Page 55 of Room for Us

My brows skyrocket. “Huh? Who?”

“You know, the blond guy. Stocky. I think I saw dimples when he smiled at you, which he was always doing.”

Silent laughter quakes in my belly. I know who he’s talking about, and the fact that he’s jealous makes me want to squeal with glee. Containing myself, I hold up my index finger.

“First of all, his name is Clive and we went to high school together.”

Ethan mirrors my finger with his. “Second of all, his name is Clive.”

I roll my eyes. “So rude. He’s perfectly nice.”

“Fine, fine. Second?”

I let my middle finger join my first. “Second of all—and lastly—your semen is leaking out of my vag onto antique tile flooring and you’re asking me about some random nice person who helped me plant the yard?”

I lost him at the word ‘vag,’ his immediate laughter so loud I doubt he heard the rest of the sentence. It doesn’t matter. He finally collapses, his head landing on my lap.

I grin down at him, my fingers playing with strands of his thick hair. “You know, based on first impressions, I wondered if you even had a sense of humor.”

He grimaces. “I know. I was a dick.”

I nod. “Yes, you were.” He pinches me lightly on the hip. I swat him, then admit, “You made me nervous.”

“Why?”

“I’d never seen such a pretty man.”

His mouth drops open. “Pretty? What’s wrong with you? You might as well call me cute. Or fluffy.”

I giggle. “I also thought you looked like a college dropout.”

Ethan grins. “That’s not going to change. Daphne’s always telling me what a slob I am.”

I still at the mention of his daughter—he does, too. Then he tries to sit up, but I plant my palm on his forehead. He eventually relaxes, though his eyes stay hesitant.

“That’s your daughter’s name?” I prod.

“How’d you know I had a daughter?”

“Google. Duh.”

He chuckles. “Touché. Yes, she’s my daughter. My one and only. A happy accident from irresponsible days long past.”

“I can tell you love her very much.”

“More than anything,” he confirms, then hesitates.

“Go ahead and ask,” I say.

“Did you want to have kids? Before you found out?”

“Very much.” My voice is weak. “Being a mother was something I always wanted. It’s hard to explain, but it’s also something I never questioned. I was a woman, I wanted kids, so of course I would eventually become pregnant and have them. It was a fundamental truth. Losing that truth was like…” I shrug. “There are no words. It changed me, and it’s still changing me. Eventually, I’d like to adopt. But I need time to process everything. To let go of what I thought defined me, I guess.”

“Makes perfect sense to me. For what it’s worth, I think you’re incredibly brave.”

“Ha. I’m not. I ran home with my tail between my legs, using my aunt’s death and inheriting this inn as an excuse not to face my failures.”

He grabs the hand still playing with his hair and squeezes it. “You’re not a failure,” he says firmly. “In my experience, sometimes when we run toward what we think we need, we’re actually running from what we do. Most people never seize the change to course-correct their lives. You did. You are. And that’s amazing.”

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