Banana breath. She’s been talking about it all morning. “‘Nana, Ezzie nana yummy,” she declares proudly for the third time. Eighteen months. She amazes me every moment.
Laney hops out, all sunglasses and caffeine and mom-energy, and opens the back door to reveal an empty car seat.
“I brought your ride,” she says, grinning, “and your emotional support toddler’s throne.”
I laugh—just barely.
Laney grabs Esme’s overnight bag from my shoulder and tosses it in the trunk while I buckle Esme into the car seat.
“My bag’s just inside the door.” I tell her.
Esme kicks happily and sings something to the tune ofTwinkle Twinklebut with “Lillel star” as the primary lyrics.
I check the straps twice.
Laney tosses my bag in, shuts the trunk, and walks around to my side of the car, watching me linger there, hands against the edge of the open door. Staring at Esme.
“You good?” she asks softly.
I nod, but it’s a lie.
My hands won’t move. My chest feels tight. I look up at her, blinking fast.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
Laney’s face softens. “What’s most scary at the moment?” I look down at Esme, who’s happily spinning the activity toy attached to the car seat.
“Everything. How much I feel for him. What I have to tell him. What happens if I lose him—before we even really begin.”
She pulls me into a hug. “You’re not going to lose him. You’re just going to tell the truth.”
I nod again. Still unsure if I believe it. Still unsure if I’m ready.
But Laney’s already opening the passenger door, and I’m climbing in.
“Come on, Mama,” she says. “Let’s get you to your mystery money man.”
Then we’re off—Laney driving, Esme singing, and me spiraling.
When we pull up to the little airfield on the edge of town, there he is. Waiting. Wearing jeans and a navy crewneck with a white collar lining the neck, looking like he belongs on the cover of GQ.
Even from this distance, I can see the way he carries himself—like confidence wrapped in grace. Like he knows who he is and why he’s here.
Laney stares out the windshield. “Oh. My. God,” shebreathes. “Girl. You said handsome. You may have even said gorgeous. But damn…”
She looks at me, eyes wide. “I’d make any number of bad decisions to get that man’s hands on me.”
“Laney!” I swat her. “Good grief.”
“What? I’m married. Not blind.” She winks as I open the door.
In the backseat, Esme kicks her heels excitedly.
“LaLa house!” she squeals, bouncing in her car seat. “BeeBee! RoRo!”
Laney’s house, she means. Bria—the youngest. And Rolo Bear, the golden doodle pup. She’s excited for her adventure, too.
“You’re going to have so much fun,” I say, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Pizza night, bubbles, and chasing Rolo? I’m a little jealous.”
