I nearly choke on my coffee. Callie shoots me an apologetic look.
“Mom,” she warns, “not the time.”
“I’m just saying,” Katherine continues smoothly, “life is short. When you find someone who understands your world...” She glances meaningfully between us.
Zoey chooses this moment to fling a piece of banana, which lands with impressive accuracy on my sleeve. As I reach to clean it off, her little arms stretch toward me.
“Nina!” she demands, one of the few words in her 18-month vocabulary.
“Sorry,” Callie says, trying to contain her squirming step-daughter. “She’s been practicing your name all week.”
I hesitate, then awkwardly accept the transfer of the toddler to my lap. Zoey immediately grabs for my necklace, her sticky fingers leaving evidence of breakfast behind.
“She likes you,” Wyatt says quietly, just for me to hear.
The tenderness in his tone makes me look up. The softness in his eyes, not just for Zoey, but for the picture we must make together, hits me like a physical blow. This is what he wants. What I can never give him.
But there’s something else too, buried beneath the tenderness, something careful and measured that I can’t quite name. Wyatt has always been still waters, the kind of man who processes everything three layers deep before letting a single ripple reach the surface. Chris wears his damage like a neon sign; Wyatt buries his in bedrock. Right now, I’d give anything to crack him open and understand why he left that room, because Chris I can explain. Wyatt, I can’t.
Zoey squirms against me, and I feel the familiar tightness in my chest. Wyatt notices my discomfort and smoothly lifts her from my lap.
“Come here, munchkin,” he says, settling her against his chest where she immediately starts playing with the collar of his shirt. The ease with which he handles her only twists the knife deeper.
“You’re so good with her,” Katherine observes, and I don’t miss the calculation in her eyes. “You’d make a wonderful father, Wyatt.”
“Mom!” Callie interjects more forcefully. “Seriously?”
“What? It’s true,” Katherine says, unapologetic. “And speaking of wonderful additions to the family, when can we expect a sibling for this little one?”
Mason laughs. “Maybe give us a chance to enjoy the first one for a bit longer?”
“Though not too much longer,” Callie adds with a smile that makes Mason’s eyes soften. “We’re thinking maybe next year.”
The conversation continues around me, but I’m suddenly underwater, sounds muffled by the roaring in my ears. Children. Families. The future stretching out in neat little packages of expectations I’ve never been able to meet.
“Excuse me,” I manage, rising abruptly. “Just need to... bathroom.”
I’m halfway across the restaurant when Callie catches up to me, concern written all over her face.
“Hey,” she says, pulling me into a quiet corner. “I’m sorry about my mother. She’s in full family-dynasty mode this weekend. Reconciling with Dad probably didn’t help.”
“It’s fine,” I lie. “Just a little overwhelming.”
Callie studies me with the focus of someone who’s known me since we were seven. “Something happened, didn’t it? With Wyatt?”
I hesitate, the truth burning in my throat. Any other day, I’d tell her everything. But this is Callie’s morning—her last few hours before the honeymoon—and I refuse to make it about my mess.
“It’s complicated,” I say finally.
“It always is with you,” she sighs, then surprises me by adding, “You know, Mason mentioned something that might interest you. A position in LA. Something consultant-related.”
“Really? When in the world did he have time for work in the middle of getting married?”
“He got a call yesterday before the ceremony. Some project the Agency needs psychologist for. He said he’d send details from the boat, but...” She shrugs. “Might be worth considering. You could be closer to us. And maybe some distance from Denver wouldn’t be the worst thing right now.”
The seed plants itself instantly. Distance. Space to think. A legitimate reason to step back from whatever tangled web I’ve woven myself into.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, meaning it.
