Page 96

I’m so caught up in my answer that I don’t understand the question until I see Eric’s face. A father who blocked calls. A new husband and another family. He isn’t asking what I would do. He’s asking why his mother didn’t do it for him. The fight to his hypothetical question drains out of me, leaving a deep ache behind.

“But I don’t have children,” I say more gently. “Maybe it’s easy for me to say what I’d do.”

“You’d never quit,” he says more to himself than me.

I don’t know enough about his family to explain why his mother stopped trying, and I won’t pretend I do. I turn into him and wrap my arms around his waist. He goes still for a moment before his arms close around me, holding me tight.

We stay that way until Percy decides he’s been ignored long enough. He pushes his head between us, and Eric lets out a quiet laugh as he reaches down to scratch beneath Percy’s chin.

Then his gaze shifts to the clock. “You’re meeting Chloe tonight.”

“I can cancel.” I don’t want to leave him alone when he’s hurting.

“No. You have plans.” He gets to his feet, and I stand with him. “Thank you for letting me come over.”

He reaches for his jacket, but I catch his hand before he can pick it up.

“You can come back later. I’ll be home around nine thirty.” I glance at Percy, who’s winding around Eric’s ankles. “Percy insists.”

“Does he?”

“He thinks you should bring your toothbrush.”

Eric looks down at Percy, then back at me. “Is he inviting me to spend the night?”

“We both are.”

Eric smiles. “Should I bring pajamas?”

“Bring whatever you usually sleep in.”

“That should make packing easy.”

He leans down and kisses me. His palm settles against my cheek, and his lips move softly over mine before he draws back.

“I’ll see you later.”

I close the door behind him and find Percy sitting at my feet, staring after him.

“Don’t worry. He’s coming back.”

32

RACHEL

By Thursday afternoon, Eric has spent almost a week at my apartment, and I’ve become very good at avoiding what that might mean.

For the third time today, I consider calling Grandma. I’ve put it off for days. It’s hard to speak to her without feeling guilty when the man she calls a parasite now has three suits hanging in my closet.

A knock at my office door interrupts the thought.

“Come in.”

Mia enters carrying a flat parcel wrapped in thick brown paper. “This was delivered for you.”

I clear a space in the middle of my desk. “Who sent it?”

“There’s a card.”