Page 48

“How was today?”
“Long. Awful. And for anyone out there looking for fun things to add to their yearly bingo card, I ten out of ten do not recommend what was added to mine this week.”
He studies me. “Are you holding up?”
I draw in a long breath. The truth is I’m not okay. Not even close.
I was raised to believe messes are shameful. That if something falls apart, you fix it fast. And quietly. But this mess I’m in? It’s loud. It’s public. And for the first time, I don’t think I can clean it up on my own.
“No,” I admit softly with a shake of my head. “No, I’m not okay. I am so far from okay it’s almost laughable.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just sits with me, holding space for me. His gaze doesn’t waver, and it makes me feel like he sees the whole mess of me and doesn’t mind staying in it.
“All my life, I’ve held things together,” I go on. “It wasn’t hard. It was just what I did. Then, my marriage fell apart, andeverythinghas become hard. Slowly, though. It crept up on me and I didn’t see it happening. The last couple of months havefelt like compound interest kicked in, speeding it all up, and now here I am. Drowning.”
“I know that feeling well.”
“Really? Because it sure doesn’t look like it.”
“What does it look like?”
“You always seem so calm. So unaffected by life.”
“Spend a little time with me. You’ll see the cracks.”
I shift, angling my body his way. “Can you just tell me one thing that makes you feel like you’re drowning so I can believe you?”
He doesn’t even have to think about his answer. “Parenting. That makes me feel like I’m drowning every damn day.”
His admission stuns me. Not because he finds parenting hard. We all do. But because he was willing to be vulnerable. I like that he doesn’t pretend life hasn’t touched him.
“Co-parenting is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he continues. “The tightrope of managing past hurts, current frustrations, getting hit every now and again with reminders of what once was, and constantly reminding myself I have a child who has to come first...that shit is fucking hard. And some days, I’m not sure how I’ll make it through.”
My breath whooshes out of me. Gage just put all my thoughts and feelings about single parenting into words and I physically felt every one of them. “Yes,” I agree quietly. “I feel all of that too.”
“But the flipside of that is something special.” The emotion in his voice isn’t loud, but it’s there in every word. “I’m not certain I’d have the relationship with Luna that I have now if not for being a single father.”
“Because of all the time you spend alone with her?”
“That. But also, because I was forced to assess my priorities. I had to decide if my work was more important than time with my daughter. I could have hired a full-time nanny, but I chosenot to.” He stops talking and glances away for a beat, then turns to me again. His voice is rougher when he says, “I think if Shayla and I hadn’t divorced, I wouldn’t have chosen to spend as much time with Luna. And that’s a hell of a confession, because it says a lot about me as a man.”
“It says a lot about the man you chose to be, Gage.”
“Yeah,” he says slowly, almost hesitantly, like he’s not sure he’s earned that version of himself yet. “Point is, sometimes when things go to hell, it clears space for something else you didn’t even know you needed.”
As I think about that, I become aware that it’s getting warm in here. When I reach up to undo the top couple buttons of my blouse, Gage’s eyes are drawn to my chest. He doesn’t even try to hide it. The way he watches unapologetically is mildly erotic. And when I say mildly, I mean it would count as foreplay if we were together.
His gaze slides back up to mine once I’m finished with my buttons. We don’t speak. We just watch each other.
Having only ever been with one man, I don’t consider myself experienced when it comes to sex. Not really. And well, I’ve established I’m out of my depth when it comes to flirting these days. Especially with a man like Gage who embodies sex like it’s built into his DNA.
But here, in this moment with him, I don’t feel shy. God, Ilikehis eyes on me.
I give him a slow smile, leaning into the ease of being with him, and return to our conversation. “I’m not sure what better place this plagiarism accusation will lead to, but I hope you’re right. Because right now, it’s shit. And social media can fuck right off.”
His mouth quirks. “Is that a new Ameliaism?”
My smile deepens, spreading through me. AnAmeliaism. It’s such a small thing, but it affects me because it feels like he’s beencollecting pieces of me and naming them. He sees me not just as a woman, or as Luna’s mom, but asme. “What? The fuck right off?”