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“I guessed you would.”

Eighteen

Wes

The second we leave Lyndsey behind, Lena pushes the cart forward. Every time she plucks something off a shelf, she side-eyes me like she’s collecting evidence for a murder trial.

My shoulders deflate with a sigh. “Just ask, Lena.”

She hums under her breath while scanning the shelves. “When were you going to tell me about your ex-girlfriend?”

“Never.”

“All right, that’s fair.” She taps a finger against the cart handle like she’s considering how best to interrogate me. “Why did she looklike she just walked into a house fire?”

I grab a loaf of bread and chuck it in. “Maybe because she ran into her ex in a grocery store?”

“Hmm. No, I think it’s because she saw you with me and Rosie and had a whole cinematic moment. You know, like in those movies where the heroine realizes too late that she lost the best thing she ever had, and now she has to live with it.” She snaps her fingers. “Cue dramatic violin solo.”

I grit my teeth. “We’re not talking about this.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, at least, not outright. Instead, she steers the cart into the produce section and picks up a bag of Brussels sprouts.

Now that’s an argument if I’ve ever seen one.

“No.” I shake my head. “Put those back.”

She smirks. “Yes.”

“No, Lena.”

“Yes, Wesley.”

Fucking hell. I hate that she’s started to call me that.

I rub a hand over my face, exasperated. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Her eyebrow arches as she slowly waves the green bag in front of my face like a threat.

“Put those back and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Fine.” She gives in, lowering the bag. “No Brussels sprouts. But in return, I expect full, unfiltered honesty.”

I blow out a breath and take over pushing the cart.

“She couldn’t handle Rosie,” I finally say.Or me, but I don’t say that out loud. She couldn’t handle my grief or how pissed at the universe I was, how lost I felt. A baby didn’t fit the future she’d envisioned, and I wasn’t exactly easy to be around.

Lena’s head tilts in question. “What do you mean?”

“The teething. The late nights. The sudden routines. We had plans. We wanted to travel. We wanted freedom and a life without midnight wake-up calls.” I pause, jaw ticking. “It was too big a shift.”

Her nose scrunches in that way it does when her thoughts get complicated. “I mean, I get it. That’s a lot. But to leave Rosie? To leave you when you needed her most?” She sighs, then leans down to make Rosie giggle with a silly face. “I don’t know, Wes.”

Rosie promptly whacks her with the soup ladle so hard the clunk echoes in the produce aisle.

A grin tugs at my lips. “Good job, princess,” I tease, winking at Rosie.

“Hey!” Lena rubs her arm. “Whatever. You’re paying for that ladle because we’re never getting that out of her hands.”