Page 32 of The Lilac River

Nash and I locked eyes.

The years disappeared. The ache, the regret, the love I had buried, it all roared back with a vengeance. My legs threatened to buckle.

"N-nice to meet you, Mr. Miller," I managed, my voice cracking.

He looked from me, to Bertie, and back again. Something flickered across his face, something raw and complicated. He cleared his throat roughly.

"Hello, Miss. Gray."

Bertie tugged his hand harder. "Show her the cakes, Daddy!"

Still staring at me, he lifted the bag like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"Thirty cupcakes," he said, voice low.

"Thank you," I whispered.

I forced a smile and motioned for Bertie to take them over to the sixth grader helping lay out food. She skipped away, unaware of the storm surrounding her.

Nash and I stood in silence. The air around us was thick with everything unspoken.

He exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself. "You should have told me," he said, voice gentler than I deserved. "You should have warned me."

"I didn’t know," I said softly. "I didn’t know she was yours."

"The name Miller didn’t ring any bells?"

"It’s a common name," I said helplessly. “Cassidy has two in her class; there’s another one in the fifth grade and none of them are related to you or each other.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration written in every line of his body. But when he looked at me again, his anger wasn’t sharp, it was wounded. Quietly broken.

"God, Lily," he said, voice rough. "After everything... after everything we lost."

His words speared straight into my heart. I felt my knees weaken, but I stayed standing.

"I’m not here to cause trouble," I said quickly. "I would never hurt Bertie. Or you."

Something passed through his eyes—doubt, hope, pain—before he swallowed it down.

"I'm here for my daughter," he said finally, hoarsely. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Neither am I," I said quietly. "At least not intentionally."

The tiniest twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth, a ghost of the old Nash, but it vanished almost instantly.

"We’ll stay out of each other’s way," I added. "For Bertie’s sake."

He nodded stiffly. "Fine."

Bertie came running back, oblivious to the hurricane swirling around her.

"Daddy, come meet my friend! She has a dog with three legs! Can we get a dog like that?"

Nash chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Munchkin, that’s not a breed."

Her giggles were infectious. Against my better judgment, I laughed, too, a small, choked sound. Nash’s deep chuckle rumbled out, and for one beautiful, unbearable second, we all laughed together.

Then he glanced at me, and everything between us turned heavy again. The past was a living thing, clawing at us both.

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