Page 56 of Everything But Mine

“Pool and breakfast Sunday, though,” he adds. “Probably with the whole gang.”

Val, pursed lips and all, doesn’t argue.

Diego stands then, bumping his knee against the coffee table without flinching. “You good to clean up, man? I’ve got to head to work.”

Eric gets up to walk him out.

“Working tonight?” I ask.

“Yeah. Short staff, and there’s a Jeep that needs parts first thing Monday.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes the way Diego’s smiles do.

I glance at Val. She’s looking down at the carpet, her jaw tense, and her face slightly flushed. At the door, Diego and Eric trade quick goodbyes before it clicks shut.

When Eric sits on the couch again, Val is already pulling on her coat, movements brisk. She’s out the door before I can catch up to her. Now it’s just Eric and me, a whole lazy Saturday afternoon ahead of us, and resort rooms to book.

I bring leftover food and plates to the kitchen while he cleans. It takes me a couple of trips. Eric’s scraping crumbs off into the compost bin, his jaw tight. “Thanks.”

I set the last tray beside him and reach for a towel. “We don’t have to go as dates, you know,” I say softly. “I mean, we don’t even need to stay the night. I could just drive after the reception. It won’t even end that late, and I can’t drink anyway. Hell, this is my mess. You don’t even need to be there⁠—”

“What?” Eric stops and turns off the sink, drying his hands so he can face me. “Why would you say that?”

“You seem upset.” I push down the disappointment scratching at my chest because it has no room or reason to be there. “You don’t need to be. I understand.”

He grabs my hand. His fingers are pruney, still slick with soap. “No, Amanda. No. Nothing like that,” he says, gentle but unmistakably firm. “I mean it. I want to go with you. As your date, if you’ll have me. I want all of it.” He exhales, shaky. “I’m—it’s Diego.”

I nod. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s not my place.” His mouth tightens. I nod again. I understand. Diego’s my friend, but the two of them are on a different level. “You and Diego are my people. I have the two of you, and my mom, and—” He breaks off and pulls me into him. Our legs brush as his fingertips trace slow, absent paths up and down my bare arms, and the contact is almost unbearable. Craving and fear in equal measure. “I don’t want either of you hurting,” he says quietly, his breath fanning my forehead.

I nod, staring into his eyes and taking in the specks in different shades of amber in his irises. I don’t want to hurt you ever again. I regret ever hurting you. Trust me to do better by you and this child this time. Promises swirling in his gaze. I avert mine, then swallow.

“So… we’re okay for next weekend?”

“We’re better than okay,” he says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Even with Keith and your dad?”

“Even with them. I’m not there for them.” He turns away, setting a pitcher on the counter. A lemon wedge is already on the cutting board, as if I have interrupted him mid-task.

“You want tea?” he asks.

“Sure. Or lemon water. Whatever you’re making.”

He drops another slice into the pitcher, fills it, and slides it into the fridge, then sets two mugs on the counter. I take mine, letting the warmth sink into my hands. The house feels too quiet after all the noise Diego carries with him.

He joins me with his laptop, still closed. “Do you mind if I finish a few work things, then we look at next weekend? Maybe plan a little trouble?”

I nod. We work side by side in easy silence for a while. At some point, he reheats empanadas and sets the plate between us, eating one-handed while jotting notes in his planner.

Then he looks up. “Why aren’t you presenting at Val’s conference?”

I add a grant deadline to my Google Calendar, then shrug. “I’ve presented at her conference before. It’s not much of a curriculum builder for me, and my head’s just elsewhere. I can attend without presenting.”

“I missed your last presentation,” he says.

“True.” I sip my tea. “But there’ll be others, if you really want to learn about the effects of infant abandonment and its long-term impact on early adulthood.”

Eric smiles. “Amanda, I live those every day. I just want to be there for you. But you shouldn’t present if you don’t want to.”