“I’m not asking for promises.”
She meets my gaze again. “Good, because right now, all I can offer is boundaries.”
I nod slowly. “Then I’ll respect them.”
She studies my face, searching for cracks, for anger, for the old me. When she doesn’t find it, something in her expression softens.
“Finish your dessert,” I say gently. “Please.” She hesitates then takes another bite. “Thank you.”
EDEN
Kade insists on settling the bill, and then we walk the short distance back to my place in silence. Not the comfortable kind, but the kind that presses in on your chest and makes you hyperaware of every step, every breath.
We stop outside the gate.
The streetlight casts his face in shadow, and when I finally look up at him, I see it—the hesitation, the pull. He’s thinking about kissing me. I know it. My stomach flips, my heart stutters.
I step back immediately, clearing my throat and glancing towards the house like it might save me.
“I should get inside,” I say. “Martha’s probably waiting up.”
He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets like he doesn’t trust them. “Yeah. Right.” Then, quieter, “Thanks for agreeing to have dinner with me.”
I force a smile.
“Would it be okay if I came to the antenatal class tomorrow?” he asks. There’s no edge to it, no demand. Just hope.
I bite my lower lip, choosing my words like they might detonate if I’m careless. Eventually, I sigh. “It’s not a good idea.”
The disappointment is instant, sharp. It hits him like a physical blow, and suddenly, I feel like the villain in our story.
“I’m sorry,” I rush on. “It’s just . . . I’ve already thought about the birth. I’ve made a plan. The classes won’t really benefit you, and you won’t even be around long enough to finish them anyway.” The words tumble out, defensive and clumsy, and I hate how thin they sound. I fold my arms and clamp my mouth shut. “Sorry,” I add again, weaker this time.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “You said that part.” He takes a step back. “Goodnight, Eden.” Then, he turns and heads towards his bike.
I stand there, my heart pounding wildly, watching him walk away. Guilt claws at my chest, sharp and relentless. And just as I turn towards the door, I catch sight of Martha through the window, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes sharp.
Fantastic.
She dives onto the couch the second I close the door.
“I saw you,” I say, rolling my eyes as I slip out of my coat.
“It looked intense,” she replies. “And where was Pete?”
I shrug. “He bailed before dessert. I don’t blame him. The whole thing was a bad idea.”
I drop into the chair and groan, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“Tell me everything.”
“It was typical Kade,” I say slowly, “but also not him at all.”
She frowns. “That makes no sense.”
“Exactly,” I mutter. “He’s trying, I can see that, but it’s not enough. I can’t just forgive him and move forward like none of it happened.”
Her eyes narrow as she leans in. “Does he want you back?”
