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Hearing her apologize makes me tighten both hands around hers. “Pea⁠—”

“I need you to let me handle this.” She shifts until there’s barely any space left between us. “I’m not trying to keep us from him. I just need a one-on-one conversation with my dad where I get to be his daughter before this becomes about you being his quarterback.”

I stare at her for a second, my next question already sitting there. Tonight? Tomorrow? How much time do you need? Any one of them would give me something solid enough to carry into the facility with me. They would also make the first thing I do after she asks me to trust her turn into negotiating how quickly she has to earn it.

“I won’t push you for a date.” Even saying that makes me want one more than I did thirty seconds ago. “But tell me before you talk to him. I don’t want to walk into his office thinking we’re talking about third-down pressure and find out we’re talking about the fact that I think I’m falling in love with his daughter.”

Calliope’s fingers stop moving against mine, and it takes me a second to realize what I just said. Hearing it aloud doesn’t make me want to take it back.

“You think you’re falling in love with me?”

I turn our joined hands over and press my thumb into her palm, unable to keep the smile from pulling at my mouth when she says it back to me. “Yeah, Pea. I do.”

I watch Calliope’s face, waiting for the smile or the squeeze of her fingers to become words, and when they don’t, disappointment cuts through the happiness still sitting beneath my answer. I hadn’t known I wanted to hear her say it until I gave her the chance, and now I want it badly enough that the silence hurts. My thumb moves across her palm while I make myself leave the silence alone. If she ever says it, I need to know she said it because she was ready, not because I couldn’t handle waiting.

Calliope glances toward the clock, and her eyes widen before she looks back at me. “You’re going to be late, Old Man.”

“You really know how to preserve a moment.” I lean in and kiss her.

Her hand slides up to my jaw while I pull her closer, and I let myself stay there for another second before she pulls away. I press my forehead to hers before standing, and her fingers hold mine until the distance between us makes them slip apart.

“I’ll see you after your meetings.”

I take a step toward the front door, then turn back and catch her face between my hands. She laughs softly against my mouth when I kiss her again, but I don’t rush this one. I stay until I have to make myself pull away.

“You can count on it, Pea.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Calliope

“Ithink the sauce needs more garlic,” I mumble to myself, tasting it again before adding another spoonful and stirring it through.

The chicken is browning faster than I want, so I lower the heat and shift the pan while my phone vibrates somewhere beneath the book I abandoned on the island. I’ve had a lot more time for reading since taking the MCAT a few weeks ago, although I’m not sure I’d call waiting for my score to come in any day now an improvement over studying for it. At least studying gave me something to do with all the nervous energy. After finding my phone beneath the book, I notice a message from Jubal at the top of the screen.

Leaving now.

Another message appears before I can answer.

If I have to answer one more question about the playoffs in November, I’m retiring.

I giggle softly as I lean against the island and type back.

Seems dramatic.

The little dots appear almost immediately.

You weren’t there.

I’m sure you were very brave.

He sends me the middle finger emoji, but the expression softens when another message follows.

Need anything on the way home?

My thumb pauses over the screen at home. Jubal says it so casually now that sometimes I almost miss what it does to me. I’ll be home after treatment. I’m heading home. Need anything on the way home? There’s never any question tucked underneath asking whether I belong here. He simply assumes I do, and warmth spreads through my chest every time.

Across the living room, my laptop is open on the coffee table, and the cardigan I wore yesterday hangs over the back of the couch. The sneakers I kicked off Monday are still beside his near the door, and I haven’t spent the night at my Dad’s since. I probably should spend tonight at Dad’s, even though I stopped by for dinner last night. He has to be wondering where I’ve been spending all my time. I almost told him more than once over dinner, but he was so distracted by Sunday’s game that he barely said goodbye before disappearing into his office. It didn’t feel right trying to squeeze such a big conversation between dinner and whatever problem was waiting for him on the other side of that door.