Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(49)

I feel cared for, and it’s unsettling. I don’t know how to handle the feeling. I want to grab it and push it away, but I also want to curl up with it, right onto the soft blue fabric covering my bed.

When I go to bed after responding to Britt, I battle warring emotions.

Isaac is the daylight, a rising sun, shooing away the pestering ghosts. Claire’s questions invite the ghosts to peer over my shoulder and remind me with their wispy presence that they’re still around.

Oddly, both make me feel the same way.

Terrified.



I slept better than I have in months, and I refuse to admit it had anything to do with the comforter I was wrapped in.

Before I walk out of my room, I listen at the door. I want to know what I’m getting myself into. When a few seconds of sleuthing yields no sound, I venture out.

And right into Isaac as he’s walking past my room. His chest isn’t a terrible place for my cheek to land. It’s soft. And it smells good. All in all, there are worse places to be.

“Sorry,” I whisper, pushing away from him.

“Come here.” He takes my hand, leading me quietly past Claire’s room. He pulls me into the kitchen. “I have something for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” I settle onto a barstool and lean my elbows on the island. “I hope it’s a pony.”

Suppressed laughter makes Isaac’s shoulders bob, but he keeps his back turned, preparing the coffee. After a moment I hear the sound of liquid streaming from the complicated looking machine. “Unfortunately the store was fresh out of ponies.” He turns, carrying a mug in his hand. “But, they did have this.” He rounds the island and sets the cup in front of me.

I lift it, tilting it slightly to read the words.

I can’t help my laugh. I Mom So Hard the mug announces in big block letters. I laugh again, but I like it. The recognition feels nice.

Isaac’s at the machine, making a cup for himself. “I thought you might like to have your own coffee cup here.” He comes to sit beside me.

“Yours doesn’t say anything.” I point to his plain white cup.

He brings it to his lips, nodding. “Maybe you can help me pick one out. What should mine say?”

“Baby Daddy?” I hold back my smile and raise my eyebrows. I still don’t love the term, but it’s annoyingly accurate.

He makes a face. “Try again.”

“I Fix Broken Bones?”

“Boring.” He sips again, eyeing me.

“World’s Greatest Dad?”

He thinks for a moment. “A little cliché but I’ll take it.”

“We can go today. Find that new mug of yours. And then you can drink from a mug as cool as mine.” I peer at him over the brim of my cup, and he smiles.

This thing we’re doing right now… It’s nice. We’re loose, light, and airy, with none of the awkward tension I anticipated. It takes Claire another hour to wake up, and during that time, Isaac and I are crooked grins, friendly talk about work, and comfortable silences.

I don’t think Isaac’s even trying. He’s only being himself. The man I met five years ago is still in there, bright and sunny, ready to take on the world with his anything-is-possible attitude.

Correction: the man I met five years ago is here. Right beside me, his elbow bumping mine. Claire came out of her room, and now she looks at home on his lap, tucked into the crook of his arm. And I’m six inches away, my insides swirling, feeling everything but tranquil.

It won’t always be like this. Soon this will be your normal. This will pass.





“Dr. Cordova, you have a pharma rep in exam room three.”

I lean forward in my chair, my interest piqued. “Thanks, Morgan. Do you know if—?”

The line clicks.

Never mind.

It’s probably not her. What reason would she have to show up here?

I try to come up with answers as I leave my office and walk toward the room, but I have none. It’s definitely not her.

Whoever it is, this won’t take long. I’m meeting my sister for lunch in twenty minutes, and I can’t be late. Lauren will be late, which means I need to be on time and order for us. I have surgery scheduled for three p.m.

Before entering the room I throw two quick knocks on the door, then press in.

I was wrong. It is her.

“Jenna, hello.”

She stands across the small space, arms crossed. I’m relieved to feel nothing in my chest when I see her. Not that it surprises me. It’s just good to know there aren’t residual feelings lurking.

“Isaac,” she nods curtly. “This isn’t a professional visit, in case you’re wondering.”

“Unless you’re suddenly in the business of selling metal pins, I didn’t think it was.” I tilt my head and wait for her to speak.

She barks an awkward laugh, fingering her silk collar. The Jenna I know doesn’t fidget. The Jenna I know is never nervous. Then again, I’m beginning to think I never knew her very well.

Jenna brings her hand down to meet the other, fingers intertwining in front of her navy blue knee-length skirt. “I came here to talk some sense into you.”

My chin raises a fraction of an inch, muscles tensing. Even though I already know what she’s going to say, and I’m so confident of it that I'd bet my right thumb, I ask “About what?”