I stand and straighten my dress. “I don’t think Kade will see it like that.”
The restaurant smells like garlic and warm bread and something slow-cooked. It’s the kind of place meant for couples who touch knees under the table and steal bites from each other’s plates.
Instead, I stand between two men, pretending not to notice the space where my life split in half.
Kade pulls my chair out before I can do it myself. An old habit. I freeze for half a second then sit anyway, murmuring a thank you I’m not sure he deserves. Pete waits until I’m settled before taking the seat opposite us, polite to the point of painful.
“This place is nice,” Kade says, glancing around.
“Local favourite,” Pete replies easily.
I study the menu even though I already know what I want. It gives my hands something to do and gives my eyes somewhere safe to land.
“So,” Pete says, smiling at me, “Mrs. Wainwright said the shop was busy today.”
“It was.” I nod. “Farm show weekend.”
Kade’s gaze flicks to my stomach, subtle but unmistakable. I instinctively cover it with my napkin.
“You feeling okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
Pete jumps in smoothly. “She’s been good. Tired sometimes, but,” He smiles at me, “you’re handling it better than you think.”
My chest tightens. I hadn’t asked him to say that, but I’m grateful anyway.
Kade nods slowly, his jaw clenched tight. “That’s good.”
The waiter comes, mercifully breaking the tension. Drinks and food are ordered, and conversation stumbles forward in awkward steps. Pete talks about work, about the village, about how everyone knows everyone’s business.
Kade listens more than he speaks, eyes flicking between us, like he’s assessing every word.
“You staying long?” Pete asks him, casually.
“I booked a couple nights,” he says with a shrug.
“And after that?” Pete presses, still polite, still calm.
Kade’s eyes finally meet mine. “That depends.”
On me. On us.
The food arrives, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The quicker we eat, the quicker this will be over.
I take a bite of pasta I can barely taste. My stomach rolls, but I force myself to chew, swallow, be normal.
Pete notices. He was around when I was still getting sickness before. “You want to switch plates?” he offers quietly.
“I’m okay,” I lie.
Kade’s fingers curl around his fork. “You need to eat, Eden.”
The concern in his voice is real, but it irritates me.
“I am eating,” I snap before I can stop myself. The table goes silent, and I immediately soften. “Sorry. Hormones.”
Pete smiles gently, almost apologetically, towards Kade. “They’re brutal.”
