Chapter 16
JULIETTE
The Potomac looks expensive tonight.
All moonlight and glittering reflections, this is the kind of view that makes you feel underdressed no matter what you’re wearing.
The restaurant Vivian picked sits right on the water, all white tablecloths and soft candlelight, the low murmur of conversations blending with clinking glasses and the distant hum of the city across the river.
“Well, someone had a date last night,” I tease. “How was it?”
“Great. On his insistence, I went to his place. He presented things as if he wanted to order takeout for us and hang in his gardens.”
“Oh, he has gardens…plural?”
“Apparently. So I get there, we had cocktails on his patio. Things are great. We're getting along. He’s funny. The food arrives, we leave it in the kitchen so he can give me a tour of said gardens before we eat, and before it’s too dark.”
“This all sounds good so far…”
She holds up a finger. “While we’re out walking around his property, an alarm goes off. I think it’s his phone, or mine. But then I realize the sound is coming from his ankle.”
“Huh?”
“My date. He was on house arrest.” She throws her hands in the air. “So, my date was great until his ankle monitor went off for a check-in. They thought he left the property.”
We dissolve into laughter, the kind you can only share with a best friend. I’m still wiping tears from my eyes when Vivian lifts her wine glass.
“I’m not the only one who needs to slay demons this week,” she says as she studies me over the rim and shakes her head slowly. “Have you called David back yet?”
“Nope.” I take a sip of my wine, letting it buy me a second. It’s a good red—warm and smooth and slightly dangerous, like most things I enjoy too much.
Vivian exhales through her nose. “Juliette.”
“What?” I shrug, all innocence. “You asked.”
She sets her glass down carefully, like she’s bracing herself. “What do you think he wants?”
I glance past her, out at the river, where the lights blur together into something soft and forgiving. “I’m pretty sure that the only reason he’s calling is because Theo’s birthday is coming up. To see if he can…I don’t know. Do something. Show up. Pretend.”
Vivian tilts her head. “It’s been what—six months?”
“Six and some change,” I say. “But who’s counting?”
She presses her lips together, unimpressed. “That’s a long time to disappear and then suddenly remember you helped create a child.”
I lift a hand before she can spiral. “I know. I know. And as much as I want to be upset about it—believe me, I really do—if he wants to show up and be in his son’s life, especially for his birthday…
” I trail off, lifting both hands in surrender.
“What am I supposed to do? Slam the door in his face?”
“Yes,” Vivian says immediately. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
I smile faintly. “Tempting. Very tempting.”
But then the smile fades, just a little. Enough that she notices.
“Theo’s still too young,” I say quietly.
“He doesn’t need to know that his dad is…
disappointing at best. He doesn’t need the details, and he definitely does not need the history.
He just needs to know that he has a father who—” I wince.
“Okay, who might not always show up. But who, apparently, shows up when it counts. Or at least when birthdays are involved.”
Vivian watches me for a long beat, her expression softening in that way that means she sees right through me.
“You’re shielding him,” she says.
“Someone has to,” I reply. “He doesn’t need my baggage. He needs cake. And balloons. Right?”
“Doesn’t feel like a question,” she responds.
“You are correct,” I confirm.
“What is a question,” Vivan continues, “is what do I get him?”
“You’re getting him a cake, so you’ve done your part,” I laugh. “I still need to make sure I get him something to open on the morning of his birthday.”
“Like what?”
“He’s off the gaming wagon, thanks to hockey, and now he ‘definitely for sure’ wants a Rubik’s Cube.”
“Ooof.” Vivian presses a hand to her chest. “Proceed with caution. My nephew has one. My sister once found him completely naked in front of his bedroom window, trying to get one solid color on a side. Kid forgot he had school. And neighbors.”
I blink at her. “That feels like important fine print.”
“I’m just saying. Remind him he has curtains.”
“I suddenly feel underprepared for motherhood.”
A server appears at our table like a magician, setting down a pristine caprese salad between us. Thick slices of tomato, fresh mozzarella, basil leaves glossy with olive oil. It smells like summer and indulgence and the promise that we’re not ordering pasta yet.
Vivian picks up her fork. “You’re a good mom.”
I stab a piece of mozzarella. “I’m a tired mom.”
She snorts. “Both can be true.”
We eat for a moment, the comfortable silence of two women who’ve known each other long enough not to fill every gap. I take another sip of wine, the buzz settling low in my chest.
“So anyway,” I say casually, because apparently, I’ve chosen chaos as my coping mechanism. “I don’t know. I guess I kissed Sawyer last week—”
Vivian’s fork clatters against her plate. “What.” She stares at me like I suddenly sprouted a conjoined twin and the body is forming at my neck.
I stare back at her. “That’s definitely not a question. It’s a declaration.”
“Okay….Wait. What?” Vivian repeats, slowly, like she’s tasting the word. “You kissed Sawyer Stockton.”
“I’ve admitted this to you accidentally,” I protest. “That shouldn’t count.”
“It absolutely counts. You can’t just trip over a kiss and pretend it didn’t happen, and then not tell your BFF.” She threads her arms tightly across her chest, giving me her best faux-glare. “How was it?”
I feel heat creep up my neck. “It was…fine.”
“Fine?” She gasps. “You kissed a professional hockey player who looks like he was designed in a lab for public swooning and you’re giving me fine?”
“It could have been a mistake, right? I mean, I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve dated a lot…”
“Oh, sweetie.” Vivian leans forward, eyes sparkling. “The way he looks at you, like he wants to both protect and eat you at the same time, is kind of enchanting and disarming.”
“Like he wants to eat…” I freeze. “What are you trying to say?”
She grins. “Seriously. I can’t explain it, but there’s a playfulness…I don’t know, just something about him, when his name is brought up and you glow. Like right now, you started to talk about him and it’s like you’re lit up from within.”
My stomach drops. “I—really? I am?”
“Juliette.” She laughs. “Yes. You are. And it’s adorable.
You two look amazing together. But more than that?
” She waves her fork in the air. “This chemistry you two have is coming out in the social media posts you’re sharing and the workshop you held.
The content you’re creating is gold. You understand how many likes your posts are getting, right?
That engagement is helping your shop and that grant you’re going for. ”
I consider her words. “It is?”
“Oh, massively,” she says. “I read the comment section. People love you two. They love Leaf & Letter. They love Sawyer awkwardly holding plants like they’re his emotional support greenery.”
“That’s not—” I try to argue, but my voice comes out thinner than I’d like.
“And don’t even get me started on the kiss,” she adds, gleeful. “How was it? Was it slow? Was it hot? Did he do that thing with his hand that guys sometimes do—”
“Vivian.”
“—because he looks like a hand-on-the-jaw kind of guy.”
“Vivian!”
“Did he smile against your mouth? Did your knees go weak?” She cackles. “Did the world go quiet?”
“You’re reading too many romance novels.” My face is absolutely on fire. “Stop.”
“Did he taste like mint? Or hockey? Or minty hockey—”
“Stop it!” I laugh, holding up a hand. “You are not allowed to interrogate me about his lips.”
“Oh, I am absolutely allowed.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. Best friend privileges.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re smitten.”
“I am not.”
“Juliette,” she says softly, with a knowing look. “You kissed him.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Because the truth is sitting right there between us, smug and undeniable.
“Okay.” I lift my hand, palm out. “Truce. Change of topic.”
“Already?” She pouts. “I was just getting to the good part of terrorizing you.”
“We were going to finalize plans for Theo tonight,” I say quickly. “Unless you are someone who hates joy. So, I’m thinking we really scale this party back. Maybe just do something at the store. Balloons, your cake, a few kids. Low-key. Easy.”
Vivian’s head snaps up. “No. No, no, no.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are going to call Sawyer,” she says, pointing her fork at me like a tiny silver weapon, “and you are going to say, ‘Hello, sexy man, I would love that box. Thank you.’”
My stomach flips. “It feels like too much.”
“Why?” she shoots back. “Because you just kissed him?”
“Stop.”
“No, seriously,” she continues, warming to this. “You already have him at the store. He’s being wonderful with Theo. He gave Charlie tickets. He’s—”
“That’s because he’s a nice person,” I interrupt, too quickly. “And I don’t want to blur lines. He’s already doing so much—”
“—because he is a nice human being,” Vivian cuts in, nodding emphatically, “who also offered you a box. An abundantly nice offer. At some point, Juliette, you have to start saying yes when people offer to help.”
I want to protest, but Vivian is making sense.
“Also, saying you don’t want to blur lines? Girl,” she says, arching a brow. “His mouth was on yours. Explain that.”
I open my mouth. Close it. I hate that she’s not entirely wrong.
Vivian leans forward, rubbing her hands together like a woman plotting benevolent mischief. “Say yes to the box. You let him do something generous because that’s who he is. Then I get to come with you.”
“Why do you come?”
“Clearly I’m there for emotional support.” She smiles and winks. “For you.”
I snort despite myself.
“And Charlie comes, too,” she adds. “Charlie can sit on the balcony with Theo and watch the game like two extremely wholesome buddies having a day out. I’ll stay with you and make sure you’re not scandalized by anything that appears on a jumbotron.”
“Vivian.”
“Think about it,” she says softly now. “Theo gets an incredible birthday, and you get one night where someone else carries a little of the weight. You don’t have to do everything alone.”
The room feels suddenly very still. The river glimmers beyond the window. My wine is empty. My heart is not.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll ask him.”
Her grin is victorious. “Excellent.”
I reach for my phone, my pulse picking up as Sawyer’s name lights up the screen. Theo’s birthday sits right there in my hand, along with the possibility that saying yes might not tip my world off balance after all.
Maybe saying yes this time simply opens the door to something good.