It’s raining.
Of course it is.
A perfect match for my mood.
Esme toddles around the living room, clutching a book in one hand and a juice cup in the other. When the doorbell rings, she squeals with delight and claps both hands.
She loves the doorbell. Loves the idea of visitors. Ofsurprises.
I scoop her up and carry her with me, expecting a late UPS drop or maybe Laney with leftovers.
But when I open the door, it’s not a package. Not Laney.
It’s Spencer.
Right here. Right now. On my porch in the pouring rain.
“Hi,” he says, his hair damp, his voice warm and just a little uncertain.
“Hi,” Esme says.
“Hi,” I whisper, tears already spilling.
He offers a crooked, hopeful smile. “I thought I’d swing by,” he says, “see if maybe you had time to teach me a bit aboutreallife.Yourreal life.”
He glances past me, and I cringe to think of the clutter and mess in his view.
“What about Sedona?”
“Sedona can wait,” he grins. “I’ve cleared the whole weekend.”
“Hi!” Esme chirps again, bright as ever.
“Well,hito you, too,” he says, lighting up. Then to me, “She’s got your eyes.”
“She does,” I laugh through tears.
He reaches for her little hand and shakes it gently. “Esme, I’m Spencer. Good to finally meet you.”
“Yes,” she responds, and we both laugh.
And just like that, she wiggles down out of my arms and straight toward the living room, as if this is totally normal. As if Spencer Devereaux shows up at our door every Friday night.
The second I set her down, he pulls me into his arms. All of me, held tightly against all of him. No space between us.
“I couldn’t stay away,” he murmurs into my hair.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I was such a bitch. I was just…”
He gently presses a hand to my cheek. “Scared,” he says. “You were scared.”
I nod, blinking. “Yeah.”
“You have every reason,” he adds with a soft, self-deprecating smile. But of course, he has no idea how really scared I am.
Because now I know, without a doubt, tonight he will learn the truth about Esme.
THIRTY-TWO
