Page 50

And for the first time, I feel a sharp, unpleasant coil in my chest. It’s some swirl of worry and jealousy that isn’t mine to feel. Rosie isn’t my child. This isn’t my place.

Except right now, it feels like it is.

I spot Wes before he sees us. The second he rounds the corner, my pulse kicks up. It’s involuntary, the kind of reaction you have when someone fills a space the way Wes does. He’s still in his work gear—worn jeans streaked with grease, dark shirt stretched taut across broad shoulders—and every determined stride pulls my attention straight to him. He’s pure intensity with his jaw tight, eyes sharp and focused. He hasn’t even spoken yet, but his protective energy floods the aisle, an invisible boundary instantly drawn around Rosie. My heart twists at the sight, a heavy, unfamiliar warmth settling in my chest.

He presses a kissto Rosie’s head.

She promptly whacks him in the face with the ladle.

“Jesus, kid.” He rubs his jaw.

“She’s been wielding that thing like a medieval weapon all morning,” I inform him.

He dodges another blow. “I can tell.”

I swing my gaze towards Lyndsey so hard it hurts. I know he’s already seen her, but is he just going to ignore her?

Please don’t. The tension is killing me.

He turns and simply says, “Lyndsey.”

The way her eyes roam over him makes my stomach flip. She stares like she’s been thirsty and is committing every detail to memory.

I kind of hate it.

“Hey, Wes,” she says quietly, her smile shaky.

I knot the hem of my sweater, resisting the urge to run away with Rosie in tow.

“You look…” Lyndsey starts, tilting her head. “You look good.”

His voice is clipped when he says, “Yeah. You too.”

Silence follows.

Terrible, suffocating silence where I’d give anything for one of them to crack a joke.

“How have you been?” Lyndsey tries.

“Busy,” Wes replies curtly.

“Yeah. I figured.”

I want to shake them both. This is excruciating. They’re two people who once shared something, now stumbling over every syllable.

Eventually, Lyndsey lifts her chin and takes a step toward us. “I just wanted to say hello to Rosie. She’s gotten so big.”

Wes exhales, stepping aside.

Cautiously, she edges closer to the cart, looking atRosie with a high-pitched greeting.

Rosie, for her part, freezes. She glances at me with a silent,Who is this lady, and why is she in my face?

I’m officially fluent in Rosie’s side-eye.

I watch as Lyndsey holds out her perfectly manicured hand and offers Rosie her index finger.

Why do people always do this?