17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Tate
I wake up before she does.
The room is still dim, pale winter light slipping through the crack in her blinds. The heater hums softly somewhere in the apartment. Her bedroom smells like vanilla, clean laundry, and faintly like sweat… us.
Celeste is curled against my side, one leg thrown over mine like she claimed it in her sleep.
Her curls are everywhere.
One rests across my collarbone, tickling my skin every time she breathes.
I don’t move.
I just watch her.
There’s something different about the morning light. It strips away heat and shadow and intensity. What’s left is real.
And this?
This feels real.
Her Dexcom receiver sits on the nightstand beside her phone. The faint glow of the screen catches my attention. Without thinking, I lean slightly and tap it.
132 Steady arrow.
Good.
My chest loosens.
She stirs a little when I shift back. Her hand slides up my stomach, fingers warm and lazy.
“Are you staring at me?” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
“Yeah.”
Her lips twitch. “Creepy.”
“Worth it.”
Her eyes open slowly, green still foggy with exhaustion. For a second, she just looks at me — really looks at me, like she’s confirming I’m still here.
I brush a curl off her forehead. “Morning.”
“Morning,” she whispers.
There’s no panic in her face.
No brace for impact.
Just calm.
It hits me harder than anything last night did.
A knock sounds at the front door.
Celeste jolts upright. “Suzie.”
She scrambles out of bed, grabbing the oversized sweatshirt from the floor and tugging it over her head. I pull on my jeans, heart thudding in a completely different way now.
This feels bigger than sex ever could.
A few minutes later, I hear the front door open.
“Momma!”
Rowen’s voice fills the apartment.
I step into the hallway just in time to see him launch himself into her arms. His backpack dangles off one shoulder, curls messy from sleep.
Suzie waves at me from the doorway. “He was perfect. Numbers stayed steady all night.”
“Thank you,” Celeste says, meaning it.
After Suzie leaves, Rowen finally notices me standing there.
He freezes.
Tilts his head.
Studies me like I’m a new exhibit at the zoo.
“Tate?”
“Hey, buddy.”
He walks closer, eyes flicking between me and his mom. His little face is serious. Thinking. Sure, I’ve stayed late, but I have always gone home before Rowen wakes up, so him seeing me here this early I’m sure is confusing for him.
“Tate… are you my momma’s boyfriend?”
The question lands in the center of the room.
Celeste stills.
She doesn’t answer for me.
Doesn’t save me.
Just watches.
I crouch down so I’m eye-level with him.
“Yeah,” I say easily. “I am. That okay with you?”
He shrugs like he’s negotiating a contract. “Will you be nice to her?”
I huff a laugh. “Of course, I pinky promise,” I say, glancing at Celeste.
Her eyes are shining in a way that makes my whole damn world go round.
Rowen nods decisively. “Okay.”
And just like that, I’m in.
Celeste
We end up at the farmer’s market by noon.
It’s cold enough that our breath fogs the air, but the sun is bright, bouncing off vendor tents and melting patches of frost. The air smells like kettle corn, fresh bread, and coffee.
Rowen insists on riding on Tate’s shoulders.
I try not to stare at how natural they look together.
Tate’s big hands are wrapped securely around Rowen’s sneakers. Rowen’s tiny fingers are tangled in Tate’s hair. They’re arguing about whether blueberries count as a vegetable.
“You can’t just make stuff up,” Tate says.
“They’re blue!” Rowen argues.
“That’s not how that works, bud.”
I’m laughing when Tate glances back at me, eyes soft.
And then I see it.
Across the street.
Brett.
He’s leaning against his truck, sunglasses on, jaw tight.
Watching.
His gaze drags over Tate. Over Rowen. Over me.
Tate doesn’t notice him.
He shifts slightly under Rowen’s weight. “Hey buddy, what’re we sitting at?”
Rowen holds out his receiver proudly. “One-three-four!”
“Steady arrow?” Tate asks.
Rowen squints at it. “Yep.”
“Great, I think that means we get to have blueberry dougnuts.”
Brett sees the interaction between Ro and Tate.
Sees Tate asking.
Sees Rowen answering.
Sees how easy it is.
Our eyes lock across the street.
His mouth curves into something that isn’t a smile.
And for the first time in years, a chill creeps up my spine.
But then Tate looks at me again
Warm. Steady. Certain.
And I tell myself I’m done living in what-ifs.
I step closer to him, resting my hand against his back.
Mine.
And I don’t look back at Brett again.
Tate
Rowen fell asleep fast tonight.
Farmers' markets and shoulder rides will do that to a kid.
Celeste checked his numbers twice before finally settling into the couch beside me. The TV is on low, some random cooking show neither of us is watching.
She’s curled into my side again.
It’s becoming a habit.
I glance down at her phone resting on her thigh. The Dexcom app glows faintly when it lights up with a notification
128. Steady.
“Do you ever sleep?” I ask quietly.
She huffs. “Not really.”
“I mean it.”
“I set alarms. I wake up. I check. I go back to sleep. It’s just… part of it.”
Part of it.
Like she’s just accepted carrying it alone.
I hesitate for a second. I don’t want to overstep.
But I also don’t want her drowning quietly.
“You don’t have to say yes,” I start carefully. “And I’m not trying to overstep on anything.”
She shifts slightly to look up at me.
“But if he’s gonna be with me sometimes… or even just here like this… I’d feel better having access to his numbers.”
She stills.
Not defensive.
Just processing. Playing with the strands of her hair, I can pretty much see the wheels turning in her head. Going over all the pros and cons of what I am asking.
“That’s co-parent level access,” she says softly.
I nod. “I know.”
Silence stretches between us.
“I’m not trying to claim I’m his parent,” I add. “I just… if something happens and you’re asleep? I want to know. If he’s low and I’m in the other room? I want to know. I don’t want you carrying that alone when I’m here.”
She nods her head before passing me her phone.
I take it from her, careful not to brush her fingers longer than necessary, even though every part of me wants to. The glow of the screen reflects in her eyes as she guides me through the steps.
“I just need your email,” she says softly.
I enter it, my thumbs suddenly feeling larger than usual, aware of the gravity behind something so simple. She taps a few more times, her movements deliberate, almost hesitant.
“Okay,” she murmurs. “I sent the invitation.”
A quiet beat passes before my phone buzzes in my hand.
Dexcom Share Invitation.
I glance up at her, silently asking if she’s sure. She gives a small nod, her lips pressed together, vulnerability written all over her face.
I accept.
The app loads, and a number appears on the screen.
120 steady.
Relief settles into my chest, unexpected but immediate. It feels strangely intimate, being trusted with something so vital, so deeply personal to her and Rowen.
And something shifts.
Not dramatic.Not loud.Just… deeper.
It’s as if an invisible line has been crossed—not one of obligation, but of belonging.
Celeste exhales softly and rests her head against my shoulder again. I can feel the tension slowly leaving her body, replaced by a quiet kind of acceptance.
“You sure you know what you’re signing up for?” she murmurs, her voice tinged with both hope and fear.
I turn slightly, pressing a gentle kiss into her curls, breathing in the comforting scent of her shampoo.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I do.”
I let the words linger, wanting her to understand that this isn’t a fleeting promise or a moment of impulse. It’s a choice I’m making willingly.
Her fingers curl lightly into the fabric of my shirt, and when she looks up at me, there’s a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.
And for the first time, I think she finally believes me.