“Oh.” I bite my lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
He sighs. “I pried first. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right.” We’ve slowed to a stop, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder, our gazes fixed on the house.
A sudden wind picks up and wipes away the heavy, claustrophobic mugginess. As the breeze curls around us, I let out a steadying breath and glance over at him. “Maybe this is selfish,” I say, “because I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, but… it’s kind of nice to find someone else who’s as not-okay as me.”
His eyes meet mine. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”
“Selfish?” I ask. “Or nice?”
The breath he huffs out sounds like it wants to be a laugh but can’t quite muster the will. “Nice,” he tells me.
Our gazes hold for a moment, silence settling between us. Then, he says quietly, “I’m Alex, by the way. Alex Bruscato.”
My own not-quite-smile tugs at my mouth. I wish it didn’t make it so obvious, how miserable I am. But it still feels better than plastering on a lie. “Thea Meyer.”
His eyes narrow a little, scouring my face. “You… seem familiar.”
“So do you,” I tell him.
An almost wariness comes over his expression, like he’sbracing himself, waiting for me to say more. I have nothing else to say though, and after a beat of awkward silence, he seems to relax a little. “You from around here?” he asks.
“No, I just moved here three years ago. I grew up in St. Louis,” I tell him, then add, “well, a St. Louis suburb. Webster Groves.”
“Hmm.” He frowns as he lifts his ball cap from his head and scrapes back dark loose curls of hair.
That’s when I recognize him. “Mia’s dad!”
The frown deepens as he tugs his hat back on, this time with the brim in front. “How do you know that?”
Slowly, I lift my hands, pointers up, then start to sing, “I am here and you are here—”
“Wait.” Alex’s eyes widen. “StoryTime at The Bookshop?”
I drop my hands. “Yep.”
He’s staring at me, brow furrowed.
“I know. I don’t look like the perky, smiley bookseller you’ve brought your kid to for StoryTime. But I promise it’s me.”
He clears his throat, looking guilty. “I didn’t say that.”
“This,” I tell him, drawing a circle with my finger around his face, “very much did.”
“Listen,” he says, “you didn’t recognize me at first, either. It’s not like I look too ‘perky’ myself.”
The sound of the front door banging open makes both of us glance over our shoulders.
“Daddy!” Mia yells from the porch, hopping up and down. She’s in rainbow-striped pajamas, and her dark, wavy hair is poking out in every direction. “Come hug me, Daddy!” she yells. She waves her arms, still hopping. “Hurry up!”
“Hi, Sunshine,” he tells her. “I’m coming.”
Argos barrels out onto the porch behind Mia in a frenzy of manic tail wags and loud whines.
“Easy, pup,” I tell him. “I’m coming.”
Alex and I briskly walk the flat stretch of concrete toward the last five steps leading up to the porch. And then we both come to a stop when our exes make their entrance.
