“Thank you,” he says.
I blink.“For eating eggs?”
“For… this.”His gaze flicks to the V of my robe and then back to my face.There’s nothing suggestive in it.Just real.“For letting me in.I know that’s not easy for you.”
Instinct says deny.
Joke.
Deflect.
An old muscle twitches, ready to lift the shield, but I make a choice not to.
“It’s not,” I admit, and then I add context.“I grew up bracing for everything to change.To be let down.To be hurt.I learned to keep things tidy inside.You can’t be disappointed by what you never counted on.”
His expression doesn’t shift into pity but rather becomes thoughtful.“I know what you mean.I had to lower my expectations with my parents.”
“Why’s that?”
“Sometimes they were around,” he says slowly, “but it was all performative.More often than not, my dad would promise to come to a game and then something more important would come up.Or my mom would promise to take me shopping for items as basic as new underwear, but then something more important would come up.Eventually, I quit asking.I did the same thing you did and built walls.I made sure that my expectations were so low, they couldn’t fail me.But what that really created was a person who didn’t need anyone.If I didn’t need them, they couldn’t fail me.Gray told me before he died that you and I are more alike than I could imagine, and now I understand it.”
We look at each other across the table.A quiet and significant calm settles in the space between us, like a bridge slowly lowering.
“I don’t want to do that with her,” he says, tipping his head toward Grayce.His voice is steady, the vow simple.“Or with you.”
My breathing goes shallow.“I don’t either.”
His mouth edges toward a grin and then doesn’t.He clears his throat, eyes warm.“We’re a team, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, and the word lands like a promise.“Teammates.”
“Teammates with a very cute captain.”He lifts Grayce’s tiny fist and taps it against his nose.“Ow.Ruthless.”
I laugh, and my chest loosens so completely, it’s almost dizzying.I realize I’ve been waiting, not for him to prove himself, but to see whether I could stop holding everything with a clenched fist.
I’m thinking I can.
Atlas shifts, eyes sliding over my face like he’s memorizing details.“You look—” He stops, and a surprise dimple appears.“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look really good in pajamas.”
Heat rockets up my neck.“That is absolutely the wrong way to say that.”
“Probably,” he agrees, unrepentant.“But it’s true.”
I glance down at my robe like it’s borrowed lingerie.“This is a threadbare robe from Target.”
“Target should use you in the commercial,” he says, easy and sincere.“But okay, I’ll shut up now before I get put in the penalty box.”
“Is that where you sit when you say objectifying nonsense?”
“That’s where I sit and think about what I’ve done.”His grin is boyish, and my insides go warm and fluttery in a way that feels both alarming and welcome.
We clear the dishes together—him rinsing, me loading—moving around each other without colliding, but close enough our hands brush sometimes.Every tiny touch is a spark that we both feel and both pretend not to.
After, he props Grayce on his hip and leans against the counter.“Practice is light tomorrow,” he says.“No travel for a while.Want to… I don’t know… do something today?All three of us?”
My mouth opens before doubt can squeeze it shut.“Like what?”
“Walk by the river,” he suggests.“There’s a path with a little overlook.We can take the stroller, stop for coffee on the way.Or we could get wild and go grocery shopping.I hear couples do that.”
