We stand there for a moment, both focused on the animal between us. There’s something about Slade that makes me feel off-balance, like I’m standing on uneven ground.
A burst of laughter from across the petting zoo returns my attention to Maia and Jace. They’ve moved on to feeding sheep now, and Jace has his arms wrapped around Maia from behind, helping her hold the feed bucket. She’s leaning back against him, comfortable and trusting.
The sight hits me like a freight train. Not because I want to be the one with his arms around her—that ship sailed months ago. But because they look so happy together, so naturally connected in a way that Maia and I never achieved.
My mood, which had been cautiously optimistic just moments ago, plummets. The weekend stretches ahead of me like a minefield: forced social interactions, watching my ex-girlfriend parade her new relationship, pretending to be fine when I’m anything but.
I return the baby goat to Slade, who accepts her with the same careful attention he showed before.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Sure.”
There’s something in his voice—maybe concern, maybe just politeness—but I don’t look at him. Instead, I watch as Maia tips her head back to speak to Jace.
Fine. If this is how the weekend is going to play out, I know exactly how I’ll handle it. I’m going to get spectacularly drunk and hope that booze will blur the edges of everything that hurts. It’s not the most mature coping mechanism, but it’s the one I’ve got.
At least I saw a well-stocked bar at the lodge. Small mercies.
***
I take another sip of wine, the alcohol barely dulling the edge, as I watch Maia laugh at something Jace just whispered in her ear. My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass. One weekend. I just need to survive one weekend without making a complete ass of myself.
The dining room is exactly what you’d expect from a place calling itself an “eco lodge.” We’re seated at a long woodentable that probably has some story about being salvaged from a nineteenth-century barn. Soft light from fixtures made of recycled materials casts everyone in a flattering glow. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel guilty for not composting.
“—don’t you think, Owen?” Ava’s voice cuts through my brooding.
“Sorry, what?” I blink, realizing I’ve missed whatever conversation was happening.
“I was just talking about the solar panels. This facility generates ninety percent of its own electricity. Isn’t that great?”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s…impressive.” I reach for my wine glass again. It’s already half empty.
“The whole concept is amazing,” Zara chimes in. “Everything here is either recycled, reclaimed, or sustainably sourced. Even the soap in the bathrooms is made by a local cooperative.”
“And did you notice the water system?” Bryce adds. “They collect rainwater for the gardens and have those low-flow fixtures in all the rooms.”
Naya nods. “The energy here feels so clean. I brought some of my crystals to recharge while we’re staying.”
“What about you, Owen?” Slade’s voice catches me off guard. It’s the first time he’s addressed me directly since we sat down. “Are you into all this sustainable living stuff?”
I meet his gaze across the table, those dark eyes steady and attentive. My brain fumbles for something intelligent to say.
“I recycle?” It comes out sounding like a question. “My building has those separated bins in the garage. And I have a reusable water bottle.”
Slade’s mouth quirks—not quite a smile, but a hint of one. “Small steps.”
“Speaking of work,” Ava interjects, glancing at Zara, “Owen’s a project manager at Vertex Tech. He’s a genius with organizing complex systems.”
I fight the urge to kick her under the table. Instead, I take another large swallow of wine.
“What kind of projects do you manage?” Zara asks.
“Software implementation, mostly. We build solutions, deliver them to customers, and I ensure everything stays on track, on budget, and that the clients get what they need.” It’s my standard explanation, sanitized of all the meetings, spreadsheets, and late-night troubleshooting calls that make up the reality.
“So you’re good at planning,” Zara says, giving me a flirty look. “I like a man who can plan.”
I offer a weak smile in return. “It’s just problem-solving. Breaking big issues into manageable parts.”
