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“You’re totally wrong. The correct answer is Almond Joy.”

He stops walking to stare at me in horror. “Coconut? Seriously? And here I thought we were coming to some type of truce.”

“Don’t sound so disgusted,” I scoff. “Some of us have sophisticated taste buds.”

“Liking coconut isn’t sophisticated. It’s just wrong.”

“You’re being dramatic, Braxton.”

“Says the woman defending Almond Joy with her whole chest,” Ollie says and tosses two bars into the cart anyway. I smile in victory.

A minute later, he pauses in front of the tea section. “We should pick one or two flavors,” he reminds me.

I glance over the shelves while Ollie waits beside the cart, one hand resting on the stroller handle. “You don’t even drink tea,” I tell him.

“No,” he agrees easily. “But you do.”

It's such a small thing, but him remembering and following through hits a certain part deep in me. I'm starting to realize that's simply the kind of person he is.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in my throat, I reach for my favorite chamomile blend and toss the box into the cart. “Careful,” I tease lightly. “At this rate, I might start thinking you actually like me.”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying to contain his smile. “That would be tragic, Miss California.”

“Tragic indeed.”

He huffs out a laugh and pushes the cart toward the checkout. While the cashier scans our groceries, I rock the stroller with one foot. Tilly sleeps through the beeping scanner, the chatter around us, and even the crinkle of paper bags.

“She could probably sleep through a marching band,” I whisper.

“I’m not volunteering to test that theory.”

“You’re no fun.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Once everything is bagged, Ollie reaches for the heavier ones before I can.

“I can carry some,” I protest.

“I know, but you don't have to.”

Before I can come up with a witty comeback, he starts toward the exit. I roll my eyes, but the smile tugging at my lips refuses to leave as I catch up with him.

8

PEYTON

It’s Ollie’s first full day back at work, and I could tell he hated leaving us upstairs even if he tried to put on a brave face. He hovered around the apartment this morning double-checking bottles, diapers and the baby monitor before finally heading downstairs after I practically shoved him out the door. I understand the worry. Everything in his life changed overnight and now he’s trying to balance being a business owner while suddenly becoming responsible for a tiny human. I think today will be good for him though. Normalcy matters, even when life stops feeling normal.

Tilly sleeps against my chest in the baby carrier, her favorite place, while I search for the tea we bought last night. Somewhere below us, the muffled sounds of the auto shop drift upward through the floorboards; distant laughter, metal clanging and the occasional rumble of an engine.

“You and I should probably organize this place before one of us gets taken out by falling formula cans,” I whisper to Tilly as I find the tea behind the clean bottles.

My phone buzzes across the counter; it’s my sister-in-law Claire calling.

Smiling, I answer and put her on speaker while pouring hot water into a mug. “Hey, you. How’s California?”

“Don’t hey me, missy. Why haven’t I heard from you lately?”