“Great,” I reply. “The good news is that everything’s all figured out. You’re on the list for the box. I’ll text you the info—how to get in, where to go.”
“That sounds like a plan.” He looks down at the floor, and my attention is pulled back to the suit he’s wearing.
“Seriously, that’s a nice suit. Did you dress up for ice cream?”
He gestures to his suit. “I didn’t put this on for fun. I had a third interview today. With a company here in D.C.”
I’m pretty sure my eyes have just done the cartoon “ba-wooga” and popped right out of my head. If I held my hands out in front of me, I would’ve caught them. “You what now?”
“If they offer me the job, I’ve already decided that I’ll take it. Which means I’ll be back. In the area.”
The words hit like a soft explosion.
“So you’re not moving back for your son,” I say quietly. “You’re moving back if a company hires you. If they do, then you’ll fit Theo in.”
David’s jaw tightens. “I’m not doing this right now.”
“Neither am I,” I say, lowering my voice. “Not with your son ten feet away and a wall of succulents judging us.”
Right on cue, Theo comes barreling out of the back room, hair slightly feral, cheeks flushed like he’s been powered by the promise of unlimited scoops of ice cream.
“I’m ready! Ready for ice creams and cones and sprinkles, too,” he announces, like this is a legally binding decision.
David’s face shifts instantly into Dad Mode—easy smile, relaxed shoulders, warmth dialed all the way up. The change is so smooth it almost deserves applause.
“Sounds perfect, buddy,” David says.
We head toward the door together, the three of us moving in careful formation, like nothing significant was just lobbed into the middle of my day. Like we’re not tiptoeing over emotional fault lines in broad daylight.
This birthday was supposed to be simple.
Instead, it’s already shaping up to be…memorable.
And not in the ice-cream-and-sprinkles kind of way.
CHAPTER 21
SAWYER
We’re wrapping up the last take, and it hits me how many of these little videos we’ve squeezed into the time we’ve had together. I don’t think it was supposed to be so planned, to turn into what it has, and I didn’t expect to enjoy it this much. Nor did I think, as the time was coming to an end, I’d start to miss it already.
Juliette lowers her phone and squints at me.
“Okay,” she says. “Do it again, but this time pretend you’re not explaining it to a hostage audience.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Wow. Harsh. These seeds and I have built trust.”
Charlie snorts from behind the counter while Juliette bites back a smile and re-angles the phone. We’re standing near the big worktable, packets of seeds spread out like we’re hosting a very wholesome poker night.
“Take three,” Juliette says. “Go.”
I clear my throat and lean casually against the table, like this isn’t my third attempt at explaining soil depth to the internet.
“Okay,” I say, nodding seriously at the camera. “Spring seed tip. If you want your summer plants to thrive, don’t rush them.Prep your soil now. Light, loose, well-draining. Think cozy bed, not gym locker.”
Juliette makes a strangled noise behind the phone.
“I’m not wrong,” I defend.
