“You too,” I say, and this time it doesn’t feel like automatic politeness. “Congratulations. On…”
I gesture vaguely toward the high chair, the bedlam, the whole life he’s built.
A smile blooms under his beard. “Thanks. Took us long enough.”
Rose steps closer, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Hi, Faith,” she says. “Been a while.”
My breath hitches. We weren’t best friends back then. She was a couple of years older than me, and we orbited different crowds, but we logged plenty of time around the same kitchen tables and pickup trucks.
Rose, with her nose in a textbook at the McCoy counter. Rose, crammed in the back of Boone’s truck on late summer runs to Dairy Queen. Rose, sitting three rows down in the bleachers at every game I was at.
She was always somewhere near Boone. Everyone kind of assumed they were endgame… until they weren’t… and I guess they finally made their way back to one another.
“Hi,” I breathe, feeling oddly shy and too big for my own skin. “You’re… wow. You’re glowing. And your babies are perfect.”
Her smile softens. She looks grateful and tired. “The dark circles under my eyes would like to argue with you, but I’ll take the compliment.”
She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and nods toward where the two children sit. One on the floor, one kicking happily in the high chair.
“That’s Ellie,” she says, pointing to the chatterbox with the plastic horse, “and this little guy is Wyatt.”
Wyatt bangs his spoon again, delighted with himself. Ellie waves the horse at me as a greeting.
“Come sit,” Maggie says briskly. “You need to eat something before you fall over. You look like a stiff breeze could knock you down.”
“That’s just her, Ma,” Nash says. “She’s always looked like a stiff breeze could knock her down.”
“Thank you,” I say dryly.
“I mean that as a compliment,” he insists. “Delicate. Ethereal. Like a?—”
“If you say snowflake, I am throwing hot coffee at you,” I warn.
He laughs again, hands up. “See? Same old Faith.”
Through all of this, I’m acutely aware of the fact that Dallas still hasn’t said anything.
I risk a quick glance in his direction.
He’s watching, of course. He doesn’t stop watching. But he’s stayed in his chair, one arm around the little girl in his lap, the other hand resting on the table. His expression is guarded. Not hostile, exactly. Just closed.
The little girl on his lap turns to look at me, curiosity bright in her blue eyes.
Blue.
My breath stutters. Up close, there’s no mistaking it. She has his eyes, that same intense blue, framed by dark lashes. She studies me solemnly, then leans up and whispers into his ear.
His mouth twitches.
“That’s Faith,” he answers quietly, but I still hear it. “She’s an old friend. She’s staying here for a little bit.”
The words hit me in two different ways at once.Old friend. Staying here.My stomach does a slow, uneven flip.
“You wanna say hi?” he adds.
The little girl considers this. Then she wiggles out of his lap and slides off his knee, feet landing with a soft thump on the floor. She pads toward me, socked feet nearly silent, her braids swinging.
