She approached the table, one hand resting on the small, still-flat curve of her stomach. There was something different about her today. Her face was softer than it had been, the kind of softness that follows a storm—not peace exactly, but surrender.
Emily held her coffee, eyebrows raised in question, but didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.
Sienna offered a small, breathy laugh, then said, “I told Tyson last night.” Her voice cracked slightly, but it seemed to be more from release than fear. “He was okay.” She sank intothe chair as if the weight she’d been carrying had finally shifted. “Surprised, obviously, and not sure what to do next, but he didn’t freak out like I thought he would. I’d been so worried for nothing.”
Will looked on curiously. “What did you tell him?” he asked.
“That I’m pregnant.”
Will’s lips parted. “Oh wow. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” She sipped her juice.
“How do you feel now that he knows?” Emily asked. “Is it a weight off your shoulders?”
“Yes. I feel a sense of purpose that I couldn’t take hold of until Tyson was on board. I can’t say for sure where it’s coming from. And I still worry that I’m going to get so busy with the baby that I’ll lose myself.”
“I have to wonder if you might find yourself instead,” Emily offered.
Sienna put her fingers to her smiling lips and shook her head.
“We should celebrate,” Will said.
“Oh! That reminds me…” Emily checked her phone. No service. She turned to Sienna. “I offered to help Patrick with the town cleanup today at ten before I remembered everyone was coming. I thought maybe you, me, and Blair could help, but with your hubbies here, I’ll go by myself. We can celebrate after.”
“Who’s Patrick?” Will asked.
“The guy you interrupted last night,” Emily said.
His face crumpled. “The fire-pit guy? Didn’t I hear him say he was a chef?”
“A chef who saved us from the worst of the storm. I’d like to repay his kindness.”
“Was that the same guy I heard on the other end of your phone that night?” he asked, that tone she’d heard over the last few days creeping in.
Was that jealousy on his face? How dare he… Not only had she just met Patrick, but who she planned to see was none of Will’s business. It struck her how different he seemed, how much she had overlooked during the bustle of their life together. Where once she saw kindness, she now noticed the edge in his smile, the way his laugh reached just a little bit too far. With distance and clarity, she saw him as others must have all along—not cruel, not evil, but small. Long ago, she’d put him on a pedestal as the man she loved. But sitting across from him in that moment was like adjusting the focus on a camera lens; suddenly, the image sharpened, and he didn’t look the same.
When Emily surfaced from her thoughts, she found Sienna telling Will about how they’d stayed at Julia’s, and with every word, his face grew paler and paler. He frowned and nodded, but didn’t say anything else.
He didn’t need to. He’d made his bed. Now he had to lie in it.
TWENTY-TWO
After a text to Patrick finally went through, he picked up Emily. She was glad to escape Will. A mix of guilt and relief swallowed her as she stepped into the truck, leaving her ex irritatingly standing in the driveway of the house.
As they rumbled down the drive, she glanced back once, catching a final glimpse of Will. With the fresh air rushing through the open window and Patrick’s quiet composure, it felt as if she was finally moving forward, not just through the wreckage of the storm, but out of something that, looking back with a clear head, had long been broken.
Patrick didn’t say anything about Will being in the driveway. He didn’t say much at all, his expression unreadable. Was he only picking her up out of duty because they’d made plans? Did he want her there? From the way he reacted last night, it was pretty clear he didn’t want to be in the middle of things.
In the quiet between them, Emily turned her attention to the scene through the window. In the aftermath of the terrible weather, the area still bore the scars of high winds and storm surge. Side streets remained littered with fallen branches, shattered glass, and remnants of homes and businesses.
“The cleanup crews have been working round the clock in the sweltering heat,” Patrick finally said, rounding a corner. “I’ve got water bottles in the back to hand out, since they have limited access to clean water.”
“Okay.” Her elbow hung out the window as the warm breeze blew strands of hair across her face. While she wanted to explain what had happened between her and Will last night, she kept silent.
Patrick pulled to a stop along the side of the road. “We’ll start here.”
The air smelled of damp wood, salt, and gasoline. The constant hum of generators and chainsaws filled the background while workers moved methodically through neighborhoods, clearing debris and assessing damage. A few people stopped to wave at Patrick.
