Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Robert
The tray tilts dangerously in my hand as I shoulder the back door open, balancing too many things at once like I’ve got something to prove.
Which, apparently, I do.
The weekend is finally here.
“Don’t drop that,” Atelia calls from somewhere behind me, not looking, because she already knows I won’t.
I step out into the backyard, the late afternoon sun catching the edge of the glass bowls, the metal of the tongs, the ridiculous amount of food I’ve decided is necessary for what is essentially a cookout.
I set everything down on the long table, adjusting a plate that doesn’t need adjusting, shifting a bowl half an inch to the left like that matters.
It doesn’t, but my hands need something to do.
“Relax,” Atelia teases, stepping out behind me with a bottle of something she stole from my kitchen. “You’re hosting a cookout, not negotiating a ceasefire.”
“Same thing.” I glance at her. “It better come out perfect.” I reach for the grill lid and flip it open.
Heat rolls up immediately, wrapping around me.
“That explains the overkill.” Atelia hums, gesturing toward the table. “Are you feeding guests or opening a restaurant?”
“I like options.”
“Too many gets people bored.” She drones, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a sip.
I reach for the meat, laying it down carefully, and the sizzle answers instantly.
“You’ve been restless all morning,” she adds, leaning her hip against the counter behind us, watching me like she has nothing better to do.
“I have not.”
“You rearranged the spice rack twice.”
“That was necessary.”
“It was alphabetical the first time.” She continues to poke.
I flick her a look.
She smiles, knowing what she’s doing.
“Tell me how you’re feeling.” She shrugs like she’s asking about the weather.
“I’m fine.”
“Right.” She laughs, loud enough to call me out.
“Yeah.” I flip the meat.
She huffs, unimpressed.
“You’ve got something else to say?” I reach for the seasoning, sprinkling it over the grill with more focus than necessary.
She watches me for a moment, then tilts her head.
“So,” she starts again. “How does it feel?”
“What?” I frown slightly. “How does what feel?”
“Being a father again.”
Again.
Like it’s something I can pick up where I left off.
Like it’s not something that burned down with everything else.
“Well…” I flip another piece, the rhythm of it anchoring me in the present instead of the past. “It doesn’t feel like before.”
“No?” She asks.
“No,” I shake my head slightly. “It’s… different.”
“How?”
“Before,” I start, “It was mine from the beginning.”
I glance out across the yard, the space already set up, chairs arranged, table ready, everything in place for something that hasn’t happened yet.
“This…” I gesture vaguely, like I don’t have the right words for it. “This feels like stepping into something that already exists.”
“I hear you.” Atelia nods slowly.
“You hear me?” I huff a breath. “Quite helpful.”
“You want helpful or support?” She asks.
“Neither.”
“Too bad.” She pushes off the counter, stepping closer, her eyes flicking briefly to the grill before landing back on me. “But I get that it can be frustrating since you don’t get the luxury of figuring it out slowly.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?” She tilts her head. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re trying to control every variable like that’s going to make this safer.”
“It will.”
“It won’t.”
“Lia, can you stop being a pain?” I look at her.
“I don’t know, can I?” She holds my gaze, unmoved.
I don’t respond, I scoff and turn back to the grill.
“Well.” She sighs, but it’s softer now. “For what it’s worth…”
I glance at her again.
“You look good doing it,” she finishes.
“Thanks.” I snort. “That’s both helpful and supportive?” I tease dryly.
“And I’ll be both for the rest of the night.” She smiles, giving a mock bow.
“Looking forward to it.”
The grill spins into a familiar rhythm of sizzling, flipping, and smoke curling up in slow ribbons that blur the edge of the yard.
For a moment, it almost feels like something I can stand in without thinking too hard.
Atelia is saying something behind me, something about how I’ve over-seasoned the chicken like I’m trying to impress a panel of judges instead of feeding three people, when Enzo clears his throat.
I know what that sound means. Still, my hand pauses mid-motion, tongs hovering just above the grill like I’ve forgotten what I was doing.
“Don’t burn it,” Atelia mutters under her breath.
I ignore her, then I look up.
And there they are.
Christine is standing at the edge of the yard, her hand loosely wrapped around Blue’s, her posture firm in that way that looks calm but isn’t. Her gaze finds mine almost instantly, then flicks away like she refuses to let it linger.
Blue doesn’t. The moment she sees me, she lets go of Christine’s hand, hurtling towards me.
“Robert!” She calls with a bright voice that feels like a lightbulb turning on in my chest.
She’s running to me in that uncoordinated way kids are when they don’t think about falling.
I straighten before I even realize I’m moving, setting the tongs aside just in time to catch her as she collides into me.
Her arms wrap around my middle like she’s done it a hundred times.
I freeze for a second. Then my hands come down, settling carefully at her back, holding her close to where I’m trembling the most. My heart.
“Hey.” I soak the moment in, my voice coming out rougher than I intend.
She leans back immediately, tilting her head up to look at me like she’s inspecting something important.
“I miss you.” She announces with a sad face.
“I miss you too, my princess,” I reply, offering a smile that smoothes out her frown.
“Very much?” She asks, pouting.
“Very much.”
She nods once, satisfied with that.
Then her attention shifts, her gaze perches on Enzo. Her face lights up with curiosity.
“You look like a snowman!” The words burst out of her with zero hesitation, her finger pointing directly at his hair like she’s made a groundbreaking discovery.
Atelia chokes on her drink.
“Excuse me?” Enzo blinks slowly, looking mildly offended but mostly entertained.
Blue steps closer, squinting at him like she’s confirming her theory.
“Your hair,” she explains, very seriously. “You have white in it.”
“It’s silver,” Enzo corrects, brushing a hand over it like that changes anything.
“That’s what I said,” she shrugs.
“No, you said snowman.”
“Same thing.” She warns with her small finger.
Atelia loses it completely, laughing outright now, doubling slightly where she stands.
“Oh, I like her,” she huffs out between laughs. “She sees truth.”
“Traitor,” Enzo mutters, shooting her a look. “And he has all white.” He points at me but Blue ignores it.
“Do you melt?” Blue grins, completely unbothered.
That does it.
I laugh, the sound pulling out of me, melting whatever tension was clogged in my chest a second ago.
Enzo looks between all of us like he’s deciding whether to be offended or impressed.
“I don’t melt,” He answers finally, crouching slightly so he’s more at her level. “But I might reconsider my hairstyle after this.”
“You shouldn’t,” Blue chips immediately. “It’s funny.”
“Brutal.” Atelia claps once.
Christine exhales softly from where she stands, shaking her head just slightly, but there’s a curve at the edge of her mouth she’s trying not to show.
I see it even when she looks away and it does something to my heart.
I feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Come on.” I offer my hand, glancing back at the grill before it becomes a casualty of this moment. “Before I burn everything and ruin your first impression.”
“You already ruined it,” Enzo mutters under his breath.
“I heard that.”
“Good.”
Blue giggles between us, already slipping her hand into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And I let her.
By the time the food is ready, the sky has started to soften. It’s not dark yet, but it’s starting to dim at the edges, the sun slipping lower like it’s taking its time leaving.
The table we finally decided to use based on Blue’s request, is by the pool.
There’s too much food. Too many plates. And it’s exactly how I planned it.
Blue is in my arms, with one arm looped around my neck.
Across from me, Christine is rearranging things that don’t need rearranging, trying to keep herself busy. She shifts a plate, then another. Next, she turns a fork, then straightens it again.
I watch it for a second longer than I should, then look away before it turns into something else.
Atelia and Enzo are by the wine, both of them holding bottles like it’s a debate that requires legal representation.
“This one,” Enzo offers, lifting it slightly.
“No,” Atelia counters immediately. “That one is too dry.”
“It’s not dry, it’s well made.”
“It’s aggressive.” She shoots him a glare.
“It’s defined.” He retorts.
“It’s trying too hard.” She keeps up.
“It has notes.” He’s almost losing his shit.
“It has issues.” She drives it straight home.
I huff under my breath, shaking my head slightly.
“Just pick one,” I call out.
“Stay out of this,” Atelia shoots back without looking at me.
“I’m feeding you.” I point out.
“So?” She shrugs, pouty.
“Ungrateful.”
“Uncultured,” Enzo adds.
Blue giggles at that, her head turning between them like she’s watching a show.
“Robert?” She looks back at me.
“Yeah?”
“Why is the water moving like that?” She asks, pointing toward the pool where the surface ripples under the faint breeze.
“It’s because…” I start to answer.
“Because of the wind,” Christine interrupts from the table, not looking up from what she’s doing.
“Mommy.” Blue frowns immediately. “I wasn’t asking you.”
“Baby…” Christine pauses, then looks up. “I know, but…”
“Mommy,” Blue cuts in, serious now, “I asked Robert.”
Christine stills slightly, something flickering across her face before she smooths it over.
“Sorry,” she scoffs quietly.
I shift Blue slightly in my arms, my hand brushing over her back.
“It’s okay for mommy to answer too,” I offer, glancing at Christine briefly before looking back at Blue. “And, she’s right. It’s the wind.”
Blue considers that, then nods like she’s accepting a joint explanation.
“Okay.”
Crisis averted.
“Well,” Atelia drawls slowly, tilting her head slightly. “Would you look at that?”
She’s leaning back now, glass of wine in hand, her gaze moving between the three of us like she’s watching something unfold in real time.
“Look at you,” she continues, gesturing vaguely in my direction. “Holding a child, mediating between mother and daughter…”
She takes a sip.
“Proper family man.” She adds.
Enzo snorts into his glass.
I ignore him.
“Tell me something.” Atelia’s eyes dim slightly, her tone shifting to make it intentional now. “Are we going all the way with this?”
“All the way?” I glance at her.
“Mmh.” She nods. “You know, the full package of wife, kids, and domestic bliss.” She gestures toward the table, the pool, the entire scene like it’s evidence. “Is that where this is heading?”
“Yes,” I answer without missing a beat, my gaze tilting to Christine.
It’s almost as if the answer has been waiting for the question.
Christine chokes, her hand coming up to her chest as she coughs slightly, eyes darting like she’s suddenly surrounded by something she didn’t agree to.
“What?” She breathes, looking between us like she’s trying to find the exit to a room that just closed in.
“Wow.” Enzo bursts out laughing.
Atelia just smiles, satisfied.
I don’t take it back, because the second the word leaves my mouth it feels right. I know now that I don’t just want to be in her life. I don’t just want access. I want more.
I want something permanent.
Something that doesn’t leave room for distance or doubt or walking away.
I want to marry her.
And the thought doesn’t scare me the way it should.
It doesn’t feel rushed.
It feels… Obvious, like something I’ve been circling from the very day I set my eyes on her without naming.
Until now.
But then, just as quickly, something else follows.
How the hell do I keep her alive?