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Her eyes light up instantly. "Yes. The birthday cake one with the rainbow sprinkles on top. And James likes the chocolate one."

"Okay, stay here," I say. "I'll get it for you."

She squeals. I can't help but smile. I was her age once. I remember what it's like to be easily thrilled by the small things in life.

I get out of the car and walk toward the coffee shop.

Just as I reach the door, Klaus steps outside holding James's hand. There are thunderstorms in his eyes as he looks down at me.

"I told you to stay in the car, Emma," he says.

"I wanted to get a cake pop for Rosalie," I say.

"We're leaving," he says. "Now."

James looks between the two of us, confused about the sudden shift in the air.

I take a deep breath.

My heart breaks in two.

It's happening. A part of me has always feared it. He told me he wouldn't go cold on me again, but it's just his nature. It's justwho he is. He shuts himself off from the whole world just so he won't feel anything.

Tears rush to my eyes.

"Jesus Christ," he says. "Go ahead and get the cake pops."

I brush past him, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling. I stand in the short line and try not to have a meltdown in public.

I keep my eyes on the floor. The world turns blurry as my thoughts race.

There's a reason his coldness hurts me so much. It touches on old wounds of feeling unwanted. And that's not a headspace I ever want to return to again.

If he's going to be this way with me, it's better that I leave his world.

"Ma'am?" the barista asks. "What can I get for you?"

I realize that I'm at the front of the line now. I don't trust my voice not to break, so I'm about to step aside. But the scent of musky sandalwood infiltrates my nostrils. His body heat envelops me like a warm embrace.

"Cake pops," he says. "One of each."

He pays for the order and gets the paper bag. Instead of walking us toward the car, he guides me to one of the couches. He sits down next to me and takes my hand in his.

"What's wrong?" he asks gently.

"Nothing," I say, taking another deep breath.

"Something's clearly bothering you," he says, brushing his thumb over my hand with so much tenderness that it brings another wave of tears to my eyes.

I look up at him. The tears roll down my cheeks.

He flinches at the sight of them.

"Was it something I said?" I ask. "I know you don't like it when I plan things for the kids without your permission, but I thought skating would be a fun activity for us."

"It's not that, Emma," he says.

"I thought we were having a good time, but you got all distant out of nowhere," I say. "Was it because of what James said about us being like a family? Because I want you to know that I don't expect anything from you. I know my place in your world."