Addie
Eleven
Emma’s patio faces the lake, wide and open. I drove over as soon as I left Luc Anderson at Dot’s. Now, I sit near the edge with my feet tucked beneath me, a mug cooling in my hands, watching the water hold itself still.
It’s a trick, I know. The lake always looks calm until you watch long enough to notice the slow, constant movement beneath the surface. Nothing here is actually paused. It’s just quieter about it.
This is why I come.
Emma gives me some space without making a thing of it. She’s inside somewhere, moving through her kitchen, letting the screen door whisper open and closed. She’s close enough that I’m not alone. Far enough that I don’t have to perform.
Luc’s voice cuts through anyway.
It wasn’t the words themselves, but the way he said them.
He didn’t soften his message, didn’t frame it like a favor or a plea. He didn’t rush to reassure me. He just named what he wanted and left the rest with me.
Without pushing. On my terms.
That’s the part that keeps circling.
Pressure would’ve been easier. It’s something you push back against. This wasn’t that. This was space offered deliberately, like he trusted me not to disappear into it.
I stare out at the lake and take a slow breath.
Let it expand my chest and then disperse.
Sitting here, watching the water move, whether I acknowledge it or not, I can feel the shape of what he’s doing.
He isn’t demanding access or answers. He’s choosing not to disappear, and that’s unsettling.
It’s not something I’m particularly used to.
Emma sets a bunch of grapes, cheese, and crackers on the side table and sits down. She’s brought a book, content to leave me to my thoughts.
I sigh. “I had breakfast at Dot’s this morning with Luc.”
She drops into the chair next to me and stretches her legs out, crossing them at the ankle. “Was it planned or on accident?”
“Planned. He called last night and asked about my morning sickness, and then he suggested it.” I rotate the mug in my hands, watching a thin ring of coffee cling to the ceramic. “We talked.”
Emma nods.
“He didn’t put any pressure on me,” I say. “I knew he wanted a paternity test, so I offered before he asked. Then he told me I could set the terms for involvement.”
That gets her attention. She tilts her head like she’s listening for the part I’m not saying yet. “Involved how?”
“He was specific about what he wasn’t asking for,” I tell her. “He made it clear that if he’s the father, the decision about how he participates is mine, or at least mostly mine. But he didn’t rush me or try to push me one way or the other. And he said he wants to be friends, no matter what.”
Emma’s mouth curves faintly. “That’s refreshing.”
“It is.” I turn back toward the lake.
“And you said?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“Agree. Or refuse.” I meet her gaze. “I left it open.”
Emma considers that. “Sounds like you buying time to me.”
“It feels like I failed to protect myself,” I say. “Which is…not my usual move.”
She leans back, chair creaking softly. “You don’t seem threatened.”
“I’m not.” I frown slightly. “That’s the problem.”
This didn’t feel like a line being crossed, a reason to react. It was a quiet invitation, set down and left there, waiting to see if I’ll respond.
Emma watches me for a long moment. “So what makes it a problem?”
I look past her, out at the water again. “Because he made it easy to say yes. And I don’t trust anything that doesn’t demand something in return. And there’s more,” I add before Emma can fill the quiet with reassurance I don’t want.
She lifts her glass, waiting.
“Luc has family that works for Paradise Hill.”
Her brow creases. “Okay.”
“Not in an abstract way,” I add. “Mitch and Elise Anderson. They’re the vintners. That’s Paradise Hill on the nose.”
Emma still seems slightly confused.
“Elise—his cousin—has her own blend,” I continue. “Her name’s on the bottle. It’s not symbolic. It’s literal. She’s built into the place.” I swallow. “And she’s engaged to Kingston Paradise.”
Emma exhales softly. “So?”
“So it’s proximity,” I say. “Real proximity. Not something you can opt out of by skipping a dinner or blocking a number.”
She sets her glass down on the table between us. “Addie, you walked away from the Paradise and Dempsey family drama. You made that choice years ago.”
“I did.” I nod. “I walked away from my grandmother’s manipulation and from being pulled into a feud that has nothing to do with me.”
“And?”
“And this is infrastructure. It feels like putting myself back in it again.”
Emma’s lips press together, thoughtful. She’s trying to follow me.
“If I let Luc in,” I continue, “even if I’m careful, even with boundaries, I’m not just choosing him. I’m choosing to be seen and stand close to something I’ve spent a long time trying to stay far away from.”
She looks at me steadily. “He’s the father of your child, so does it matter?”
“Staying away from their drama,” I remind her, “is how I keep my life mine.”
The lake shifts, a ripple breaking the surface where a fish jumps.
Emma follows my gaze. “You’re worried there will be repercussions.”
“Yes. Not because I’m doing something wrong.
But because this valley doesn’t forget who belongs to which side.
” I sigh, feeling the weight of all of it.
“I didn’t leave my family. I talk to my brother and sisters regularly.
I left my grandmother and her narcissistic manipulations.
But right now, the drama is bigger than it’s been in my lifetime.
I don’t want to have to explain myself to everyone in town. ”
Emma shrugs. “So maybe you don’t. Or maybe you’ll come up with a few things you feel comfortable sharing. Why does that matter right now?” she asks.
I watch the lake while I think, the surface catching light in uneven bands. “Because being alone works for me,” I say finally. “I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.”
Emma waits.
“It’s not so much what I’ll have to say as what I’ll have to do. I don’t have to negotiate anything when I’m alone,” I continue. “I don’t have to explain why I want space or defend my choices. I get to decide everything without worrying about anyone else’s expectations.”
“And having a partner or having other input would be bad?” she asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “Maybe not. But it just makes me think about why I left home. My life right now feels safe. I don’t like the idea of that changing.”
My current life is a quiet one. A narrow one. I don’t risk being folded into someone else’s story or mistaken for a symbol of something larger than myself.
But safety does have a cost, and now, I worry it isn’t going to be an option. I look down at my hands, at the faint tremor I hadn’t noticed until now. “Keeping Luc at arm’s length protects me,” I say. “It keeps things manageable.”
Emma tilts her head. “And?”
“It also keeps me exactly where I am.” I lift my gaze to meet hers. “Unchanged.”
Saying it out loud brings it into focus. This isn’t about Luc or what I’m worried he’s going to want or demand. It’s about me drawing boundaries so far back that nothing new can reach me. It’s not so much new things that worry me, though. It’s the control disguised as care that I already know.
“I don’t want to disappear into someone else’s life,” I tell her. “So I need structure. Intentional structure.”
Emma’s attention sharpens as she considers that.
“Once we’ve confirmed he’s the father, I’ll let him be involved,” I continue. “He can be present and available, but it has to be on my terms.” I take a breath. “I set the boundaries. I decide what access looks like.”
I don’t owe Luc my every thought or fear.
I don’t owe him comfort, and I don’t have to move faster than I’m ready to.
And I don’t owe either family, Dempsey or Paradise, a front-row seat to my life just because we share history or geography.
If this brings consequences—social, familial, or otherwise—they won’t be surprises.
I’m not being swept along by momentum or pulled by guilt.
I’m stepping forward deliberately, eyes open.
Emma reaches for her glass. “That sounds like you taking ownership.”
“It is,” I say. And I don’t feel defensive. I feel grounded and ready.
“So,” Emma says after a moment, “what comes next?”
I glance back out at the water. “We’re getting a test to confirm Luc as the father, and then I move forward, knowing exactly what I’m choosing.”
The decision makes sense. It’s carefully thought through and chosen on purpose. But as I sit here, I know there’s something more now.
My pregnancy is going to become obvious. And once the baby is here, there will be no hiding it. Being seen isn’t something you get to manage quietly. It changes things. It invites a response. I can decide how Luc is involved. I’ll set the limits.
But I can’t decide how he—or anyone else—will react to that.