For the first time in her life, Birdy kept quiet. She wanted his words. While she waited for them, she took him in anew.
His dark hair was a little tousled, like he’d run a frustrated hand through it more than once today. His jaw was strong, shadowed with the kind of scruff that should’ve looked unkempt but somehow made him maddeningly handsome. His shoulders were broad, the kind that filled out a button-down in a way that made a woman forget her entire vocabulary. There were faint lines at the corners of his mouth. Crinkles etched there not from scowling but from smiling. A lot.
He was frowning now. At her. But those lines told the truth. He was the kind of man who laughed often. Who smiled easily. He hadn’t smiled at her once since he’d walked into this office.
But he had smiled at her in the chat. She was sure of it.
And just like that—Birdy let herself hope.
Maybe… maybe she wasn’t the last lonely Chou. Maybe she wasn’t too much, too sharp, too strong. Maybe she was just enough—for someone. For him.
She could see it in the softness that flashed across his face, just for a moment. Like he remembered her laugh even though they hadn't spoken face to face. Like he remembered the feeling of that night, that chat. She watched his eyes shift. Not cold now, but curious. Warm.
And then, like a light switch flipped—Gone.
Paul shook his head slowly, retreating back into the lines he’d drawn in the sand. “No,” he said. “No. You can’t be her.”
Birdy's stomach dropped. The words hit like an open palm to the chest. He looked away, then back again. There was nothing gentle in his gaze now. Just walls.
“Even if you are, it doesn't matter. I could never…”
He let the sentence trail off. Birdy didn't need to hear him finish it. She knew where it would've gone.
She felt the room tilt. Not literally. The balance shifted like she was on a Tilt-a-Whirl or on a not-quite-frozen lake when the ground underneath turns out to be thinner than you thought. A fragile shell over a deeper hurt.
Outside the mayor’s office, someone sucked in a breath. The crowd, pretending to work, had caught every word. Bunny took a step forward, but at a glance from her sister, she halted.
Birdy didn’t move. She couldn’t. Everything inside her wanted to vanish. To crumple. But she didn’t get that luxury.
Instead, she straightened her shoulders. Pulled her armor back on and prepared to fire. If he couldn’t handle her—all of her—then she wasn’t going to dim herself to be more palatable.
“This is about a young mother trying to get her child back. And I won’t let you use your personal bias to keep them apart.”
Paul gave her a look—one she’d seen before. From dates. From men who liked her until they thought she made them feel small. It was a look that said dim down or get out.
Birdy was done dimming. “I’ll file everything I can. I’ll bury you in motions if I have to.”
He sighed. The sigh was a confirmation, like she'd done exactly what he'd expected of someone like her.
“Do your worst,” he said, walking toward the door. “But I’m not handing that baby over until I know she’s going somewhere safe.”
Then he was gone. Just like that. No warmth. No apology. No second look.
Birdy stood there, chest burning but her face cool and unreadable. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not ever again over a man who couldn’t see her shine without squinting.
CHAPTEREIGHT
The baby in Paul’s arms was content, gumming the edge of his badge lanyard and making soft, hiccupping sounds that felt louder than they were in the otherwise quiet space. Paul bounced her gently, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the pediatrician scrolled through his notes on a tablet with one hand and palpated the baby’s belly with the other.
Dr. Mensah was all jawline and arrogance with a white coat as crisp as his opinions. His stethoscope dangled around his neck like a badge of superiority, catching the light each time he moved. He lifted the baby’s onesie, pressed the cold diaphragm of the scope to her chest, and listened with exaggerated patience.
“Good lungs,” he muttered, like it surprised him.
Then, casually—too casually—he added, “It figures the Chous would be involved in this mess somehow.”
Paul blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Mensah glanced up, smirking like he was letting Paul in on a town secret. He moved to check the baby’s reflexes, tapping gently along her knees. She kicked reflexively, and he gave a satisfied nod before returning to his tablet.
