Page 48 of Nolan

I pull out my wallet, handing him a twenty. "Don't get junk."

He grins. "Thanks."

My fingers hover over my phone again after Jake returns to his room. Is this really the right move? I have to focus on Jake, and focusing on Jake means getting a house that we can both be in.

It's just real estate.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I tap out a message to the number on the napkin.

C: Hi Mackenzie, this is Colt Matthews. Nolan King gave me your number. I'm looking to buy a house and could use some help if you're taking new clients.

I press send and immediately toss my phone onto the couch like it's burning my hand. What the hell am I doing?

"Dad. Mom's here early." Jake calls out, and I hear a knock at the door.

Sarah stands in the doorway, blonde hair pulled back in the same severe ponytail she always wore when we were married. Her expression is neutral,we've been doing this long enough now that the raw edges have worn smooth.

"Hey," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "He's just grabbing his stuff."

"How was he this weekend?" she asks, and we fall into the same choreographed conversation we always have,homework, soccer practice, his ongoing war against vegetables.

Jake appears with his duffel bag. "Got everything," he announces.

I ruffle his hair and pull him in for a quick hug. "See you Wednesday, bud. Love you."

"Love you too, Dad."

And then they're gone, and my apartment is too quiet again.

My phone buzzes from the couch. Probably Nolan, checking to see if I've texted Mackenzie yet. When I pick it up, though, I'm surprised to see her name on the screen instead.

M: Hi Colt. Nolan mentioned you might reach out. I'd be happy to help you find the perfect house. Are you looking in any specific neighborhoods?

She responded so quickly, I wonder if she was waiting for my text. Did Nolan tell her I'd be contacting her? Knowing him, he probably sang my praises while simultaneously making me sound like a charity case.

C: I need something with at least three bedrooms in a good school district. I'm trying to get more custody of my son, and my current place isn't cutting it.

I hesitate before adding,Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.

Her response comes almost immediately.

M: I completely understand. Finding the right home for you and your son is important. Would you be available to meet sometime this week to discuss your needs in more detail? We could grab coffee or lunch and talk through some options.

Something about her message eases the tension in my shoulders. No judgment, no pity,just straightforward professionalism.

C: Lunch tomorrow at Get Baked? Say 1:00?

I suggest, naming the café down the street from the hardware store.

M: Perfect. See you then.

I set my phone down and look around my barren apartment. The walls are still the same sterile white they were when I moved in a year and a half ago. No photos, minimal furniture. I've been living like I'm just passing through, waiting for my real life to start again.

Maybe it's time it did.

Get Baked is crowded when I arrive the next day, the lunch rush in full swing. I scan the tables, looking for someone who might be Mackenzie, though I realize I have no idea what she looks like. Nolan never mentioned, and I didn't think to ask.

"Colt?"

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