I walk over to him, careful to keep some distance between us since I have no idea how he’ll want us to act in front of Liz.
“You did it,” I say.
“Someone I know is pretty convincing when she wants to be.”
“Yeah?”
He nods, his gaze burning holes through my clothes. “Why are you so far away?”
“Where do you want me to be?”
He lets go of the book, not bothering to pretend he was reading it by marking his page, then taps his thigh.
“Are you su—”
He doesn’t give me the time to finish before he’s plopping me onto his lap and kissing me.
“But Zoe…”
“Is too busy playing to notice.”
He’s right. It’s the first time Zoe hasn’t spotted me walking in since that first day in July. It feels bittersweet, but I’m too happy for her to care.
“How did it go?”
“Good, I think.” He keeps his gaze on them even with his hand tracing patterns on my thigh. His touch feels mindless, like it’s areflex now to have his hands on me in some way. Just like riding a bike. “We talked this morning about what she wanted to do. She was hesitant at first, but she’s the one who ended up saying yes. She didn’t want to talk when Liz showed up an hour ago, but she’s loosened up now.”
“I’m proud of you,” I say.
“Still scared shitless.”
“I know.” I lean my head against his as we watch Zoe and her mother play. “That’s why I’m proud.”
He sighs just as Liz looks back and notices me. I feel like pulling away even though I don’t technically need to, but the thought slips my mind when she grins and nods at me, then returns her attention to Zoe.
“I guess this makes everything easier,” he says. “She doesn’t want to share custody. For now, at least.”
“And you’re okay with having her around?”
“If that’s what Zoe wants, then yes.” His jaw shifts. “And honestly? It’s a relief not to feel so angry at her. You’d think I’ve decided to forgive her for her, but really, I think forgiveness is more for myself.”
“I’m really happy for you.”
He squeezes my thigh. “How’s Keira?”
“Great. Billie, too.” I pull out my phone like the obsessed aunt I am and show him one of the dozen pictures I took.
“Beautiful,” he says, specifically at the picture of me holding her. “I’m glad she called you.”
“Me too.”
He squeezes my hip. “And how are you feeling?”
I love that he asks the question. Love that he doesn’t act like talking about it will make it worse. Love that he always faces everything head on, like he did by inviting Liz today even though he didn’t want to. His bravery is subtle, but it’s so impressive once you notice it.
And most of all, I love the way the honest answer feels.
“I’m good. Really good.”
