Page 86 of Three Months Yesterday

“Then they can wait.”

“You know that’s not true.” The sigh that sounds over the phone is one of pure resignation, like he knows he’s losing me, and for the first time in my career, I think he just might. “Come to the city for a few days. Handle the meeting and then go back.”

I watch Madison set the glass down, her now empty hand joining the other on her stomach. She presses her palms flat against her belly, feeling him move.

“Fine,” I say. “A few days. But I won’t be in the city until Monday.”

“Monday works. I’ll see you then.”

He hangs up and I set the phone on the table. My eyes find Madison. She’s already watching me, her hands still on her boy, and I can see the question in her eyes before she asks it. There’s worry on her face. Fear that maybe I’m not coming back.

I don’t wait for her to voice the words. I cross the room and brush a loose piece of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

“Just a few days,” I say. “I’ll be back before you have time to miss me.”

She looks up at me, and for a second I think she’s going to deny whatever she’s thinking, but she doesn’t. She leans into my hand the smallest amount and offers me a small smile.

“Miss you? I barely tolerate you as it is. I’ll be glad you’re gone.”

I chuckle as she grips the sides of my shirt and pulls me in for a hug. Her stomach presses into me and I feel the little tap-tap of the baby between us, almost like he’s apologizing for his mom’s terrible joke.

My arms wrap around her, holding her close, and I tell myself that a few days is nothing. That I’ll be back before the week is over. We’ll get our movies and junk food and be right back here, just the two of us.

That’s the plan, and I’m holding on to it.

Today hasn’t been exactly what I expected, but I’m still enjoying the time with my nephew.

We’re in the truck, pulling out of the grocery store and Jackson is sitting in his car seat with his hands folded in his lap like a little gentleman who’s endured a very long morning.

He’s been a champ. Grocery store, hardware store, two stops for the inn, and all of it without a single complaint. He just walked beside me, hand in mine, asking “how much longer?” in a voice that got quieter each time until it was barely a whisper. At the last stop, he was dragging his feet so bad I thought he might lie down in the aisle and take a nap.

But he held it together, like he always does.

His daycare’s closed today and Mom had plans with a friend she’s been trying to see for over three weeks. In an effort to prove—to myself—that I am capable of taking a step back from the inn, I offered to take him. Of course, I still had errands I needed to run.

The truth is, I’m glad for the distraction. Not even six hours since Beckett left for the city and everything is off. The house is too quiet and the cottage is dark. There was no one to greet me as I left for my morning run, or to remind me to make decaf coffee because I still reach for the good stuff every morning. It’s just me and my thoughts, and a baby who’s decided two a.m. is an excellent time to practice gymnastics.

So, errands it is. And one very patient four-year-old who’s been promised a treat from Cobble & Cup and a muffin baking session when we get home.

“Aunt Maddie?” Jackson’s voice comes from the back seat, soft and a little hopeful. “Are we going to the cafe now?”

“Yeah, buddy.” I chuckle. “We’re heading to the cafe.”

His whole face changes in the rearview mirror. The tired look disappears and is replaced by a grin that lights up his entire face. His spine straightens and I can see him mentally cataloguing the pastry case, deciding what he’s going to get before we get there.

The cafe is warm and smells like cinnamon and espresso. My mouth waters, and I’m going to attribute that to the baked goods and not the baby making me hungry every forty-five minutes. There’s a short line and Jackson stands next to me with his arms clasped tight around his little chest, just like his dad stands. He looks at the pastry case, eyeing the treats before he looks up at me.

“Can I have a cake pop?” he asks.

“Sure.” I smile down at him, pulling him into my side. Maybe I shouldn’t be letting him have sugar, especially when we’re going home to make muffins, but he’s been such a good kid today. He deserves it.

There’s a new barista behind the counter, someone I’ve never seen before. She’s got dark hair pulled into a loose bun and a quiet way about her that’s not unfriendly, just careful. Almost like she’s measuring how much of herself to give in each interaction.

“What can I get you?” she asks, her voice soft and lilting.

“Just a medium decaf coffee—black—and a chocolate cake pop, please.”

“One with sprinkles!” Jackson shouts, pointing at the one he wants.