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“That would be awesome. Thank you so much.”

I awkwardly follow him when he comes back out and heads down the stairs. He gets in the truck and moves it without a word, and I get in my car without waiting for one. I send a friendly wave in his direction as I pass, but I can’t tell if he saw me.

Hopefully by tomorrow I’ll uncover the mystery of who his child is, and have my chance to make a good first impression.

I recognize her immediately.

Of course I’ve looked at her Instagram. She doesn’t post her face much, but a selfie taken approximately six months ago with the tiniest orange kitten I’ve ever seen gave me enough to search for. The rest of her pictures are of sunsets, and waterfalls, and destinations I wouldn’t go to the effort to get to.

Do not get me wrong, I love a nice view. I love nature. I went camping all the time as a kid.

But as a single mom in my late-twenties, that works full-time: I don’t exercise. Which means if someone tried to drag me on a hike, I’d probably collapse within minutes.

Even the stairs going up to my apartment are a challenge for me most days.

“You must be Raquel,” I say as I approach. I don’t always feel as confident as everyone thinks I am, but I hopeshethinks I am. It’s not natural to have to meet the person who’s currently banging your ex. We as humans aren’t meant to put ourselves through things like this.

I’d put myself through a lot more for my daughter, but I really want to seem like I have my shit together while I do it.

“And you must be Reya.” She doesn’t stand, or offer to shake my hand. Her smile is polite enough, but I’m still taking away points.

Which means she is in the negative right off the bat.

I can’t help but start comparing the two of us, our appearances, as terrible as that is. I examine her for any signs of similarities between us, but I don’t think there’s a single one. From what I can see of her upper half, she’s fit. No surprise there. Her shoulders are tan, her jewelry is thick and gold. Her hair is dark and long. We could not look more different.

I find that I’m glad of it. How much worse would this be if the woman across from me also had cotton candy pink hair? It would be very weird.

“Thanks for meeting me like this. I think it’s so important that we’re all on the same page with Lia involved.”

“Lia?” I ask before thinking as I sit down across from her.

“Dahlia?” Her tone makes me feel like I’m a total moron for not knowing that.

I tilt my head.

Maybe I’m overreacting, but I’m already annoyed. I’m throwing on negative points like I have a million to spare.

Because I do. It’s a fictional point system that exists strictly in my head. I’ve thought of buying a white board, but I don’t want to stress out my friends.

It feels condescending. Almost as if this woman is trying to assume that I’m not interested in being on the same page. Likeshe is some savior for asking for this dinner, and I’m the difficult child that wouldn’twantto eagerly agree to this.

Maybe I didn’t, but not for any reason other than how uncomfortable I knew it would be. Even though there is zero chance of me feeling any kind of romantically about Caleb again, it’s weird to sit face to face with how he’s finally moving on.

And I’m already not a fan, and I don’t care if it’s because I’m overreacting to the first sentence she’s ever said to me.

“It’s interesting that you have a nickname for my daughter before you’ve even met her,” I say.

I know Caleb doesn’t use it, or at least he never has to me.

Her eyes widen a fraction, but I watch as she attempts to play it off and nods.

Yeah.No.

My ex-husband has lied to me so many times, and I refuse to let Raquel fall into the habit, too.

“So, youhavemet her,” I say in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

“Once,” she answers quickly. “Briefly. I had to grab something and didn’t realize you had already dropped her off—”