Page 12 of I Saw Her First

“I need to go,” I say again, turning for the kitchen and snatching my bag off the counter. Jesse appears at my side as I reach the front door.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” His blue eyes are ringed with misery, and I lift a hand to his face.

I can’t be mad at him. Do I wish he’d told me? Yes, but this isn’t about me. I’m not the one who had to deal with something so painful. He obviously didn’t feel comfortable enough to bring it up, and I need to respect that.

Besides, I didn’t tell him about my parents, or that I don’t even speak to them anymore. In fact, the few times he’s asked, I’ve deliberately changed the subject. Because Jesse isn’t the only one who’s hiding. I’m hiding too. Not just from him—from myself. I have been for years. And I can’t face that any more than he can face the death of his mom. So I can hardly blame him for keeping this from me.

“That’s okay,” I say, softly stroking his cheek. “It’s your business, Jesse.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

How do I explain the awkwardness I feel about Weston being his dad? The shock about learning what he’s—what they’veboth—been through?

I shake my head, rising on my toes to peck him on the lips. “It’s just… a lot. I’ll text you, okay?”

Jesse gives a reluctant nod, then opens the door for me. I step out into the night air and walk to the subway, my head spinning.

And all I can think about is if I’ll be able to face Weston in the morning.

6

Weston

For the first time in a year, I don’t go to Joe’s for my morning coffee. I know it’s cowardly, but I can’t imagine seeing Daisy after last night. I need a day to get my head on straight.

I can’t believe I was going to ask her out. Mortification floods me at the thought. Here I was thinking there was a connection between us, and all the while she was dating my son. My twenty-three-year-old son.

I shake my head as I climb into my Audi and pull out onto the quiet morning street. I’ll get my coffee in the city today.

What was I thinking, that a woman her age could be into a guy like me? I must be twenty years older than her. Sure, I’m in great shape, thanks to swimming laps after work most nights, but I don’t have the energy of a twenty-something, and I come with so much fucking baggage it’s not funny.

Of course, Jess comes with baggage too. I’m shocked to learn that even after seeing Daisy for several months, he didn’t tell her about his mom’s death. It’s the most significant thing that’s ever happened to him. If they’ve never spoken about that, whatdothey talk about?

Unless they spend very little time talking at all.

My stomach churns with unease at the thought, but I push it away. It’s none of my business. So I know her from the local coffee shop—that means nothing. She works a job that relies on tips; is it any surprise she’s been so nice to me? She’s probably nice to everyone. Her livelihood depends on it.

I can’t shake the thought that there was more to it than that, though. And that makes me feel like a bit of a creep—that I’m still convinced she was into me. That I went to that coffee shop early, every day, just so I could see her. What the fuck have I been thinking?

I tighten my hands on the steering wheel and my wedding band catches my eye. Of course she thought I was married. How did I not consider that? I haven’t taken my ring off since Lydia died. It’s a part of me. It never occurred to me that Daisy would notice it.

And that’s how I know this entire thing has been in my head. I’ve been going there to enjoy her company, thinking we had a connection. Meanwhile, she’s been serving me coffee, going out of her way to get a generous tip from the married guy who comes in every day.

I feel so fucking stupid, I want to bash my head on the steering wheel. And now she’s dating my son, and I’m going to have to see her with him. I could stop going to Joe’s, that’s easy enough, but Jesse might want to bring her home again, and how would I explain the fact that I’m avoiding the coffee shop?

Besides, I like going there. I like this routine I’ve built for myself, and I’m not sure what my life would be like without it. I’m not sure whoI’dbe without it, and I don’t want to find out. I can enjoy Daisy’s company without being weird about it, right? That’s what I’ve been doing for most of the past year anyway. It’s only recently that I’ve realized I want more from her. A few months, tops. And that’s nothing—I can switch that off.

I have to. My relationship with my son depends on it.

Somehow, things with Jesse have gotten even worse. After Daisy left in shock last night—for which I can hardly blame her—Jess and I had a huge blowout. He yelled at me for ruining his night and freaking out his girlfriend, and when I asked him why he hadn’t told her about his mom, he stormed out of the room. Just when I thought things with him were improving, we’re back to square one.

I need to repair this. I need to show Jesse I’m willing to make things better, and I need to make sure Daisy feels comfortable in our house. Comfortable around me. Not just so I can keep going to Joe’s. I need to do it for my son.

It’s pouringout when the doorbell rings at 7 p.m. I hurried home from the office so I could be here, but Jesse hasn’t made it home yet. That means I’ll have to man up and face Daisy alone, whether I like it or not.

I called Jesse from work this morning and told him I wanted to have Daisy over for dinner, so we could sit down and get to know each other properly. He fought me at first, but when I pointed out that we hadn’t made a great impression together last night, I was surprised to hear him agree with me. One hour is all I asked him for, then they’re free to do whatever they want. I said I’d provide the food, and he agreed to text her.

But I didn’t count on Daisy arriving first.

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