My breath catches.
I stare at him for a beat too long, then nod once.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He reaches for the plate and nudges it an inch closer to me.
“Two more bites,” he says.
It should annoy me.
It doesn’t.
I take the bites.
And all the while, my pocket burns like a secret that’s about to become a life.
Because for a moment there, it felt like he was talking about me not having to do something else alone.
Chapter Forty Six
Nico
By the time we get back to my house, the sun is already low and the day is sitting on Erica’s shoulders like a weight.
Her father is better.
Not safe. Not out of the woods. But better.
They’re still monitoring him. Still watching labs, blood pressure, all of it. But he continued to respond well again today. Theattending said the same phrase twice—moving in the right direction—and Erica held onto it like a lifeline.
She still hasn’t said anything about the pregnancy.
And she’s been trying all day.
I can see it in the way her mouth opens and closes on nothing. In the way she starts a sentence, then diverts into something about her dad’s nurse or the next update, or whether she should call the ICU again in an hour or two.
I don’t push.
Not at the hospital, anyway.
I’m not dragging that conversation into a waiting room with bad coffee and worse news hovering in the air.
But now we’re home, and she’s upstairs showering, and I’m downstairs setting the table like this is just a normal Tuesday.
Like my hands aren’t steady because I finally have something to do with all this energy.
I plate the last of the food and set it on the table out in the garden, light the candles, adjust the cutlery by a fraction, then step back and look at the spread.
Perfect.
She’s going to love it.
I smile wickedly.
I hear her on the stairs before I see her.
Not the quick, determined footsteps she uses when she’s trying to outrun her own thoughts.
