It’s about how much I like the community of his neighborhood.
It’s like being on the ship, always surrounded by people that you know and help out as you can, but with a little morespace between fancier, bigger cabins.
Mom sighs. “We’ll talk more at lunch.”
At her suggestion, we head to Noble V, a wine bar downtown.
I can’t have the wine, but they have a non-alcoholic ginger cocktail that sounds delicious.
And the best roasted potatoes in all of downtown.
I shouldn’t have lunch.
I’m meeting Holt in two hours to have fried fish and French fries.
But my appetite is coming back, and honestly, I think I could eat two meals back-to-back today.
Making up for all of the food I didn’t have while I was morning sick.
Or possibly I worked up an appetite last night.
And this morning while thanking Holt for ordering groceries.
We park in a nearby garage and walk the block to the restaurant while Niki tells us about some lofts she’s shown in this area.
Not practical long-term with a baby, but it could be a short-term solution.
If I want to have space from Holt while we figure out if this is real or not.
Except I don’t want space.
That’s what I’m thinking—that I don’t want space from Holt—when we step into Noble V. I’ve been here a few times before on various trips home between contracts, so the exposed brick walls and the slick classic wood bar and the metal dome lights over black tablecloths are all familiar.
Unfortunately, so is the blond head of the woman bouncing a newborn baby in front of us at the hostess stand.
I suck in an audible breath, and that little noise is enough to attract her attention, and she turns fully around to look back at us.
I drop my gaze while Abby Nora stares at me. My heart starts pounding.
“Ziggy. What a…surprise,” she says. “I didn’t know you were still here.”
I make myself square my shoulders and look back at her despite the sudden grief and anger and touch of fear raging in my veins, but Mom’s replying before I can.
“Oh, you didn’t know Ziggy moved home? We’re so lucky to get to see her every day.”
“Ship life got too hard, hmm?”
The door swooshes open behind us, and Abby Nora lifts her chin to whoever’s there. “They’re getting our table ready.”
“Fantastic. Thanks, babe.” Josh, her husband, steps around us to plant a kiss on her head.
And then Eli Harrison steps around her too.
Shit.
Shit.
“Mom—” I whisper, turning away.
