“I know,” he says. “I don’t want to be forty-five raising a newborn, though.”
“I get that,” I say. “Even at thirty-two, I feel exhausted sometimes. Not the same energy I had when Bella was little.”
“What about you?” he asks. “Want more kids?”
I laugh too hard—ice cream practically launches from my mouth. “Oh my God. Sorry.” He hands me a napkin, to contain the ice cream disaster, but at his torn face, I sigh.
“I can’t,” I admit. “I had a hysterectomy when Vero was born, so no more biological kids, even if I wanted to. I’m not saying I don’t want to—adoption is always an option—but raising two kids alone is already a lot.”
“Natalie, you don’t have to?—”
“I know.” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “Oversharing seems to be the way this friendship is going.”
He places his hand on mine. Sharp electricity shoots up my arm. He must feel it too, because he pulls back like he grabbed a hot pan.
Great. So I’m not imagining it.
Maybe the loneliness of grieving made a nest in me, and now, everything feels too bright, too alive. But then why is he staring at his hand like it caught on fire too?
“I’m really sorry,” he says. “And…if you ever want to talk about all of it, I always want to listen.”
“Same here,” I say with a small, tired laugh. “If you ever want to share more about, well, anything.”
“I’m sure I will,” he adds. “I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut when I’m near you.”
A triumphant smile washes over my face. “I like that, considering oversharing is my middle name.”
We finish our ice cream—his, a monstrous three-scoop blue disaster with sprinkles and whipped cream that melted instantly in the Florida heat, mine, a single scoop. Because moms don’t have time for sticky hands or stomachaches, and I don’t have a giant sweet tooth.
“I didn’t know you had such a sweet tooth,” I tease.
He smirks. “Guilty.”
We start walking toward Central Park, the heart of downtown. Ducks honk from afar, as the usual bustling people surround the pond—typical summer night material.
“So, Holden. Tell me about you.”
“There’s not much to know about me.”
“Well, I already told you about my lack of a uterus, my dead husband, my two children, and my age…” I shrug when I catch him sheepishly glancing at me.
“I also told you about my dead mom and sister, plus my alcoholic father who came back from the dead.”
Touché.
“Yeah, but all of those are things thathappenedto you. I want to know about you.” I smile. “Tell me all your secrets.”
He sighs, waiting for the sign to turn to cross the street, always staying a tad behind me. I like that, even though he’s hovering over me, he doesn’t touch me, since every time he does, my body seems to overheat, and I don’t know how to stop it.
“Well, I’m Holden. I’m thirty-six.”
“Knew that.”
“You also know what I do for a living and that I like bubblegum ice cream.”
“I guess I do.”
“And that I live in Magnolia Springs.”
