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I pull out my phone and text Tanner.

Fantastic job on the Kepler house! Floor looks great.

Thanks. You in the office today?

Yep. I’m done being sick.

Are you busy this weekend?

I wince. I should have known this was where the conversation would turn. Before Holt arrived in town, I’d been trying to see Tanner in that spot beside me. Mostly because everyone said it was time, and I felt like perhaps something was wrong with me for not wanting someone. For not wanting Tanner.

But now that Holt’s back I’m not so sure anymore. I’m not so sure, because I don’t feel that way about Tanner. A twisty kind of sick settles in my belly when I think of being with Holt the way I’m trying to make myself think of being with Tanner.

I already know nothing can happen with Holt. He’s my ex from high school, and my late husband’s little brother. I already jumped from Holt to Tate once. I can’t imagine the name I’d earn myself if I jumped back to Holt.

But still, the feelings are there—as bad as that may be.

Of course, I won’t do anything about them. But the fact they are there at all proves that Tanner isn’t the one for me. Encouraging him any longer would simply be cruel.

Still, I want to let him down gently.

I’m not sure I’m ready for that, Tanner. I’m sorry.

I stare at my phone for way too long.

Finally, he replies.

I’ll be here when you are.

I want to cry. I do the next best thing and smother my emotions with a giant bite of the gooey croissant.

Because I was clearly born with absolute shit for luck, Holt takes that moment to enter the main office. I chew, swallow, and manage a croaked, “Morning.”

His eyes are laughing at me.

Heat creeps up my face. I point to the coffee and treat. “Thanks for this.”

“Welcome.” He sits on the edge of Elise’s desk, folds one booted foot over the other and pins me with those dark eyes. “Tanner show up at the house often?”

Oh, God, why is he asking?

“He—um—sometimes.”

Holt nods once. “The kids seem close to him.”

“He’s their uncle.”

“I’m their uncle.”

I feel like I’m going to choke on air. I take a sip of my latte. “Tanner was Tate’s best friend. He was around a lot. He came around a lot more to help around the house after…” I can’t continue, but I don’t need to. I say quietly, “He’s like family.”

“Did he want you when you were Tate’s?”

I flinch. “Of course not.”

Holt’s expression is hard. I feel like I might crumble under the pressure of it.

Finally, darkly, he responds, “He wants you now.”