Page 2 of Found in Wild Sage

I swallow, nerves ratcheting up as guilt swarms my chest like wasps. “It’s nothing. I apologize if I seem off.”

I’m everything at once—embarrassed he can tell something’s wrong, upset I’ve failed so completely at hiding that I have a problem, and angry Trevor the horrible human being is still affecting my life.

And oh… no. No.

The tears are coming.

Don’t you dare cry, Evie Hansen.

“Evie. What is it?”

His voice is softer now. Less demand and more… plea.

It’s the perfect thing. The absolute right way to talk to me now and it’s disarming enough, my defenses drop. His gentleness is the perfect key to unlock me.

I clear my throat and admit, “Charlie’s father is attempting to gain custody.”

His jaw flexes. “You mentioned this a few weeks ago.”

Is he annoyed I’m repeating it? Or concerned? I can’t read him.

It has been a few weeks since he heard me telling Maggie. It’s been a few months since I told Sam. The entire summer has been swallowed up by the specter of Trevor pretending he wants to be a father, but it has never felt like an imminent threat until today.

“Yes. Well. Now I’m being told that he has a decent chance of getting custody because he’s married, and I’m a single mom.”

Do not cry. Do not cry.

I’ve never felt like a pity case, even when Jack has helped me, but I’m bordering here if I cry at work with a man I—with my boss.

“I’m not sure what to do,” comes out in such a small voice, I wonder if the words even made it out past my lips.

His sharp, brilliant eyes study me, and somehow, I manage not to drop my head. I’m not ashamed of who I am or why I’m here, but I hate that I hear an old, nasty voice in my head tempting me toward it.

Aren’t you pathetic for whining to your boss like this? Isn’t it just like you to lose your cool at work? Shouldn’t you be embarrassed you’re such a mess?

I grit my teeth against the onslaught. I won’t listen to that voice—one that sounds suspiciously like my ex’s. And from the man in front of me? I don’t want his pity; I don’t want his consolation, even.

I have wanted a lot of things from Declan Ryan, but he’ll never know them. Pity is for darn sure not one of them.

“You should get married, then.”

It’s a proclamation.

Ouch. Dr. Declan Ryan is usually a jarring combination of gentle and forthright. In this case, I suppose it’s the latter. “Right.”

“I mean it. Get married. Problem solved.”

And maybe he can be a bit obtuse.

I exhale a bit of my frustration. “Yes, well, it’s not that easy. I’m not even dating anyone. Who would I marry?”

I take a sip of coffee to give me something to do with my hands and my face and my stupid mouth that got me into this.

“You could marry me.”

I choke on the tepid drink as my brain scrambles to make sense of it. “You? Why—why would you do that?”

He blinks.