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He takes a gulp, his gaze shifting to a TV hanging on the far side of the room. “She’s busy with her career. I’m busy with mine. Nannies are fine, but she’s mentioned wanting to be more hands-on than her current job would allow.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, setting my empty glass down on the table.

“She says she wants to be home, at least while the kids are little.” He rubs his forehead, unease showing in the lines of his face. “I can’t believe she and I are even discussing having kids.”

My dad asks, “Do you want kids?”

I appreciate his judgement-free tone with my brother. I’ve been put under the interrogation light a few times over the years by guys who tell me it’s time for me to settle down, the same people who prefer working late at the office to going home to their families. Go figure . . .

My parents have never pressured us. I know they want grandkids, but I firmly believe that people should have kids for their own reasons and on their own timelines, not others. But maybe that’s because I’ve never been in a relationship that inspired different feelings on the topic.

Tuesday.

I’m not sure if I should be concerned or happy that Tuesday is the first thing that comes to mind. That’s a big step, and it’s too soon to be taking it, much less thinking about it.

Harbor relaxes, and says, “I want kids. I’m not committed to a number or a certain timeframe, or anything like that. Our lives and careers will need to adjust to have the family life we want. My business is growing so fast . . .” He looks back and forth between us. “I love it, but there are offers on the table that I need to seriously consider.”

“You’re living your dream,” I say. “You’d sell?”

“I’ve also achieved that dream. We change. Dreams change. I’d do something else with cars, but it would be because I want to instead of needing to. You know finances aren’t an issue now. The offers I’ve received mean doing what we want for the rest of our lives. With Lark, my life looks a little different these days. My priorities have shifted. Nothing is changing anytime soon.” Spinning his glass around, he lifts his eyebrows and smirks. “And we’re having a good time right now. Perks of the honeymoon stage.”

“Too much, kid.” My dad laughs and shifts his attention and his shoulders toward me. “Tuesday is good for you, Loch.”

“Where did that come from?”

“It’s been on my mind since I met her. Not trying to criticize, but you’re not usually in that great of a mood. With her, I see the difference, and you’re happier.”

Twisting on his barstool, Harbor says, “Lark and I really liked her, and since we don’t usually meet the women you date, if date is what the kids call it these days—Wait.” He turns to my dad. “Not counting high school, has Loch ever brought a woman to meet us?”

My dad chuckles. “I believe last night was a first. Your mom and I used to think he was too embarrassed to bring around his big city ‘dates.’”

“Fucking hell,” I reply, not giving in to the teasing that has me on the verge of laughter. “Really? We’re doing this?” I shake my head and glare out of the corners of my eyes, basically sulking, which is unlike me. But the fun is too good to take it all seriously. “My ‘dates’ are just that . . . ah, fuck it.” I anchor my elbows on the high-top table. “The ladies love me, but our arrangements don’t usually involve meeting the family.”

“Until Tuesday,” my dad says.

I can’t lie. “Until Tuesday.”

My brother asks, “You bringing her to the house for Thanksgiving? The four of us can ride together.”

“Why are we talking about Thanksgiving in . . . shit.” I massage my temple. “The days are running into one another. Other than Tuesday, I haven’t thought beyond the Reinhold case lately.”

“You have several cases on the docket for December, Lochlan. If you’re spread too thin, then we need to—”

“We don’t need to do anything, Dad. I’m handling my cases, and financially speaking, the office is having its best year yet.”

“I’m not adding pressure. I can just tell your—”

“Priorities are shifting,” my brother says. “Welcome to the club.”

“My priorities aren’t shifting, Harbor,” I snap, slipping off the stool. “And what the fuck club are you talking about?”

“Settle down, brother.” He stands. “There are worse clubs you can be a part of than the love club.”

“There’s no love club.”

My dad says, “You did use we the other day.”

I stop from bolting out the door and redirect my glare on him. “What are you talking about?”

“At your apartment, Tuesday had a memory, and you said we found another piece of the puzzle. Not just her, but we, as in the two of you—”

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