“Um, just letting you know I left early today.”
“Oh, ok. How was the contract signing?”
“It was fine,” I say. My voice sounds rougher than usual.
There’s a pause. I can picture him on the other end, eyebrows up, reading between every line.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Just a long day.”
“I’m about to head out. Blair’s making lasagna.” Histone is casual, but there is a thread of concern under it he doesn’t even try to hide. “Why don’t you come over and eat with us? We have plenty, and you can fill me in on your day.”
I look at the front door of my house and consider the quiet waiting for me inside. There is a part of me that wants to go in, shut the door, and sit on the floor until all of this sorts itself out in my head. But I know that’s not how my brain works.
“Yeah,” I say. “Okay. I’ll head over.”
“Great. See you soon.”
An hour later, I am standing on Wyatt and Blair’s front porch. The house is lit up from the inside, warm and bright. Before I can knock, the door swings open and Blair stands there with Ruby hitched on her hip like it is the easiest thing in the world.
“Jake.” She smiles and steps back to let me in. “Perfect timing. Dinner is almost ready, come on in.”
Their place has always felt like a home, but tonight it hits different. The air is warm and smells like tomatoes and garlic. There is baby gear in every direction, but none of it feels like clutter. My eyes catch on the swing, then shift to the row of bottles lined up to dry next to the sink, and over to the little suction bowl stuck to the highchair tray.
This might be my life soon. Some version of it, at least.
Wyatt greets me with a dish towel over his shoulder and a wooden spoon in his hand, like he has fully leaned into the domestic life. “Hey man,” he says. “Lasagna is almost perfect. Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving.” I realize I haven’t eaten since this morning and my stomach chooses thatmoment to agree loudly.
They herd me toward the dining room, and I can’t help notice how they’ve made space for Ruby’s highchair at the table. When the food is ready, Blair brings it out and we all dig in. It’s delicious.
“So,” Wyatt says finally, wiping his mouth with his napkin and giving me his full attention. “What made it such a long day.”
I set my fork down, take a breath as my heart rate kicks up. “Ryan asked me to sit in on a new contract client today,” I say. “It was Natalie.”
Blair’s fork stops halfway to her mouth. “Natalie?” she repeats. “Our Natalie?”
“Yeah.”
“Natalie from yoga?” Wyatt says, brows up.
“Yep.”
“Wait,” Blair says. She puts her fork down completely. “What was she doing at a contract signing?”
“Turns out she’s a screenwriter,” I say. “Just sold a show to FlixPix.”
Wyatt blinks. “Natalie is a screenwriter?”
“Apparently a damn good one,” I say.
“I remember she mentioned something about being a writer, but she’s never talked about it,” Blair mutters, almost to herself.
I push the food around my plate, thinking about how little any of us actually know about Natalie. Blair's been friends with her ever since she rented her house to her when she moved in with Wyatt—and she had no idea she was a screenwriter.
She’s kept herself hidden from everyone. Not in adishonest way, more like she’s protecting something. Like she’s built walls so carefully that even the people who care about her can only see what she wants them to see.
