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She pushes herself from the chair, grabbing her coat and purse from the desk in front of her, and leaving the office without so much as a ‘bye’ to her father.

“So how was everything?” Heath asks.

Turning around to face him, I avoid his question because I want to know what I walked in on. “What was that?” I point my finger towards the door.

“That’s nothing. She has a chip on her shoulder. She thinks the world is out to get her, and then in the next step she thinks it owes her something.”

“I wonder where she gets that from,” I say as I cross my arms.

“You can’t think she gets that crap from me? I’ve never thought the world has owed me anything. I know I need to earn my keep in this life, and I’ve worked my ass off to earn the things that we have.”

I hang my head because I know he’s right. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m not sure what’s going on with her. She is a complete one-eighty from the boys at that age.”

“Tell me about it. We need to stop giving into her and all the things she thinks she needs or deserves. Not until she gets her head out of her ass and sees that, she needs to earn some of that. I don’t want my kids going through life thinking they don’t need to work for something. They aren’t going to survive if that’s how they think. You and I both know that.”

“You’re right. I’ll talk to her.”

He takes a step towards me. “Tell me, how was New York?”

“It was good. There’s a lot of information to process. A lot that I need to do and think about.” The sound of my horn blares, signaling that I need to get going. “I’ll talk to Jenna tonight.” Turning on my heel, I almost make it out of his office before his voice stops me in my tracks.

“Have dinner with me.”

“Excuse me?” I say as I turn around.

“Tomorrow night. Have dinner with me. I’d like to hear about your trip.”

My heart races as I look at my husband. This is the second time in as many days when he’s looked so vulnerable, and my chest squeezes at the fact that he’s putting himself out there.

“Sure,” I tell him. “Tell me where and I’ll meet you.”

A smile spreads across his face. “I thought I’d cook for you. At home.”

Home.

I heart clenches at the thought of him referring to the house I once shared with him as home.

“Please–”

“Heath,” I stop him, “I don’t know if that’s a great idea.”

“I do. I think it’s the best idea. Let me do this for you.” The bob of his Adam’s apple tells me he’s nervous, and I can see the pleading in his eyes as he looks at me.

“Okay. I’ll come by the house.”