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“I’ll call you tonight to set up our first planning session,” he says as we walk away from the girls’ teacher, toward the playground where Sarah and Luna are waiting.
“Right.” I nod like I believe him.
“I’m detecting a tone.” He slows his strides and when I glance up at him, I find him watching me with narrowed eyes.
“You are.” I come to a stop so we can have this conversation away from the girls. “I highly doubt you’re serious about helping.”
He looks down at me, his dark eyes as intense as always. “Why wouldn’t I be serious?”
“Because it’s a massive undertaking? Because we both have full schedules?”Because my ex-husband always left me to manage everything, and I’m drowning just thinking about adding one more thing to my plate.
“We’ll handle it.” His voice carries absolute certainty. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I want to believe him. But Shayla’s words echo in my head.He never follows through, Amelia. I’m always left to do everything myself.“Just . . .” I take a breath. “If we’re doing this, I need to know you’ll follow through. I can’t take on the whole thing myself. Not with everything else I’ve got going on.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “I always follow through, Amelia.”
His promise stays in my mind all afternoon and my overthinking is next level. Because as much as he said he’d contribute, I still have my reservations.
Later, I’m in my kitchen attempting to salvage a stir-fry that’s quickly turning into a culinary disaster when my phone rings. Gage’s name on the screen is a surprise.
I hesitate for a second before answering.
“Tomorrow morning,” he says without preamble. “Eleven a.m. You name where you want us to meet. Or if that time doesn’t suit, let me know what works for you.”
Just like that. No small talk, no pleasantries. Straight to the point. Which is good. Efficient. And he’s doing what he said he would. But for some reason, he’s scrambled my brain with this call.
I often feel like I’m on the back foot with Gage. He has this unnerving ability to throw me off balance without even trying.It’s not that he plays games. Far from it. He’s too direct for that. It’s just...him. Everything about him.
I swipe the burner too high, and the stir-fry starts to sizzle aggressively. I quickly turn it down, gripping the spatula a little tighter than necessary.
“Uh.” I clear my throat. “The coffee shop on Lexington and 82ndworks.”
“Done.”
I expect him to hang up, but instead, there’s a beat of silence.
Not awkward, not tense. Just there, lingering. Like he’s waiting for something.
Like he wants me to say something.
But my brain refuses to cooperate, so I say nothing.
Another second passes before he murmurs, “See you in the morning, Amelia.”
The line goes dead, and for some ridiculous reason, I just stand there, staring at my phone.
I don’t know what rattles me more—that he called, or that I’m still thinking about the way he just said my name with a thread of anticipation in his voice.
5
Gage
Blair Whitney’s office is exactly what you’d expect from Manhattan’s most ruthless family lawyer. Sharp edges, sleek lines, and not a hint of softness in sight.
Just like the woman herself.
I find her behind her desk at seven a.m. on Wednesday morning. The air around her hums with a don’t-waste-my-time warning that most would take heed of.