Page 66 of Room for Us

I head for the hallway and my phone, relieved to have a reason to bail on the conversation. On my convoluted feelings and less-than-mature response to the news.

Also, I don’t know many eight-year-olds, but I have a good feeling Daphne won’t respond gracefully if she doesn’t get to ride a horse like her dad promised.

As long as I stay focused on being the best host possible, maybe I’ll get through this weekend without a hitch. Or an emotional cataclysm.

One crisis at a time. Chin up.

“Zoey, wait.”

Ethan slips ahead of me, blocking the doorway as I near it. “I didn’t think—that is—is this going to be hard for you?”

In a different mood, I’d think the question harmless, even sweet. But right now it grates like sand in socks. Because I already know I won’t be able to meet his child without imagining her as mine. I won’t be able to avoid the thoughts that’ll come after, either. The dark whispers that I’ll never be able to give any man children. Ethan. This man. I’ll never have his children. We’ve never talked about it—maybe he wants more kids. He’ll leave me, too.

God, I’m in so over my head I can’t see the sky.

He isn’t even mine.

“Of course not,” I lie. “Let me make those calls before everyone’s gone for the day. I’ll leave messages if I can.”

“Thank you.” He grabs my face and kisses me hard. “You’re amazing.”

“It’s no problem, really. Although if everything’s booked, I might have to name-drop you.”

He grimaces, but nods. “Whatever you need to do.”

I smile and angle past him, my heart an air balloon with a knife sailing toward it. Because I’ve just realized the worst-case scenario has already happened.

I’m in love with Ethan Hart.

36

By the morning, Zoey is back to her usual self. Not that I minded the partially unhinged version of last night. I’d never tell her, but she’s even more stunning when she’s angry. It’s impossible for me to be anything but awed in the face of her wrath. And, of course, reap the benefits later in bed. Which I did without remorse.

Besides, she was right to tear me a new one. I should have told her about Daphne’s visit when I arrived. Even mentioned it in our initial correspondence. My only excuse is too weak to admit to Zoey—between my infatuation with her and the book consuming the other half of my gray matter, I simply spaced on telling her until the reminder popped up on my phone last night after dinner.

Only now, sitting on the porch steps of Rose House, Zoey vibrating with nerves beside me, do I land in the present moment and feel the shock of it to my toes.

Zoey and Daphne.

Daphne and Zoey.

With a glance at the woman beside me, I acknowledge that it’s no fucking wonder she’s freaked out.

I’m freaking out.

“It’ll be fine,” she says, giving my fingers a quick squeeze.

“Yep. Totally.”

I arranged for a car service to pick Daphne up in Boise. In retrospect, I should have had her fly into Sun River’s small airport, but I figured a nonstop flight would be better for her first air travel.

Now I’m doubting everything.

I’ve never been nervous about my daughter meeting a woman before. Then again, Britt was the first and last official girlfriend I’ve had since Daphne was born. The other women who’ve come and gone over the years never warranted an introduction.

But everything is different now.

I’m different.

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