When I opened my eyes, he wasn’t in the doorway anymore, but the room still felt full of him—his warmth, his steadiness, his hope.
And the terrible fear that loving him might break us both.
I clicked the door shut, soft as a breath, and the silence that followed felt like something sacred and ruined all at once. I stood there for a second, motionless, as if stillness might somehow rewind time, might take back the words I couldn’t unsay. Then, my legs gave out.
I sank to the floor, arms wrapped around myself, the wooden floor cold against my skin as sobs cracked free from my chest. Remy nudged against my knee, and Linguini curled close at my hip, but nothing could ease the ache clawing its way through me. I had never felt so hollow and so full of love at the same time. And it hurt. God, it hurt. Because I knew I hadn’t walked away from Nate to protect myself.
I’d done it to protect him and his daughter. And it still felt like breaking both our hearts.
Chapter 29
Nate
Morning came anyway.
I made breakfast on autopilot—toast popping up a little too dark, eggs scrambled softer than usual, fruit cut into uneven pieces because I kept spacing out. Tilly sat at the counter in her pajamas, legs swinging, conducting a stuffed-animal meeting with very serious authority.
“Okay,” she announced to the reindeer and the dog, who was very much asleep on the rug, “today is a school day, so no nonsense.”
Lois snorted in her sleep.
“That means you,” Tilly told her sternly.
I huffed a quiet laugh despite myself and slid a plate in front of her. “Eat before the meeting gets out of hand.”
She eyed the eggs suspiciously. “These are normal eggs.”
“Define normal.”
“They’re weren’t loud,” she said. “Are you sad?”
“No,” I protested mildly. “Well, maybe a little bit. I’ll be fine.”
She patted my hand. “It’s okay.”
I closed my eyes for a second, smiling. “Thank you for your patience with me.”
She took a bite, nodded approval, then leaned closer, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“You’re thinking loud, though.”
I squinted. I’d almost forgotten how observant she was. “Am I?”
“Uh-huh.” She pointed her fork at my forehead. “Your face gets all scrunchy. Like this.” She demonstrated, crossing her eyes and scrunching her nose.
I laughed then, real and surprised. “That’s not what I look like.”
“That’sexactlywhat you look like.”
“Noted.”
She studied me for another beat, then slid her plate closer to mine. “You can have my strawberries,” she said solemnly. “They help with sad thoughts.”
My throat tightened. “How do you know I have sad thoughts?”
She shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Sometimes people do. It’s not a big deal. They go away.”
