It Starts with Us (It Ends with Us #2)(11)

“Well? Can I?” he asks, his voice a whisper.

I have no idea what he’s asking me, but I want to answer with a confident yes. Rather than blurt out my consent to a question I don’t even know, I silently count to three. Then I say, “Can you what?”

“Call you tonight.”

Oh. He jumped right back into the conversation we were having out front, as if Ryle never even interrupted us.

I pull in my bottom lip and bite down on it. I want to say okay because I want Atlas to call me, but I also want Atlas to know that me hiding him from Ryle inside of this closet is probably on par with how the rest of our interactions will go since Ryle is always going to be in the picture, considering we share a child.

“Atlas…” I say his name like something awful is about to follow it up, but he interrupts me.

“Lily.” He says my name with a smile, like nothing I could possibly add to his name would be awful.

“My life is complicated.” I don’t intend for it to come out like a warning, but it does.

“I want to help you uncomplicate it.”

“I’m scared your presence is going to complicate it even more.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’ll complicate your life or Ryle’s life?”

“His complications become my complications. He’s the father of my child.”

Atlas dips his head ever so slightly. “Exactly. He’s her father. He’s not your husband, so you shouldn’t allow your concern for his feelings to persuade you to give up what could be the second-best thing to ever happen to you.”

He says that with such conviction, my heart feels like it’s tumbling down my rib cage like a Plinko chip. The second-best thing to ever happen to me? I wish his confidence in us were contagious. “What’s the first-best thing to ever happen to me?”

He looks at me pointedly. “Emerson.”

Hearing him call my daughter the best thing to ever happen to me makes me damn near melt. I hug myself and hold back my smile. “You’re going to make this difficult for me, huh?”

Atlas slowly shakes his head. “Difficult is the last thing I want to be for you, Lily.” He moves and the door begins to open, spilling light into the closet. He faces me with one hand on the door and the other on the wall. “When’s a good time to call you tonight?” He seems so at ease with this conversation, it makes me want to pull him back into the closet and kiss him so that maybe some of his assurance and patience will seep into me.

My mouth feels like cotton when I say, “Whenever.”

His eyes settle on my lips for a beat, and I feel the look all the way to my toes. But then Atlas closes the door, shutting me alone inside the closet.

I deserved that.

A mixture of embarrassment, nervousness, and maybe even a little bit of desire is flooding my cheeks. I remain unmoving until I hear the faint chime of the front door being opened.

I’m fanning myself when Allysa opens the closet door moments later. I quickly drop my hands to my hips to hide what Atlas’s presence does to me.

Allysa folds her arms across her chest. “You hid him in the closet?”

My shoulders fall with my shame. “I know.”

“Lily.” She sounds disappointed in me, but what would she rather I have done? Reintroduced them to one another? “I mean, I’m glad you did it, because I’m not sure how that would have turned out, but… you hid him in the closet. You just shoved him in here like an old coat.”

Her rehashing the moment isn’t helping me recover from it. I move toward the front of the store with Allysa on my heels. “I had no choice. Atlas is the one guy on this earth Ryle would never approve of me dating.”

“I hate to break it to you, but there’s only one guy on this earth Ryle would approve of you dating, and that’s Ryle.”

I don’t respond to that because I’m terrified that she’s right.

“Wait,” Allysa says. “Are you and Atlas dating?”

“No.”

“But you just said he’s the one guy Ryle would never approve of you dating.”

“I said that because if Ryle had seen him here, that’s what he would have assumed.”

Allysa folds her arms over the counter and looks crestfallen. “I’m feeling very left out right now. There’s a huge gap you need to fill in.”

“Gap? What do you mean?” I try to look busy by pulling a vase toward me and moving some of the flowers around. Allysa takes the vase from me.

“He brought you lunch. Why did he bring you lunch if the two of you aren’t actively talking? And if you’re actively talking, why didn’t you tell me about it?”

I pull the vase back from her. “We ran into each other yesterday. It was nothing. I haven’t even spoken to him since before Emmy was born.”

Allysa grabs the vase again. “I run into old friends every day. They don’t bring me lunch.” She slides the vase back to me. We’re using it like a conch shell, as if we need it for permission to speak.

“Your friends probably aren’t chefs. That’s what chefs do: They cook people lunch.” I slide the vase back to her, but she says nothing. She’s concentrating so hard, it’s like she’s attempting to read my mind to get past all the lies she thinks I’m spewing. I pull the vase back from her. “It’s honestly nothing. Yet. You’ll be the first to know if anything changes.”