Chapter 25 Rhea
TWENTY-FIVE
RHEA
I don’t know when it happened exactly—maybe somewhere between the library croissants and the tiny boulangerie play set—but over the past two weeks, something’s shifted.
Spencer has shown up in ways I didn’t even know I needed.
Thoughtful.
Generous.
Unfailingly kind.
Every text, every call, every little package has carried the same unspoken message: I see you. I’m thinking about you.
And it feels so good to be thought about.
But it’s also terrifying. Because what I’m feeling—this thing between us—it’s growing. And I haven’t told him the truth. Not the real truth.
Not about Esme.
For over two years, I’ve kept this secret from him, believing I was protecting us all from a truth that would wreck everything. Believing he had a family. Wouldn’t want her. Or me. That I was just a mistake he’d need to somehow make go away.
But now?
I know I was so wrong.
He deserves to know. And not just because it’s right, but because he’s right. In ways I didn’t dare believe a man could be.
Now I’m on my way to Boston. A real date. One that requires an overnight bag. One that he’s planned “with a few special surprises”.
The adult side of me is giddy. Giddy like I’m seventeen. Giddy like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life and didn’t know it.
But the mom side of me?
Guilt.
Just so much guilt.
Leaving Esme for two nights—again.
Even though Laney assures me she’ll have a blast. That she’s fine. That she’s loved. Still, my chest aches every time I think of her bedtime curls and her sticky kisses and the way she hums when she’s falling asleep.
I almost cancel. Three separate times.
Twice for fear. Once for guilt.
Packing has been... an ordeal. Spencer said business casual for Friday morning, something comfy for hanging out, and something else a little elegant. “If we go somewhere special.”
A little elegant? As if I’m not already spiraling.
I have no elegant things. Unless you count the black sheath dress I wore to my mom’s funeral three years ago, and I don’t.
Thank God for .
Seven little black dresses later—top price $49.99—and I finally find the one.
It’s sleek but comfortable, knee-length with an open back, and—bless the designer—it has my favorite feature of all.
It requires no bra. It hints without flaunting.
Suggests without screaming. It’s not something I ever thought I’d wear.
But I want to feel beautiful for him, and it lets me do just that.
Even though I’m still terrified.
I should tell him the truth right away. Maybe even on the flight. It’s the right thing to do. Don’t put it off. Don’t take advantage of his kindness. Don’t fall deeper. Don’t let him fall deeper, not until he knows.
Laney pulls into my driveway at 7:15 a.m. sharp, coffee in hand.
I open the front door with Esme perched on my hip, her little arms wrapped around my neck and her breath warm against my skin.
Banana breath. She’s been talking about it all morning. “‘Nana, Ezzie nana yummy,” she declares proudly for the third time. Eighteen months. She amazes me every moment.
Laney hops out, all sunglasses and caffeine and mom-energy, and opens the back door to reveal an empty car seat.
“I brought your ride,” she says, grinning, “and your emotional support toddler’s throne.”
I laugh—just barely.
Laney grabs Esme’s overnight bag from my shoulder and tosses it in the trunk while I buckle Esme into the car seat.
“My bag’s just inside the door.” I tell her.
Esme kicks happily and sings something to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle but with “Lillel star” as the primary lyrics.
I check the straps twice.
Laney tosses my bag in, shuts the trunk, and walks around to my side of the car, watching me linger there, hands against the edge of the open door. Staring at Esme.
“You good?” she asks softly.
I nod, but it’s a lie.
My hands won’t move. My chest feels tight. I look up at her, blinking fast.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
Laney’s face softens. “What’s most scary at the moment?” I look down at Esme, who’s happily spinning the activity toy attached to the car seat.
“Everything. How much I feel for him. What I have to tell him. What happens if I lose him—before we even really begin.”
She pulls me into a hug. “You’re not going to lose him. You’re just going to tell the truth.”
I nod again. Still unsure if I believe it. Still unsure if I’m ready.
But Laney’s already opening the passenger door, and I’m climbing in.
“Come on, Mama,” she says. “Let’s get you to your mystery money man.”
Then we’re off—Laney driving, Esme singing, and me spiraling.
When we pull up to the little airfield on the edge of town, there he is. Waiting. Wearing jeans and a navy crewneck with a white collar lining the neck, looking like he belongs on the cover of GQ.
Even from this distance, I can see the way he carries himself—like confidence wrapped in grace. Like he knows who he is and why he’s here.
Laney stares out the windshield. “Oh. My. God,” she breathes. “Girl. You said handsome. You may have even said gorgeous. But damn…”
She looks at me, eyes wide. “I’d make any number of bad decisions to get that man’s hands on me.”
“Laney!” I swat her. “Good grief.”
“What? I’m married. Not blind.” She winks as I open the door.
In the backseat, Esme kicks her heels excitedly.
“LaLa house!” she squeals, bouncing in her car seat. “BeeBee! RoRo!”
Laney’s house, she means. Bria—the youngest. And Rolo Bear, the golden doodle pup. She’s excited for her adventure, too.
“You’re going to have so much fun,” I say, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Pizza night, bubbles, and chasing Rolo? I’m a little jealous.”
I begin to wave.
She grins, drops her giraffe so she can wave too, and chirps, “Bye Mama! Voo Voo!”
My breath catches. “I love you too, baby,” I whisper. “Be good.”
My tears fall, but Esme doesn’t notice. She’s too excited.
Laney squeezes my hand. “We’ve got her. Go, now. But remember…tell the man..”
I nod, blinking fast, grab my suitcase, and start the walk toward him. He stands with his jacket open, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on me—and I just hope he can’t read the stew of emotions simmering beneath my ribs.
Hope and fear. Longing and guilt. Excitement braided with dread.
And then he’s moving toward me, arms open wide. And before I can second-guess a thing, I’m in them.
He pulls me close like I belong there, his mouth on mine, soft and certain. Kissing me like I’m not a risk—but a promise.
Somewhere behind us, Laney honks the horn as she pulls away.
As we board the private jet, all I can think is—
Whose life is this?
And please let it be mine.