Thoughtful.
Generous.
Unfailingly kind.
Every text, every call, every little package has carried the same unspoken message:I see you. I’m thinking about you.
And it feels so good to be thought about.
But it’s also terrifying. Because what I’m feeling—this thing between us—it’s growing. And I haven’t told him the truth. Not the real truth.
Not about Esme.
For over two years, I’ve kept this secret from him, believing I was protecting us all from a truth that would wreck everything. Believing he had a family. Wouldn’t wanther. Or me. That I was just a mistake he’d need to somehow make go away.
But now?
I know I was so wrong.
He deserves to know. And not just because it’s right, but becausehe’sright. In ways I didn’t dare believe a man could be.
Now I’m on my way to Boston. A real date. One that requires an overnight bag. One that he’s planned “with a few special surprises”.
The adult side of me is giddy. Giddy like I’m seventeen. Giddy like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life and didn’t know it.
But the mom side of me?
Guilt.
Just so much guilt.
Leaving Esme for two nights—again.
Even though Laney assures me she’ll have a blast. That she’s fine. That she’s loved. Still, my chest aches every time I think of her bedtime curls and her sticky kisses and the way she hums when she’s falling asleep.
I almost cancel. Three separate times.
Twice for fear. Once for guilt.
Packing has been... an ordeal. Spencer said business casual for Friday morning, something comfy for hanging out, and something else alittle elegant. “If we go somewhere special.”
A little elegant?As if I’m not already spiraling.
I havenoelegant things. Unless you count the black sheath dress I wore to my mom’s funeral three years ago, and I don’t.
Thank God for Amazon.
Seven little black dresses later—top price $49.99—and I finally findthe one.
It’s sleek but comfortable, knee-length with an open back, and—bless the designer—it has my favorite feature of all. It requires no bra. It hints without flaunting. Suggests without screaming. It’s not something I ever thought I’d wear. But I want to feel beautiful for him, and it lets me do just that.
Even though I’mstillterrified.
I should tell him the truth right away. Maybe even on the flight. It’s the right thing to do. Don’t put it off. Don’t take advantage of his kindness. Don’t fall deeper. Don’t let him fall deeper, not until he knows.
Laney pulls into my driveway at 7:15 a.m. sharp, coffee in hand.
I open the front door with Esme perched on my hip, her little arms wrapped around my neck and her breath warm against my skin.
