It Starts with Us (It Ends with Us #2)(9)

I lean forward over my desk and cradle my head in my hands. My stomach is churning from the unexpectedness of the last couple of minutes.

I’m surprised by my reaction, honestly. I thought this might happen one day, but I imagined myself not caring. I assumed I’d feel as indifferent toward her returning to my life as I did when she forced me to leave hers. But back then, I was indifferent to a lot of things.

Now I actually like my life. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. I have absolutely no desire to allow anyone from my past to come in and threaten that.

I run my hands over my face, forcing down the last few minutes, then I push back from my desk. I walk outside to help Brad with the repairs and do my best to move beyond this moment. It’s hard, though. It’s like my past is crashing into me from all directions, and I have absolutely no one to discuss this with.

After a few minutes of both of us working in silence, I say to Brad, “You need to get Theo a phone; he’s almost thirteen.”

Brad laughs. “You need to get a therapist who’s closer to your age.”





Chapter Six Lily




“Have you decided what you’re doing for Emerson’s birthday?” Allysa asks.

Allysa and Marshall threw a first birthday party for their daughter, Rylee, that was so big, it was worthy of a Sweet Sixteen. “I’m sure I’ll just let her have a smash cake and give her a couple of presents. I don’t have room for a big party.”

“We could do something at our place,” Allysa offers.

“Who would I invite? She’ll be one; she has no friends. She can’t even talk.”

Allysa rolls her eyes. “We don’t throw kids’ parties for our babies. We throw them to impress our friends.”

“You’re my only friend, and I don’t need to impress you.” I hand Allysa an order from the printer. “Are we doing dinner tonight?”

We get together for dinner at least twice a week at their place. Ryle occasionally pops by, but I purposefully plan my visits on nights he’s on call. I don’t know if Allysa has ever noticed. If she has, she probably doesn’t blame me. She says it’s painful watching Ryle when I’m around because she also suspects he still has hope for us. She prefers to spend time with him when I’m not present.

“Marshall’s parents are coming into town today, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Good luck with that.” Allysa likes Marshall’s parents, but I don’t think anyone truly looks forward to hosting their in-laws for an entire week.

The front door chimes, and Allysa and I both look up at the same time. I doubt her world starts to spin like mine does, though.

Atlas is walking toward us.

“Is that…”

“Oh, God,” I mutter under my breath.

“Yes, he is a god,” Allysa whispers.

What is he doing here?

And why does he look like a god? It makes the decision I’ve been weighing that much more difficult. I can’t even find my voice long enough to say hello to him. I just smile and wait for him to reach us, but the walk from the door to the front counter seems like it’s expanded by a mile.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he makes his way over. When he reaches us, he finally acknowledges Allysa with a smile. Then he looks back at me as he sets a plastic bowl with a lid on the counter. “I brought you lunch,” he says casually, as if he brings me lunch every day and I should have been expecting it.

Ah, that voice. I forgot how far it reaches.

I grab the bowl, but I don’t know what to say with Allysa hovering next to me, watching us interact. I glance at her and give her the look. She pretends not to notice, but when I don’t stop staring at her, she eventually yields.

“Fine. I’ll go flower the… flowers.” She walks away, giving us privacy.

I turn my attention back to the lunch Atlas brought. “Thank you. What is it?”

“Our weekend special,” Atlas says. “It’s called why are you avoiding me pasta.”

I laugh. Then I cringe. “I’m not avoid…” I shake my head with a quick sigh, knowing I can’t lie to him. “I am avoiding you.” I lean my elbows onto the counter and cover my face with my hands. “I’m sorry.”

Atlas is quiet, so I eventually look up at him. He seems sincere when he says, “Do you want me to leave?”

I shake my head, and as soon as I do, his eyes crinkle a little at the corners. It’s barely a smile, but it causes a warmth to tumble down my chest.

Yesterday morning when I ran into him, I said so much. Now I’m too confused to speak. I don’t know how I’m supposed to have a full-on conversation with him about everything that’s been going through my mind over the last twenty-four hours when I feel so tongue-tied around him.

He had the same impact on me when I was younger, but I was more na?ve back then. I didn’t know how rare men like Atlas were, so I didn’t know how lucky I was to have him in my life.

I know now, which is why it terrifies me that I might screw this up. Or that Ryle might screw this up.

I lift the bowl of pasta he brought. “It smells really good.”

“It is good. I made it.”

I should laugh at that, or smile, but my reaction doesn’t fit the conversation. I set the bowl aside. When I look at him again, he can see the war in my expression. He counters with a reassuring look. Not much is said between us, but the nonverbal cues we’re trading are saying enough. My eyes are apologizing for my silence over the last twenty-four hours, he’s silently telling me it’s okay, and we’re both wondering what comes next.