“Do you think Liam has a right to meet his son?” I ask softly. “Or do you think Laddie deserves to meet his father?”
Talia tilts her head, thoughtful. “I’m inclined to remind you of that old saying — let sleeping dogs lie.” Her mouth curves wryly. “But I also know you, and you’re about to go wake the damn dog.”
We don’t say more after that.
We sit on a bench in the warm afternoon sun, watching Laddie race across the playground.
His laughter carries on the breeze while Talia scrolls through celebrity gossip on her phone, pretending not to keep an eye on me.
And me? I think about Liam. About what it felt like to be near him again, like lightning under my skin, alive and dangerous.
I’ve dated since Minnesota. I’ve had boyfriends. I’ve had lovers. But nothing ever lasted.
Nothing ever made mewantto stay.
Because no one has ever made me feel the way Liam Callaghan did.
And after seeing him again, seeing that same spark still burning between us, I know the truth I’ve been trying not to admit.
No one ever will.
We letLaddie play until his face turns red and sweaty before I finally call out, “All right, champ, time to pack it in.”
He groans as I’ve just canceled Christmas. “Five more minutes!”
Talia snorts. “That’s what you said fifteen minutes ago.”
“But I wasstill playingfifteen minutes ago!” he insists, hands on his hips.
I try not to laugh. “How about this? If we leave now, you can get a hot dog from Mr. Eschelman.”
That gets him. His eyes go wide. “With mustardandketchup?”
“Both,” I confirm solemnly. “Maybe even relish if you behave.”
“Deal!” He grabs his little backpack and takes off down the sidewalk, skipping every third step.
Talia watches him go and mutters, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kid bond with an eighty-year-old hot dog man quite like that.”
“They’re kindred spirits,” I say, smiling. “Both are stubborn. Both are obsessed with condiments.”
She chuckles. “So… what’s your excuse?”
I give her a look, but I’m half-distracted. Every time a tall, broad man with sandy-blond hair passes us, my pulse jumps before my brain catches up.
None of them is Liam, but tell that to my body.
“Earth to Emma,” Talia teases, waving a hand in front of my face. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say quickly. “Just… thinking about hot dogs.”
“Sure you are,” she mutters.
By the time we finish chatting with Mr. Eschelman, which, of course, turns into a half-hour conversation about baseball and pickles, Laddie’s face is smeared with ketchup, and he’s declaring himself “officially stuffed.”
Back at the apartment, he collapses on the couch, Bluey blaring in the background.
Within minutes, he’s out cold, one hand still clutching a napkin.
