Isaac relieves himself of the kids’ packs and his own duffel before toeing off his shoes. He looks good. Tired, which I’d guess is fifty percent travel and fifty percent single-parent exhaustion.
“Double D, huh?” I ask, finally free to enjoy it.
He follows me into the kitchen and empties his pockets onto the counter. “I don’t know how, but this is your fault. He keeps asking me why he can’t say it.”
“What the hell—agh!”
Isaac pinches me.
Dick.
“They can’t even hear me,” I grumble, rubbing my arm. “What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That it’s a grown-up thing he can only know about when he’s older. Preferably forty.”
He pats down his pockets, confused, and I pluck the sunglasses off his head and throw them on the kitchen island.
“And—let me think—that made him want to say it more.”
Isaac moves his sunglasses over to the neat little pile he’s built of his keys, wallet, and phone. “What do you think?”
I just laugh in his face.
“How’s work?”
Isaac is a professional nerd—or in his words, a “risk analyst.” It’s really boring, so, you know, it’s perfect for him. I make a note to ask about it every time we talk because it annoys him.
“Busy,” he says, laughing, then mouths,Asshole, as he pulls me into a hug, slapping my back a few times. “But good. How about you? How’s Paige?”
Yeah, okay. I deserve that.
“I’m good.” I ignore the second part.
“Just good?” he asks, stepping back. “Did your idiotic plan work out? You know, lying to the woman you’re trying to win back is a terrible way to regain her trust.”
“Yes, Moral Mabel, you’ve already said that. Hungry?”
“Starving. I gave up my lunch to the kids.”
I pull a loaf of bread from the pantry and throw together enough sandwiches for everyone. “The plan went as expected.”Mostly. “Paige is …” I shrug in lieu of an answer. “We’re okay, I think.”
“What did your therapist say?”
Jesus. “Couldn’t even make it through a meal without asking, could you?”
I hand him a plate, and he slides into a stool to eat. I settle back against the cabinets, crossing my ankles and soaking in the sight of him. I’d never say it to his face—he’d never let me live it down, for one—but I’m glad he’s here. I’ve missed him. A year of living together again while I tried to unscramble my head got me used to having him around.
Swallowing my next bite, I relent. “And, yes, we talked about it. He wasn’t happy that I’d manipulated the date?—”
“Told you.”
I flip him off before taking another bite. “But he said it’s good that I came clean and owned up to why I’d left in the first place.”
It wasn’t fucking easy, but a year of therapy had taught me that none of it was going to be. If I want this—and there’s nothing I want more than getting Paige back—I’m going to have to suck it up and start sharing.
Isaac walks his empty plate to the sink. “Aw, what a good boy you are.”
He pats my head, and I slap his hand away.
