Page 2

“I’m already in my car.”
The line went dead. That was Gianna for you. She was stubborn as hell when she thought someone needed her help. It was one of the things I loved about her, even when it drove me crazy.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and headed into the house. Luca had already set the table, complete with paper napkins folded into uneven triangles. The sight made my chestache. This was our life. Simple, imperfect, but filled with love. How could Lyla claim it wasn’t enough?
The macaroni boiled on the stove when Gianna’s car pulled into the driveway. Through the kitchen window, I watched her climb out of her beat-up Honda, her long chestnut hair catching the porch light. She wore one of those flowing dresses she favored, something soft and green that made her hazel eyes look like forest pools.
She let herself in without knocking. She’d been doing that for years and Luca launched himself at her before she could close the door.
“Miss G! Dad’s making mac and cheese with hot dogs!”
“Lucky you,” she said, hugging him tight. Over his head, her eyes found mine, and I saw the concern there. She studied my face the way she studied her flower arrangements, looking for what was out of place.
“Go wash your hands,” I told Luca. “That hug probably got you dirty.”
He giggled and raced toward the bathroom. Gianna stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume. It was light and floral and always reminded me of her shop.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.
For a moment, I considered lying. Telling her it was just work stress or a headache. But the weight of the custody papers felt like a boulder on my chest, and I needed to tell someone. Gianna had been my anchor through every crisis since Lyla left. She’d held me together when I didn’t think I could make it through another day. She was the one I called when my world imploded the first time.
“Lyla’s filing for full custody,” I said.
The color drained from her face. “What?”
I pulled out my phone and showed her the email. She read in silence, her expression growing darker with each paragraph. When she finished, she looked up at me with fire in her eyes.
“This is insane. You’re an amazing father, Colby. Luca adores you.”
“Tell that to the judge.”
“I will if I have to.” She set my phone down on the counter with more force than necessary. “What does your lawyer say?”
“I haven’t called him yet. I just got the papers an hour ago.”
Gianna started pacing. Three steps to the refrigerator, three steps back to the stove. It was her thinking pace, the same one she did when she was designing a particularly complex floral arrangement.
“There has to be something we can do,” she muttered. “Some way to prove she’s wrong about the instability claim.”
“Like what? I do work long hours. Luca does spend time with babysitters. I’m a single dad trying to keep a business afloat and raise a kid. Those are facts.”
She stopped pacing and turned to face me. “But you’re not really single, are you? I mean, I’m here all the time. I help with homework, I take him to soccer practice when you’re busy, I cook dinner at least three nights a week.”
“Yeah, but you’re not . . .” I trailed off, an idea forming in the back of my mind. A crazy, desperate idea that I should have dismissed immediately.
“I’m not what?”
I stared at her, really looked at her. Gianna Stapleton, my best friend for the past four years. The woman who’d picked up the pieces when my marriage fell apart. The woman who made Luca laugh when he was missing his mom. The woman who’d been there for every milestone, every crisis, every ordinary Tuesday night when I needed someone to talk to.
The woman I’d been half in love with for longer than I cared to admit.
“You’re not my wife,” I said quietly, hating the words as soon as they left my mouth.
She blinked. “What?”
“Dad! Miss G! I’m ready for dinner!” Luca’s voice carried into the kitchen.
“Almost done, buddy,” I said, never taking my eyes off Gianna. “But what if you were?”