Page 6 of Found in Wild Sage

The most important thing is Charlie.

I keep this front and center as I greet the boy himself and melt at his giant grin when he sees me. He is so happy and chatty in the mornings, even though I can only understand his handful of actual words.

“Mama, mo.”

He’s hungry, and to hear him express it is one of my favorite things. Forty-five minutes later, he’s fed, cleaned up, changed for school, and we walk out the front door.

I love my little apartment, and I owe Jack a lot—he got me out of the jam I found myself in, almost eight months pregnant and desperate for a new start after leaving the man who abused me—but foremost is his generosity, since he insisted on buying this apartment for me and putting it in my name. He wanted to buy an entire house, but I refused that outright. I insisted on paying him back, so he’s technically my lender and I pay him monthly rather than a bank. He was deeply unhappy about this, but once we hashed it out, he understood I couldn’t handle him just giving me a home.

But I love my little second-story apartment. It’s the top half of a small home nestled right downtown in Juniper View. We walk to school every day, and as Charlie gets bigger, that’s more and more valuable.

“Mama, go. We go school!” Charlie stomps his little feet, his tiny backpack slung over his shoulders, mini-Chuck Taylors on his feet.

“Alright, buddy. We’re going.” I haul my bag over my shoulder and take his hand. We walk three blocks, and right on time, I see him.

Dr. Declan Ryan.

Because even though we hardly exchange words in a given day, I start every workday like this. A tall, dark, gorgeous man meets me on the corner of 4th and Emerald Street. First, he’ll bend to catch Charlie, who pulls from my grasp and launches at him. Charlie beams and hugs Declan, wiggling with excitement to see the man.

Boy, same.

And Declan might be just as happy to see Charlie. He presses him close. I make a point to watch his face and if he’s turned toward me, then I try to stay upright when his eyes flutter shut as he accepts Charlie’s hug. Inevitably, the moment will break when Charlie squeals or begins chanting D-d-d-d because he can’t quite figure out Dec. Sometimes, Charlie will pat Declan’s cheek and my stomach will clench with a desire so potent it nearly makes my knees knock.

“Hey, Charlie. Did you have a good morning?”

Charlie spouts off a litany of words and Declan stays rapt, giving him all of his attention.

Honestly, it’s kind of rude. Like, how am I supposed to resist this? My friend Sam witnessed this exchange once last spring, and she made it clear such a thing is impossible. I felt a little better after that, especially since he doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop.

After another few seconds of chatting, Declan sets Charlie down and guides him back to me, then tugs the strap of my bag off my shoulder. Just like always.

Just like always, I find his stunning eyes and my heart trips.

“I’ll take this.”

His voice is graveled this morning.

I wonder if he slept as well as I did. He probably spent the night planning a graceful exit from this mess. I can’t blame him for it.

“Thank you.” Best I stay in the present.

One more lingering moment of connection, then a smile hits his eyes when he drops down and accepts one more hug from Charlie.

Of course, the smile is meant for my boy. It makes sense because he’s adorable, and we don’t look at each other like that.

“Bye-bye, D-d-d-dack! Bye!” Charlie waves his chubby little hand and grins as we walk.

Declan waves back.

It is enough to make me want to cry, especially after no sleep.

I should be used to this, considering it happens every day, but my defenses are down. Yes, I frequently obsess about this particular moment in my workday when the gorgeous local-hero doctor greets my child with endless affection, carries my heavy workbag filled with coffee mug and water bottle and packed lunch to work while I drop off my boy. Yes, I’ve wondered what it means.

I tried to let him off the hook a few days after it became clear he was going to keep showing up. I said, “You don’t have to keep doing this,” but he simply said, “I know I don’t,” and that was that. He’s been here every day since, minus a handful of instances where he notified me in advance he’d be traveling or had other obligations the day before at work.

After a while, I’ve accepted it’s not anything other than that sharp, logical mind deciding helping me, the single mom he sees every day on his way to work, is the right thing.

Dr. Declan Ryan is a person who helps. He’s a helper. He, in every way I’ve had the privilege to observe, does what’s helpful. So if he isn’t backing out, it’s only because of this. It’s because he wants to help the single mom whose kid he finds adorable. And I can’t blame myself for both appreciating and hating this kind of logic in equal measure.