And yet.
I pull mugs from the cabinet while he leans against the counter watching me, not in a heavy way, just present, attentive, like he notices everything. Which unfortunately means that he notices when I nearly drop the marshmallows because his sleeves are pushed up and forearm muscles should honestly not look like that while holding a mug.
Rude.
“Long night?” he asks quietly.
“Briar Cove Elementary winter concerts are emotionally violent.”
“That tiny chair nearly ended my career.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. His eyes lift instantly at the sound. Every single time I laugh, he looks startled by it. Like he collects the sound and stores it somewhere. The thought makes my stomach flutter in a deeply unhelpful way.
I hand him a mug quickly. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
Our fingers brush briefly. Heat flashes through me instantly. Ridiculous. It’s just a hand touch. Unfortunately, my nervous system reacts like we shared state secrets. I busy myself with whipped cream to avoid looking at him.
Your ex is a jerk,” Colby says after a moment.
Direct.
Simple.
The truth.
I exhale slowly. “That’s the scientific term, yes.”
“He upset Jillie.”
Something dark flickers quietly underneath the words. Not possessive, but protective.
“He used to be good with her,” I admit quietly. The confession hurts more than I expect. Because it’s true.
Darren wasn’t terrible all the time. That’s what made losing him complicated for Jillie.
“He taught her how to make pancakes shaped like dinosaurs,” I say softly. “He used to read the same bedtime story in ridiculous voices until she laughed.”
Colby listens silently. No interruption. No judgment.
“He just…” I swallow hard. “Stopped showing up eventually.”
The kitchen grows very still.
Outside, snow slides softly down the windows. “She waited for him,” I whisper. “For months.”
There it is…the real wound underneath everything.
Not my heartbreak. Hers.
“She used to ask me if maybe traffic was bad. Or if maybe he forgot what day it was.” My throat tightens painfully. “Once she sat by the window for an hour because she thought she heard his truck.”
Colby closes his eyes briefly.
And when he opens them again, there’s something devastatingly gentle there. “No kid should have to wonder if they matter enough for somebody to stay.”
The words land so deep inside me I almost physically flinch. Because that’s exactly it. Exactly.
