“I don’t make dinner at six,” I joke. “Sometimes it’s takeout at eight.”
“You can doanything, Jayne. But you can’t doeverything.” He leans forward. “Like I said earlier, I’d be lost without you. But I’d rather be lost than watch you break.”
“I’mnotbreaking,” I protest, though my voice isn’t as firm as I want it to be.
“Good.” He stands and finishes his coffee. “Because I need you whole.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
“Absolutely.” He pauses at the door. “And Jayne?”
“Yeah?”
“You can always reach out to me if you need help, support, or anything. I’m your person. Okay?”
I watch his back, puzzled at his words.
“He’s always had a crush on you,” Iris declares when I tell her about my conversation with Daniel.
Since Rhys said he’ll take Sundays, I finally keep a drinks and dinner appointment with Iris at The Bygone, the sleek, dimly lit rooftop restaurant perched above the Four Seasons in Harbor East.
From up here, Baltimore stretches out beneath us—copper rooftops, the shimmer of the Inner Harbor, the steady blink of the Domino Sugar sign cutting through the dark. The view is extravagant and a favorite of mine.
The first week after our “come to God” conversation, as I like to call it, passed without a single incident. No slammed doors, no clipped silences.
Rhys picked up Finn twice. He forgot the snacks the first time but remembered them the second. Mikaela’s gymnastics schedule didn’t get lost in the shuffle. We even had dinner as a family three nights in a row, and no one raised their voice or left the table early.
It’s nice.
I don’t trust it.
Still, I’m grateful. Rhys is trying, and I need to let him.
“Daniel does not have a crush on me,” I protest. “That’s an insane thing to say.”
Iris takes a slow sip of her martini. She looks as if she’s stepped straight out of a magazine—sharp bob, bold red lips, earrings large enough to have their own gravitational pull. Next to her, I usually blend into the background, all neutrals and practicality. But tonight, I’ve made an effort with my appearance.
I’m in a navy DVF wrap dress, knee-high boots, and just enough makeup to prove I remember how to put it on. Not Iris’s trademark red lip, but I managed a decent smoky eye. All in all, I don’t look like someone’s tired mom sneaking out after bedtime.
“I think you’re the MILF of his fantasies.”
I arch a brow, amused. “I have never thought of myself as a MILF.”
“If you let yourself, babe, you could even be a cougar.”
I laugh at that and swirl the pinot in my glass. “Thank you for asking me to talk to Rhys. It worked.I think.”
“Another one for me, please.” She gestures for the bartender. “Andif I’m gonna be drinking like this, we should get something to eat.”
“We should,” I agree.
We decide to share a variety of appetizers, as neitherof us feels like a full meal, and order the crab dip, which is legendary, the foie gras mousse, as well as the gnocchi.
“If we’re still hungry, we can order more,” she tells the bartender as she hands the menu back to him.
I tell her how my conversation with Rhys went and that things seem to be moving in the right direction.
“He’s trying.”
