Chapter 19
Theo
Sunday morning, and the house is quiet in a way it almost never is.
Just me and Nala, curled up on the couch together, her purring softly against my leg while I sip my coffee and stare out at the water.
The sun’s barely up, the sky still that pale grey-blue that comes before the real light hits, and everything feels peaceful in a way I’ve learned not to take for granted.
It’s been a great week. Better than great, actually. Now that Chloe knows Emma and I are dating, Emma’s been spending more time over here, and the house has felt alive in a way it hasn’t in years.
Her and Chloe doing crafts at the kitchen table, laughing so hard I can hear them from across the house.
The three of us cooking dinner together, Chloe perched on her step stool stirring something while Emma sneaks bites and I pretend not to notice.
Afternoons outside by the water, throwing the ball for Laila when Calvin and Maren bring her over, Chloe shrieking with joy while Emma cheers her on.
And then when Chloe’s in bed, Emma and I stay up talking for hours, curled up on this same couch, her legs draped over mine.
I can’t get enough of her. Her zest for life, how infectious her passion is—whether she’s ranting about education reform, dissecting some reality TV show I’ve never heard of, or telling me about the book she’s reading.
She makes everything interesting. And seeing her with Chloe, watching the two of them together, the easy way they love each other, it does something to me I can’t quite put into words.
It’s been the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. Maybe ever.
Last night we had dinner with my entire family so my brothers could officially meet Emma as my girlfriend.
It went better than I could have hoped. Emma fit in like she’d always been there—laughing with Maren, charming Alex, holding her own against Dominic’s dry humor.
Jack and Lark video-called from Monaco and immediately declared her “family approved,” which made Emma blush and Chloe beam with pride.
Chloe was thrilled to have her there, kept finding excuses to sit next to her, to touch her arm, to pull her into every conversation.
At one point I looked across the table and saw Emma helping Chloe cut her steak while Maren told a story about her and Calvin’s recent trip to New York for their publishing deal, and something clicked into place in my chest. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. This is what I’ve been missing.
Today Emma, Chloe, and Maren are at a local art class Maren’s been wanting to take Chloe to for months.
Emma offered to tag along, and Chloe practically vibrated out of her skin with excitement at the idea of her two favorite people spending the day together.
So I’ve got the house to myself for a few hours.
I scratch behind Nala’s ears and she stretches, pressing her head into my hand.
The only shadow on an otherwise perfect week is that something’s clearly been bothering Emma.
KidStream stuff—her sisters making moves, things escalating in ways she hasn’t fully explained.
She told me she doesn’t want to talk about it yet, that she’s still processing, and I’m trying to give her space without pushing.
That’s one thing I’ve learned about Emma: she works through things internally first, sorts out her own feelings before she’s ready to share them. I can respect that. I just hope she knows she doesn’t have to carry it alone.
I drain the last of my coffee and set the mug down. Nala stretches luxuriously, then curls back into a tighter ball, settling in for her morning nap. I head outside to the shed.
The black walnut slab is under a tarp in the corner. I pull back the covering and run my hand over the surface, feeling the texture under my palm. I remember exactly what I wanted to create, a hand-carved bar for Harbor & Ash. Something unique. Something that would last for generations.
Emma told me I should pick it back up. And she’s right. Maybe life’s too short to let beautiful things sit in a garage collecting dust.
I’m going to do it. I’m going to carve out time for this again. Make space for something that’s just mine. I look around at my workbench, considering which tool to start with.
My phone buzzes.
I pull it out automatically, still looking at the black walnut, and then I see the name on the screen and my stomach tightens.
Victoria.
The text is long. Longer than her usual one-line messages about schedule changes or pickup times.
Victoria: Hey, I wanted to let you know my cousin Lucy just had a baby. So I’m going to be in Dark River for a few weeks staying with family. I’d love to see Chloe more while I’m back, not just the usual short weekend. Let me know if that works? Sorry for the short notice.
I read it twice, feeling that familiar tension settle into my shoulders. The weight that always comes with anything Victoria-related.
Part of me wants to say no immediately. Just shut it down, protect Chloe from another round of Victoria’s unpredictable parenting. I consider myself a calm person. I try to be kind, to be reasonable, to set a good example for my daughter about how to treat people even when they frustrate you.
But nothing makes me angrier than watching someone hurt Chloe. Especially her own mother. Especially when Chloe doesn’t understand that it’s not her fault, that some people just aren’t built for consistency, that loving someone doesn’t mean they’re capable of showing up the way you need them to.
But I can’t refuse this. Victoria is Chloe’s mother, and wanting extra time while she’s in town isn’t unreasonable on the surface. I need to be the bigger person. If Victoria’s serious about this, if she actually follows through, then more time with Chloe would be good.
I stare at the phone, trying to figure out how to respond, when another text comes through.
This one’s from Alex.
Alex: Dishwasher’s down and the repair guy can’t make it until Tuesday. Sorry to do this on your day off but any chance you can take a look? I tried but I think I made it worse.
I almost laugh. Of course. The one Sunday I have free, the one morning I was actually going to do something for myself, and the universe immediately intervenes.
I look at the black walnut. At the tools on my workbench. At the project I was finally ready to start. Then I look at my phone—Victoria’s text still waiting for a response, Alex’s message asking for help.
That’s life as an adult, I guess. I pull the tarp back over the wood carefully, making sure it’s covered completely. Protected from the dust and the elements and however long it’ll be before I look at it again. I pull out my phone and type my reply to Victoria.
Theo: That should work. Let me know what days you’re thinking and we can figure out a schedule.
Then I grab my keys and head out to the restaurant.
That evening, I’m in Emma’s apartment, standing at her small stove searing steaks while she grades papers at the kitchen table.
Chloe’s at a friend’s house for a sleepover, so Emma and I are spending the night at hers.
It’s become one of my favorite things, cooking for her while she works, the quiet domesticity of it, the way she looks up every few minutes to smile at me or share something funny that a student wrote.
“So,” Emma says, setting down her red pen. “How do you feel about Victoria coming to town?”
I flip the steak, watching the butter foam in the pan. “Conflicted,” I admit. “Part of me is glad she wants to be more involved. Chloe misses her, loves spending time with her. But part of me...”
I trail off, prodding at the fingerling potatoes roasting in the other pan.
“Part of you doesn’t trust it,” Emma finishes.
“Part of me doesn’t trust it,” I confirm.
I reach for the rosemary, strip a few leaves off the stem, scatter them over the potatoes.
“Victoria gets excited about being a mom and she can be a great one. But then something comes up, or she gets busy, or the reality of parenting becomes inconvenient, and she’s gone again.
Back to Seattle, back to Derek.” I sigh.
“It’s not that I want to keep her from Chloe.
I would never do that. Victoria’s her mother, and that relationship matters, no matter how complicated it is.
But I’ve watched this cycle so many times. ”
“That sounds really hard,” she says. “Co-parenting with someone you can’t rely on. Having to balance Chloe’s hope against your own experience.”
I look over at her. She’s leaning back in her chair, sipping a soda, red pen dangling loosely in her hand.
Student papers are scattered across the table, covered in her neat handwriting, encouraging comments in the margins, gold stars on the ones that earned them.
She looks relaxed and beautiful, her hair pulled up in a bun, wearing one of my old t-shirts that she stole weeks ago and never gave back.
“It definitely can be,” I say, turning back to check the steaks. “And I know I need to be the bigger person, but I’m tired of Chloe getting hurt and sometimes I want to just say no.”
“You’re allowed to be tired,” Emma says gently. “You’re allowed to have feelings about it, even if you can’t act on them.”
I nod, moving the steak to a cutting board to rest. She’s right. And it helps, somehow, just hearing her say it. I start plating the potatoes, giving myself something to do with my hands while I figure out how to say what else is on my mind.
“I’m not sure how Victoria feels about us either,” I say after a moment.
“I texted her a while back to give her the heads up. I didn’t tell her your name or anything, just said I was seeing someone and we should talk on the phone when she had a chance.
She just said she’d call later.” I shrug.
“I’m not even sure if she actually read the message or just saw my name and fired off a response. She never followed up.”
Emma nods. “How do you think she’ll take it?”
“I have no idea,” I admit. I wipe my hands on the dish towel and lean against the counter, facing her. “Victoria’s unpredictable. She might not care at all. She might be happy for me. She might use it as an excuse to cause drama. I stopped trying to predict her reactions a long time ago.”
Emma’s quiet for a moment, and I can see her working up to something. She fidgets with the paper in front of her, smoothing down a corner that’s already flat.
“Do you think she’ll be upset that I’m Chloe’s teacher?
” she asks finally. “Or that I’m a decade younger than you both?
” She looks up at me, and there’s a vulnerability in her expression I don’t see often.
“I mean, I’m the first person you’ve really dated since the divorce.
That’s got to bring up some feelings for her. Even if she’s the one who left.”
I cross the kitchen to her. She looks up at me, that worry still in her eyes, and I pull her up out of the seat and kiss her softly.
“You don’t need to worry about any of that,” I say against her mouth. I take her face in my hands and kiss her again.
When I pull back, she looks up at me. “But what if she makes things difficult?” she asks quietly. “What if she tries to use it against you somehow or—“
I kiss her again, cutting off the spiral before it can build.
“Emma.” I pull back just enough to look at her.
“I don’t care if she’s upset. I don’t care if she doesn’t like it.
I don’t care if she thinks you’re too young or that it’s inappropriate or whatever else she might come up with.
” I hold her gaze, needing her to hear this.
“I love you. I want you. Victoria’s opinion doesn’t change that. Nothing changes that.”
She reaches up and traces her fingers along my jaw, featherlight, then down my neck, across my collarbone. Everywhere she touches feels electric. “I believe you,” she whispers.
I groan softly and pull her against me, kissing her like I’m trying to prove every word I just said.
She melts into me, her arms winding around my neck, fingers sliding into my hair.
When her nails scrape lightly against my scalp, heat rushes through me and I back her against the table, lifting her onto the edge without breaking the kiss.
She wraps her legs around me instantly, pulling me closer, and I sink into her, into the warmth of her body, the taste of her mouth, the little sounds she makes when I kiss down her neck. Papers scatter to the floor and neither of us notices.
“Theo,” she breathes, tilting her head back to give me better access.
I press my lips to the hollow of her throat, feel her pulse racing under my mouth. My hands slide under the hem of her shirt—my shirt—and find warm skin. She shivers and pulls me back up to kiss her again, harder now, hungrier.
Dinner is completely forgotten.