“Of course,” I lie. “Everything’s fine.”
He doesn’t believe me. I can see that in the faint crease between his brows. But he nods anyway, letting me have the lie.
“Okay,” he says. “If that changes, I’m here.”
The simple offer tightens my throat. I nod too fast and turn away, climbing the steps to the cottage before I burst into tears or do something equally embarrassing.
Inside, the smell of coffee and eggs fills the air. Maya is already at the table talking with Dad, and Mom is just settingdown a plate of cut fruit. They all look up when we walk in, and I force a smile onto my face.
“Good morning, everyone,” I say, hearing a chorus of replies as I cross the room to give Dad a quick hug. “Happy birthday, Dad.”
“Thanks, son,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “Nice to see you up early. It’s beautiful out there.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say, though my head is somewhere else entirely.
Connor steps forward and offers my father his hand. “Happy birthday, sir.”
Dad waves off the handshake and pulls him into a brief hug instead. “Thank you, Connor. And for God’s sake, call me Daniel.”
Connor smiles, but there’s something tight in his expression, a tension that wasn’t there yesterday. I don’t know if anyone else notices it, or if I’m just too aware of him now.
“Where are Brad and Maria?” I ask, mostly to fill the silence as I pour myself coffee from the carafe on the counter.
“They’re still asleep, I think,” Mom says. “They didn’t call it a night until three in the morning.”
“They were really drunk,” Maya says with a chuckle, buttering her toast. Then she looks up at me. “Where are Rick and Cassidy?”
I cringe inside.
“They’re sleeping in,” Connor says smoothly, saving me from having to answer.
“Right,” Maya says, probably taking that as code for them being hungover.
“What do you boys want for breakfast?” Mom asks, already moving toward the stove. “The cooks made scrambled eggs, omelets, and oatmeal.”
“I’ll have scrambled eggs, thank you, Caroline,” Connor says.
Mom smiles at him, then turns to me. “Noah?”
“I’m not really hungry,” I say, taking a seat at the far end of the table.
“Nonsense,” Mom says, her tone sharpening. “At least have some eggs.”
I sigh, with zero energy to argue. “Okay. Thanks.”
Connor pours himself coffee too, then sits down beside me, but shifts his chair a few inches away, careful to leave space between us. The distance feels painfully deliberate.
Dad and Maya start debating how many eggs you’d actually need to eat to get forty grams of protein at breakfast while Mom sets a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me and another in front of Connor. The sight of food makes my stomach turn, but I pick up my fork anyway and push the yellow heap around without taking a bite.
Connor starts eating too, though without much enthusiasm, and he’s so quiet all of a sudden that I can’t stop wondering if it’s because of what happened between us last night. Is this what it’s going to be like now? Weird and strained every time we’re in the same room? What if he already wants out, but feels too guilty to back out after promising to help me?
Connor catches my eye and gives me a questioning look, and that’s when I realize I’ve been staring at him.
I look away so fast it’s almost violent, and that’s when I catch Mom watching us, suspicion building in her eyes. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head as she steps back, her mouth flattening with concern. She’s like a bloodhound when it comes to my moods, and I can tell she’s onto something.
“Is everything alright, Noah, sweetie?” she asks, her voice a little too casual.
I stab at my eggs without looking up. “Everything’s fine, Mom.”
