Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Evie
Declan unbuckles Charlie, who is screeching and chirping and wonderfully cheery. I slide out of his very nice SUV and into the warm evening air. The sun is starting its descent. The small, round diamonds circling my finger sparkle in the sunlight, and my heart flips.
He seemed almost embarrassed by having put so much thought into the gift. He doesn’t realize this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn, and it is almost inconceivable how much I like it. It’s irresponsible, for sure.
I shouldn’t even entertain the thought, because I’ve vowed not to give Trevor any extra thoughts beyond what I have to for the sake of the custody trial.
But compared to the excuses Trevor gave about not needing a ring to show our love and, “You’d never wear it at work anyway,” and “We’ll get one for the wedding,” this one is even more perfect.
“Ready?” Declan asks, two bags over one shoulder and Charlie sitting high and happy against his other.
Be. Still. My. Heart.
I wonder if I will ever not feel a little earthquake under my feet when I see him holding my baby so comfortably.
Unlikely. Declan is the kind of man who is eye-catchingly handsome whether you know him or not. Add to that the knowledge that he’s a very capable, caring doctor, fastidiously thoughtful and gentle, and frustratingly good, and I’d still be a goner.
Adding him being the sweetest, most tender friend to my son?
It is deadly.
“Yes,” I croak out, then clear my throat. “Absolutely. Lead the way.”
But instead of plowing forward with his focused, steady walk like I see him do on weekday mornings, he holds out a hand.
My lashes flutter, but I quickly take it, stomach tripping all over itself as our fingers slot together and our palms brush.
It would look natural to anyone else. We’re dating. We’re actually engaged. It might even look strange if we weren’t holding hands.
It may look natural, but my insides are a bowl full of Jell-O, all quivery and on the verge of liquefying.
The thing is, I may or may not be mildly obsessed with Declan’s hands. Those hands literally bring healing. They palpate necks feeling lymph nodes, they hold stethoscopes in place, they take pulses and deliver vaccines and offer comfort with difficult diagnoses.
They are strong and always on the dry side thanks to being washed and sanitized constantly. They are big like him, and rough in texture but gentle in touch.
And yes, oh yes, I have dreamed about them on me. Touching me in all the friendly places and all the deeply intimate parts that have nothing to do with an annual exam.
So this confident, casual clutch of our hands threatens to send my head exploding off my neck and out into orbit from overstimulation and sheer, simple pleasure.
Some police officer will ask the Ryan family what happened and poor Declan will have to report that my hand got sweaty right before my head popped off and screeched away like a balloon losing its helium.
Thankfully, Charlie giggles and that brings me back into the moment, and into the rest of my body beyond the points of contact with Declan’s warm skin.
Right as we step inside, I have the realization that we have made no plans about how to deal with his family.
We didn’t talk about what this would be like or what I should expect.
We didn’t talk about if we should be touchy or keep to ourselves.
We didn’t talk about anything, and I want to throw on the emergency brake and beg him for a sidebar.
But it’s too late.
“Ahhh! There they are!” says one voice, right as the storm door swings closed behind us.
“They’re here! They’re here!” Two little girls I recognize from work and as Sam’s soon-to-be daughters race by us, then disappear in the direction of what I assume must be the kitchen.
Dec’s hand tightens on mine and he catches my eye.
“We’ll be okay.”
There’s almost enough certainty in the declaration to believe him.
“Evie! My dear! Welcome to our home.” Mary and Connor Ryan are both coming toward me, Mary with arms outstretched and Connor with a beaming smile.
I know them from the times they’ve been to the clinic, of course, and around town.
It’s too small a place not to know them, and yet I’ve never been to their home.
They invited me a few times after I first moved here, in fact, but I always had to decline.
Going to dinner at someone’s house when Charlie was little felt like a nightmare.
Anything that tipped the edge of our routine made my life harder, and in those first few months, it felt plenty hard already.
“Thank you for having me.”
Mary wraps me in a hug as I speak. When she pulls back, Connor reaches out and offers me a hearty shake, sandwiching my hand with both of his in a fatherly, friendly way I can’t help but enjoy.
“And look at this big fellow. Is this Charlie?”
My heart glows. Charlie’s gone quiet since we stepped inside the house, and his bright eyes are pinned on Mary. She smiles at him, and he tucks himself closer into Declan.
Forget glowing. My heart completely melts. Declan presses his hand over Charlie’s back and pats gently.
“It’s alright, buddy. This is my mama.”
“Mama?” Charlie’s head perks up and looks at Declan, then sets one chubby little hand on Declan’s cheek like he so often does. “No, Mama.” He points at me.
Declan grins.
I don’t know what my heart’s doing now, but between the nerves and this display of everything, I’m doomed.
Might just need a checkup.
I internally cringe at the thought and focus as Declan says, “You’re right. That’s your mama. This is Mary, and she’s my mama.”
The voice he uses to talk to Charlie is so gentle and endlessly patient. It’s one more thing that draws me to him.
Declan gives me a look. “Did I make this too complicated?”
“I think you’re doing great.” I mean it. He is so naturally good with Charlie. Maybe all doctors are like this, but I don’t think so.
“I also go by Grammy.” Mary winks at Charlie, who gives her a shy smile. “Don’t you worry, Charlie. We’ll be good friends eventually, I just know it.” Mary grins at him, and steps back, effectively solidifying my appreciation of her all the more.
She’s not forcing my baby to give her a hug or invading his space, touching his little hands or kissing his cheeks while he’s clearly a little nervous. After all, she’s grandma to four grandkids so far, and two of them didn’t know her from birth. She’s done this before.
It hits me then, as Dec suggests we find Charlie a spot to stretch out in the living room before dinner, that when we marry, she’ll be Charlie’s grandma, too.
Tears prick my eyes and I blink, begging my body to reabsorb them. I cannot be the dinner guest who’s crying before I even make the rounds to say hello to everyone.
But, oh, this family.
I want it.
It’s loud and bright and warm and so loving.
There’s a happy birthday banner strung across the entryway and a bouquet of balloons blooming from the corner of the dining room.
In the living room, two little girls with white-blonde hair are bopping a balloon, keeping it from touching the ground while adults chat in small groups.
I knew this is what a Friday night with the Ryans would feel like. There’s so much warmth and joy and the sense that every person here belongs.
This is why I could never come.
My family wasn’t like this, and then my family simply… wasn’t. We were just us three, my parents both working two jobs and me joining in once I hit high school, and just days before my graduation, they were gone. Hit by a woman looking for a certain song on her phone.
But this loving chaos? It’s a dream. It’s more than I could ever dare ask for, and it’s actually so wonderful already, I almost feel sick. The response makes no sense, but clearly, I’m in a weird place.
“I didn’t know you’d arrived!”
I turn to see Sam, my lovely friend and the person closest to me in this world save Charlie and maybe Jack. Though Sam knows about my feelings for Declan.
When she sees my face, concern knits her brows and she pulls me into a hug. She speaks softly so no one will hear. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
I squeeze her, so grateful I let my guard down enough to feel like I can tell her. I hadn’t planned to tell anyone the truth about this marriage, but I’m a fool if I think Sam won’t instantly know something’s off. She’ll keep it to herself, though. I know she will.
But I can’t tell her here.
“I’ll tell you later. Promise.”
She pulls back and eyes me. “Tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
We turn to see Declan settling Charlie on the ground, then sitting on the floor next to him.
“I see he’s continuing his status as dreamboat paragon of sweetness with babies,” she says, eyes on Declan as he pulls a basket of toys over and Charlie bends to investigate the contents.
“It’s a problem.”
She smiles. “But you’re dating?”
I don’t have a chance to explain or hint or even give her a wide-eyed “you’re not going to believe me when I tell you” look, because Connor hollers that dinner is ready and everyone bursts into chatter as they move to the table.
Declan scoops Charlie up and finds me right after.
“Follow me.”
He says it with this look that makes my stomach dip, yet again, and Charlie squawks out a few sentences that aren’t quite intelligible. When we reach the table, he sets Charlie in a highchair and deftly buckles him in, then slides in a tray.
I haven’t appreciated how capable the man is with all of these things. How does he know how to navigate a highchair? As a new mom, it took me a handful of tries to learn the release mechanism, and buckling a squirming baby into a seat can be a challenge.
None of it seems to affect Declan in any way other than giving him some amount of satisfaction.
Once seated, I take a moment to breathe through my nose because it’s all piling up. His kindness and unflappable way of handling things. This family’s warmth and love. My gratitude for Sam, who I’m absolutely going to tell everything tomorrow.
I am so full, I might crack open.