Later, in the safety of my kitchen, I listen to Caspian talking about his first date with Antonio. He has that dazed, glowing look of someone who’s just survived a religious experience.
Noah’s at the table, filling in the last page of his dinosaur coloring book.
“So,” I say. “Tell me everything. But keep it G-rated.” I nod at Noah, who’s humming and coloring like he’s oblivious. But I know better. The kid has sonar for inappropriate words.
“He said it wasn’t a total waste of his time,” Caspian says proudly, like he just aced dating 101.
“I can hear the wedding bells already.”
He ignores me, eyes dreamy. “Before I left, he just stood there, knowing he was holding my fate in his hands.” His voice goes soft, reverent.
“Very dramatic,” I mutter.
“...and then he offered to make me a sandwich.”
I blink. “A sandwich?”
“Yes. For our second date,” Caspian explains, completely smitten. “He’s amazing,” he adds.
“And I saved the best for last — hekissedme. Quick, but real. On my mouth.” He points at his lips like they deserve to be bronzed. “Like it wasn’t a big deal… like my heart wasn’t skipping so many beats it was getting dangerous.”
I grin for him, but something sharp twists in my chest. A kiss like that. Simple. Fearless. Will I ever have that again with Xaden?
Then Caspian says, almost in awe: “Antonio di Scotti is so beautiful it hurts.”
“I like seeing you like this,” I tell him, and I really mean it. “Happy. Hopeful.”
Caspian lifts his mug in a toast. “Here’s hoping I don’t mess it up.”
Noah looks up. “Can I have a sandwich, Uncle Caspian?”Caspian ruffles his hair. “You can have as many as you want. The T-Rex sandwich special.”
Noah beams. For him, love is that easy — ask, and it arrives. If only the rest of life worked the same way.
Caspian glances at me, warm and reassuring. “I’m in no hurry. Take your time,” he says. He knows I’m going to see Dad.
“Thanks,” I murmur, kissing the top of Noah’s head. My stomach knots anyway.
I decide to walk, just to stretch the dread into something bearable.
I’m really not looking forward to this.
XADEN
Andrew’s garage looks like the five-star version of Frankie’s, and roughly a ten-star version of Dad’s garage at home.
Looking like it was built for a rich man’s play-pretend, it doesn’t even have that real garage smell of grease and gasoline. No grit underfoot, no oil stains. Just polished floors, expensive Scotch on the shelf, and the self-betrayal of someone who wants to believe he can still fix things.
I stand at the doorway, quiet, letting the bitter thoughts wash over me when I look at Andrew Hudson. I compare him to my stubborn, kind-hearted dad. He had the broad, muscular build of someone who worked his whole life, whereas Cole’s dad probably got his trim figure from a gym membership and whatever healthy diet Elaine keeps them both on.
But I’m not here to blame the man for getting fit on the treadmill. “Got a minute?” I ask, startling him on purpose. He drops the wrench with a clatter.
When he sees me, his whole body tenses. “Xaden,” he says, guarded. “Everything alright?”
“Depends on the thing.”
He swallows and wipes his hands on a spotless cloth, eyes weighing options. “If this is about Cole—”
“It isn’t,” I cut in. “Not directly.”
