“These are my sons, Chase and Carter.”
“You’ve got your hands full with three kids,” I said, smiling.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Actually, four. My oldest is in high school.”
“Wow.” I was genuinely surprised. “You don’t look like someone who is the father of a teenager.”
He laughed yet again, the sound warm and easy, then scooping up Ivy and placing her on his shoulders. His sons fell in step beside him as he started toward the gate.“Nice to meet you, Natalie Bradford,” he called back, glancing over his shoulder. “You too, Will Parker,” I replied with a smile.
I led my kids back to the car; a white Range Rover my husband insisted we buy when we moved here. He said it fit the Orange County lifestyle, though I mostly agreed to it because it had enough space for two booster seats, soccer bags, dance bags, and my life.
As I buckled James in and started the engine, a strange restlessness came over me. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, but it was new.
Something about Will, his easy smile, the way his gaze had lingered on mine, stayed with me as I drove home.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted as subtly as the breeze that drifted through the open window. It didn’t make sense.
But I couldn’t ignore it.
CHAPTER 2
THE ART OF BELONGING
NATALIE
The following Monday, I was rushing. Again. I lost track of time at Target, wandering aimlessly through aisles of things I didn’t need—a new set of storage bins, throw pillows, candles that smelled nice but their shade probably wouldn’t match anything in my house. I wasn’t even sure why I was shopping. Lately, I kept feeling as if I had too much time on my hands, too much space to fill.
Jason had a work dinner in LA last night, flew straight to New York, and wouldn’t be back until the end of the week. It was becoming his routine—coast to coast without looking back. He checked in occasionally, usually just to ask how the kids were, but some nights it was radio silence. I told myself it didn’t bother me. We’d never been the kind of couple who stayed up late talking on the phone. Still, the quiet felt heavier than it used to.
When I finally glanced at my phone and saw the time, my stomach dropped. I sprinted to checkout, choosing the shortestline, shifting anxiously as the cashier took her sweet time scanning each item.
By the time I pulled into the school parking lot, the bell was seconds from ringing. I was lucky to grab a spot in the pickup mayhem. Moms, nannies and au pairs were already lined up at the gate, perfectly put together in their ALO leggings and oversized sunglasses, chatting easily with one another. Meanwhile, I was still juggling my coffee and keys, trying not to look as frazzled as I felt.
As I hurried toward the gate, I passed a cluster of gossiping mothers. One was complaining loudly about the PTA bake sale and how someone dared to bring store-bought cupcakes. Another was retelling a story about a disastrous dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant, complete with spilled wine.
And that’s when I saw Will, standing slightly apart from the fray, his hands in his pockets, relaxed in a way that made him look, almost, out of place.
He wasn’t alone today.
A blonde woman stood next to him; tall and striking. She had the same natural ease as he did, the same jawline, so much so that they looked related. Still, I had to assume she was his wife.
Will said something to her, and as if on cue, they both looked my way. I froze for a moment, feeling oddly self-conscious. I quickly offered a polite smile.
Ivy and her brothers came bounding through the gate. Ivy’s face lit up as soon as she saw the blonde woman, and she ran straight toward her.
“Aunt Sarah!” she yelled, throwing her arms around her.
Oh. So, not his wife.Relief hit me before I even realized I’d been holding my breath.
Will walked up to me. “Hello,” he said warmly, with his dimples carved deep in his cheeks.
Sarah and the kids followed, Ivy holding up a self-portrait she’d drawn, eager to show it to everyone.
“Look! It’s me!” Ivy said, grinning.
Just then, Bebe and James came running out of the gate. James launched himself into my arms, his wavy hair flopping into his eyes as he giggled. Bebe, more composed but just as proud, held up her own self-portrait for me to see.
“Mom! Look at mine!” Bebe said, holding her picture next to Ivy’s.
