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He doesn’t. He doesn’t do anything but sip his coffee.

I log in and open my email. Then, as they’re prone to do, my eyes drift to him.

He’s still studying me with that unreadable expression on his face.

I sit back in my chair, taking my over sweetened coffee with me. “Tell me about your life, Holt.”

Again, nothing to tell me I’ve caught him off guard. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Everything. You know everything about my life.”

“I don’t know everything.”

“You know a lot, Holt. More than—more than I ever thought you would.”

“Makes two of us.” I flinch. He frowns. “My life was hockey, Faye.”

“Just hockey?”

He nods. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“I mean—you didn’t have relationships?”

“I fucked around.” Why does he sound upset? “Is that what you want to hear? How I played with women but never got serious with a single one?”

“No,” I say quietly. I feel shaken. “I guess I hoped—I wanted to hear that you were happy.”

He scrubs his hand down his face. “I was happy when I was playing.”

“And when you weren’t playing?”

“When I wasn’t playing, I was missing you.” He pushes off the desk. “And I was hating you.” He points to my laptop. “Check the emails and get ready to go. We’ve got a meeting with a client at eleven.”

“Something wrong?” Holt asks as I tap out a text on the way back to the office.

We’ve hardly spoken. He’s tense, and I’m tired.

“No. Elise wants the kids for dinner tonight. She’s grabbing Mabel from daycare now. She’ll pick up Owen from school after she grabs Mabel.”

“Just the kids?”

“I was invited, but I declined. I’m just—” I pause, searching for the right words. “I’m really done right now.”

“Done how?”

“Done as in I’m going home, pouring myself a glass of wine, and sinking into a hot bath.” I sigh, because I kind of snapped that. “I’m just so tired.” I hate how my voice rattles. “This weekend is the barbecue and Owen⁠—”

“Owen, what?” Holt presses when I break off, too close to tears to speak.

“Nothing.” I can’t risk looking at him, so I look out the window.

“Faye?”

“What is this, Holt?” I twist toward him as he slides into the parking space next to my car.

“What are you asking?”

“I’m asking what this is? You and me? Coffee and croissants and booster seats and gardening.” Okay, I’m not just snapping. I’ve snapped. “What the hell is happening right now? I was married to your brother and now⁠—”