Right." Caleb clears his throat, focused on the way I scatter feed across the grass. "Guess we should eat too. Before the pizza gets cold."
"Pretty sure it already is." But I follow him inside anyway, trying to ignore how the easy warmth from our duck moment dissipates with each step. By the time we reach my living room, that magical bubble where I could forget why I'm mad has popped entirely.
"So." I drop onto the couch, choosing the far corner, like physical distance might protect my heart this time. "Tell me something. When you're delivering pizzas to half of Hallow's End, do you ever drive past my street and think about stopping?"
Caleb's fingers flex against his thighs. "Ivy—"
"Because here's the thing about pretending something's 'fine' when it's not. Eventually, the lie gets too heavy to carry. And watching you play happy families with our ducks after four weeks of nothing? That's a weight I'm done lifting."
"You think I don't know that?" He rakes both hands through his hair, leaving it a disaster. "Like I haven't been replaying that morning over and over? How you sat there saying it was a mistake?"
"What was I supposed to say?" The words taste bitter coming out. "I gave you exactly what you wanted—the perfect excuse to pretend nothing happened. To write it off as drunk wedding shenanigans and go back to normal." I hate how my voice wavers. "Because that's what you do, right? Keep things simple, no messy feelings involved?"
"I was wrong, but—"
"No, I get it. I'm the friend you trust, the one who's always there. Safe. Convenient." Saying it out loud burns, but I keep going. "So when I basically threw myself at you and you rejected me anyway," I force out a laugh. "Message received, loud and clear."
"That's not—"
My fingers dig into my arms. "I'm not Virginia, or any of those other girls who can keep things casual. I can't pretend it didn't matter. Thatyoudon't matter."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything I've kept locked away. I thought offering him a clean escape would hurt less than confessing what I felt. What Istillfeel. But sitting here now, while he struggles to find words that won't shatter what's left between us, I realize there was never going to be a simple way out of this.
Not when my heart's been his for longer than I care to admit.
"Is that what you think?" His voice comes out strangled. "I just . . . fuck, I . . ." His fingers curl into fists on his knees, frustration leaking through the cracks he doesn't bother hiding. "That whole week has been messing with my head. Being that close to you,sharing a room, cuddling you while we slept . . . I didn't know if it was real, or if it was this weird wedding bubble making me feel things I'm not ready for."
