He lifted a shoulder. “Carly and I weren’t married, as you probably have gathered. We were just figuring things out after a long separation while she was pregnant. I went back to California for the birth, knowing I had been accepted to the culinary arts program here, hoping to persuade her to move to Florida with the new baby.”
He took a breath and another drink. Man, he hated this story. Just like the story of his mother’s death in a private plane crash. He hated telling anyone how mired he was in tragedy and bad luck. Who wouldn’t go screaming into the night?
“Anyway, Atlas was born—perfect and flawless, as you know—and on his three-week birthday, Carly went to the store to pick up diapers.” His voice cracked again and the pressure of her fingers intensified. She’d abandoned dinner.
“What happened?” she breathed the words again, this time with dread in the tone.
“Ishould have gone, Pepper. I was nose deep making some dumb recipe and she didn’t want to wait, but she was sleep-deprived and determined. Sheshouldn’thave gone. But far more importantly, Ishouldn’thave let her.”
“Shh.” She soothed him with the same touch that settled Atlas.
He swallowed and closed his eyes. “She ran a red light—remember, sleep-deprived—and got T-boned by a delivery truck. Died instantly and without…” He couldn’t finish, swiping his eyes. “I should have gone,” he said so quietly he almost didn’t hear himself. “I was making some stupid sauce. The diapers could have waited. She could have waited. It all could have been so, so different.”
“Jonah.”
“It’s okay.”
“Oh,Jonah.” Two tears rolled over her cheeks, meandering over her freckles. “That poor, sweet boy.”
He had been told “I’m so sorry for you” by what felt like every adult in three states since the accident, but no one had ever gone to Atlas first. Atlas, the one who’d really been robbed by that night of thoughtless decisions.
She dropped her head in her hands, clearly affected.
“I know,” Jonah said. “Atlas deserves a mother.”
Her head shot up and she blinked watery eyes, coating her long lashes in tears.
“He does,” she said, more vehemently than he expected. “Oh, I know he has…” She gestured toward the house where the energy and perfume of more than a few women lingered. “But he will always…” She stopped herself, then wiped one cheek quickly, embarrassed.
“Not exactly sure how we got here,” Jonah said with a dry laugh. “Something about you praising my protective streak. Feel free to change your mind.”
“Never!” she exclaimed. “I trust you. I want you to be with me during the storm. And I…I’d say I’m sorry, but it feels lame.”
He tipped his head in agreement.
“Can I flip the script?” Jonah asked, inching closer.
She sighed and picked up her fork. “Maybe.”
“I can’t know about your…past? What’s your story, Pepper? What happened with the guy you left in New Orleans?”
“Oh, him.” She flicked her fingers. “Nothing. Just…you know. A bad relationship. Not a…tragedy. Oh, did I tell you that I can totally get Atlas to stand just holding my two fingers? His legs are so strong, Jonah!”
And the adept subject change reared its ugly head.
“Don’t you think I should know something about him?”
She chewed, wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, and picked up the bread, breaking off a piece. “I had some of this earlier today. You made this? Kate says you actually have a sour dough starter. Such a Renaissance Man, Jonah.”
“Pepper.” He leaned in. “You can’t avoid it forever.”
“Hah! Watch me.” She took a bite of the bread, too much for her to speak, and looked out at the water.
He sipped wine and followed her gaze, a mix of frustration, curiosity, and relief. Maybe he didn’t want to know her complicated past. Maybe it was better if she told him in her own good time.
“Will you need me to watch Atlas tomorrow while you help your dad?” she finally asked.
“Actually, everyone will be here. Including me, but Kate and Emma and the grannies will step in.” He eyed her, knowing the subject of her past was well and truly shut.
