Page 32 of Hearts on the Mend

“I know how to take care of my kid, Cassie,” he grumbles, steering Ruby into the back seat of his SUV.

She pulls away and rights the cat hat sitting crooked on her head. “Daddy, I can’t ride with you. I need a car seat.”

I groan, anger bubbling up.

“It’s a short ride. It’s fine.” He shuts the trunk. “I’ll grab a blanket or a pillow for you to sit on.”

“Absolutely not.” I open up my Jeep, remove her seat, and install it into his car. “You’ve seen enough to know she needs a seat, Matt.”

“She’s six.”

I bite back everything I want to say, instead helping her up into the seat.

“There you go, honey. Let’s get you bundled up.” I tighten the car seat straps, place a blanket over her, and give her one more kiss. “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Only one sleep.”

I turn, walking back into the house, ignoring the sound of her sobs, of Matt turning on the car and blasting some shitty metal music. He backs up, then peels out onto the road over the ice that forms on the sharp corner. There’s always runoff because of the giant oak on the hill.

My heart drives off, and I collapse against the door as soon as I close it.

How is this supposed to be the better option for us?

After I finally pry myself from the floor, I’m determined to eat something, bake, then start the journey of stripping off the layers of old wallpaper in this house. But I pause in the doorway to the kitchen. Nolan is hunched over a bowl of soup at the table.

The afternoon sun bleeds in from the window, stretching across to cast a sliver of orange light across his face. He’s not on his phone, not listening to music. It’s just him, a bowl of steaming chowder, and the loud whir of the furnace fighting for its life down in the basement.

We had one night together, and a handful of weeks unexpectedly thrown back together, hiding in the quiet pockets we’ve dug out for ourselves.

But that pull in my chest, the one that aches at how lonely he is at the table, is something I didn’t expect to feel. Sort of like when I pushed through the other night after my shift, and he had built Ruby a blanket fort and arranged to have a car seat for her in his truck.

He fits so perfectly into my life, but neither one of us wants to talk about it.

I clear my throat, shaking off sadness. The familiarity of it is just not somewhere I want to be stuck. “I’m going to tackle the wallpaper in the hallway today now that Ruby’s left, if there’s something else you want to work on.”

“How’d that go?” he asks, blowing on another spoonful of clam chowder. A bag of oyster crackers lies scattered to the side, along with the salt and pepper.

I blow out a huff of air, doing my best puffer fish impression. “She’ll be okay.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I spin away, pushing past the sting of tears in my eyes.

“I have some help coming.”

“What? Whe⁠—”

The damn doorbell. I shriek, jumping three feet in the air, nearly scattering the orzo salad I had stashed in the fridge across the kitchen.

“Now.”

“Help? I don’t need help. You don’t even have to work today.”

“What else am I going to do?”

“But right now?” I squeak. “I would have…” I probably would have put something on besides my tattered sweatshirt and leggings. Maybe picked up the house a bit. There are Magna-Tiles and half-naked Barbies scattered everywhere. Not to mention paper scraps and crayons and stickers. Ruby decided she absolutely needed to build a zoo this week.

He sets down his spoon. “There’s a lot to do, and we both need this done.”

Right. We do. He’s totally right.