Page 59 of Halo

“I think we're going to stick with a bun for now. It's a meat-texture thing,” Nick explains, the rest of us nodding in understanding.

“That's okay, Grady,” Chelsea starts, “the bun is my favorite part.”

He smiles, retreating behind me, suddenly shy with all the attention.

“Let's eat, shall we?” Julian announces.

Oh my word …

Chelsea Santiago outdid herself. As always.

We fill our paper plates with burgers and hot dogs alongside handfuls of chips, creamy potato salad, fruit salad, and baked beans. We scatter between the patio furniture and a circle of lawn chairs. Most of the children inhale a few bites before racing back to the water slide, their squeals and laughter filling the backyard as the sun begins to set.

Sitting among the women, I do my best to stay engaged in the conversation, nodding along as they discuss cheerleading and homecoming festivities. Yet every time I look up, I find a pair of moss green eyes already waiting for me, sending a quiet flutter through my chest before one of us inevitably looks away.

I wish I knew what he was looking at, what he truly saw in me. I'm fairly ordinary. Plain. No boobs. I don't hate the way I look, but it's been a long time since a man looked at me like I was remotely interesting, and I can promise you that no man of Nick Crawford's caliber has ever given me a second glance.

I guess every woman has that fear—the one we've watched play out in a dozen romantic comedies—that somehow we're the butt of some cruel joke, that the stud made a bet. Or lost a bet. Or maybe he's simply bored and needs his ego stroked.

I know this isn't Nick.

But what is he waiting for?

After finishing my meal, I help Chelsea gather trash before she corrals everyone around the patio for presents and birthday cake. Birdie and Vera tear through their mountain of gifts with delighted squeals, proudly holding up each treasure for everyone to admire.

Once the wrapping paper is cleared away, Julian emerges from the house carrying a beautiful sheet cake adorned with colorful buttercream hibiscus flowers. The twins dissolve into giggles as we sing Happy Birthday, then lean in together to blow out the candles in one determined breath.

As Chelsea begins serving cake, I notice Grady lingering at the edge of the crowd. He reaches for Nick's hand and nods toward the dance floor. With a grin, Nick is led away.

Maybe that's what I should've done that night at the bar.

I lick a bit of frosting from my fork when a loud commotion erupts at the back door. Julian pulls a tall man with dark, wavy hair and glasses into a hug, punctuating it with a hearty slap on the back. The moment the man looks up, I gasp, a smile spreading across my face.

The emergency room physician.

Dr. Rams—something.

I stand, smoothing out my skirt before heading in that direction. He probably doesn't remember me, and I have no clue what to say to him—if anything—but I need to at least say hello to the man who saved my life.

“Jon,” Chelsea’s voice carries, “you need to meet Leah Harrison. This is Grady's kindergarten teacher.”

“And she works Tuesday nights at Low Places,” Julian adds, giving him a wink I don't quite understand.

When he turns to face me, there's a brief flicker of recognition in his piercing eyes. “Leah,” he murmurs, shaking my hand. “Jonathan Ramsdale. It's … really good to see you.”

“Likewise.” I smile.

“Where's baby girl?” Julian asks, grabbing Jonathan's attention again.

“On-call, unfortunately, so she put me in charge of bringing the presents.” He holds up two glittery gift bags.

Chelsea turns to me. “His wife is Tatum Erikson, y’know? Your—”

“New gyno,” I finish. “Of course. Wow, what a small world.”

She glances over at Nick, who is chatting with a growing crowd of kids. “Girl, you have no idea.”

Lizzie, the oldest Santiago daughter, runs up to her mother, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Mr. Nick is about to teach us how to line dance. Can I go grab my boots?”