Before I could answer, the back door banged open.
“Tally, you ready for—”
Charlie stopped mid-sentence.
His eyes landed on Nick, then flicked to me. I saw the moment he put it together—the tension in the air, my white-knuckled grip on the table, the stranger sitting across from me.
“Everything okay?” His voice was calm. Too calm.
Nick stood, extending a hand. “You must be the brother. I’m Nick.”
“Charlie,” he said flatly, ignoring the hand. “Not the brother.”
The silence went sharp.
Charlie crossed the room and stood behind my chair—not touching me, but close enough that I could feel the weight of him. Solid. Steady.
Nick’s eyes darted between us, and I watched understanding dawn. “Oh. So you’re—”
“A friend,” Charlie supplied.
Nick let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Friend. I used to be one of those to her, too.” He turned back to me. “This is why you didn’t call. You’ve already moved on.”
“No, I did call. You just gave me the wrong number, as I said.” I snapped. “And anyway its not like—“
“Looks pretty clear from where I’m standing.”
“You don’t get to do this,” I said, voice shaking. “You don’t get to show up after months and act like I owe you an explanation for my life.”
Nick’s jaw tightened. “I came here to make sure you were okay.”
I slammed my palm on the table between us. “I am okay.”
“Are you?” He gestured around the shop. “Because this doesn’t look okay. This looks like you’re hiding in the middle ofnowhere, pretending everything’s fine when you’re about to have a baby alone.”
“She’s not alone,” Charlie said quietly.
Nick’s eyes snapped to him. “And who are you, exactly? The rebound? The backup plan?”
“Watch it,” Charlie warned.
“I’m just trying to understand how my—” Nick stopped himself. “How the mother of my kid ended up shacking up with some guy in Georgia.”
“I’m not shacking up with anyone,” I said, standing. “And even if I was, it’s none of your business.”
“It is if you’re pregnant with my child.”
“A child you didn’t want,” I shot back. “And don’t even pretend you do because if you didn’t want me, then you don’t want, or deserve, this.”
He flinched. “That’s not fair.”
“None of this is fair!” My voice cracked. “You don’t get to waltz in here and play concerned father after you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me.”
“I’m here now,” he said, quieter. “Doesn’t that count for something?”
I looked at him—really looked at him. At the man I thought I knew, who turned out to be yet another person who couldn’t stay when things got hard.
“No,” I said finally. “It doesn’t.”
