I shake my head. “You made it easy.”
She laughs quietly. “You have no idea how I wondered how we would explain all of this to her. And then you just—” She swallows, her voice going small. “You just made it feel okay.”
I step a little closer, close enough to see the way her pulse flutters at the base of her throat. “Itisokay,” I say. “You’re doing everything right, Katie.”
She looks up at me and her dark eyes shine and I swear my heart loses all control. Her eyes seem to search mine, and I can tell she’s conflicted. Her pause isn’t longer than a few seconds, but it feels like it stretches on for an eternity.
Finally, her eyes set on mine, focused as she speaks, “Let’s do it.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Katie, I never thought I would say this, but I’m not really in the mood to—”
Her eyes go wide, “Oh, no, not that!” She takes a deep breath. “Let’s get married.”
“What?”
“You’re right, it could work…a marriage. So, let’s get married.”
I take a step back. “But we just told Evie we were dating…”
She closes the distance I tried to put in between us. “If tonight was any indicator, I think she would be okay with you beingaround. We could go to the courthouse, the town would eat it up. Phase two, right?”
I can’t fight my hand moving to her hip. “You’re serious.”
She nods. “Yeah, I am.”
“Okay.”
Her eyes narrow. “Really?”
“Yeah, I’ll marry you.”
Chapter twenty-three
Kate
I stand at the stove, sipping coffee and watching steam curl upward, trying to gather myself into something resembling a person who slept. If someone asked, I’d say it’s an ordinary morning—cereal bowls waiting, library books stacked by the door, Evie snoring down the hall.
Except nothing feels ordinary. Not after last night.
If the fact that I agreed to marry Cam didn’t short-circuit my brain, the way he tucked my daughter into bed would cause it to implode like a dying star.
I’ve never let a man this close to us. Not in routines, not in bedtime rituals, not in the space where motherhood andvulnerability blur. And seeing it is overwhelming. Terrifying. Beautiful. It makes me feel everything I said I’d never risk feeling again.
In those early years, when Evie was tiny and I was lonelier than I’d admit to anyone, I used to picture this exact scene—a man who shows up, who doesn’t run from responsibility, who cares about her simply because she exists and deserves to be adored. I used to cry at night hoping God might have that planned for us.
And now I get to see it play out in real time knowing it could be a complete facade. And that makes me want to cry all over again.
If this ends, it could break me.
But right now, in this sliver of morning, I let myself lean into it. Let myself feel the possibility instead of the fear. Let myself want him, even if wanting it will hurt later.
A knock rattles the door. Mom. Of course. The one morning I’m spiraling after a kiss.
I pull the door open to find her holding a tote bag in one hand and a Tupperware container in the other. Her hair is wind-tousled, her lipstick perfect, like she’s been awake for hours.
“Morning, honey,” she says, stepping inside before I even invite her.
“Morning,” I answer, though it comes out more like a sigh. “You really didn’t have to bring food.”
