Page 137 of One Night with Number Nineteen

A pause. “Do what?”

Take on too much. Spread yourself too thin. Buzz around like a frenetic bee. Act as though you have to do it all in order to prove you belong here, belong with us.

Belong with me.

But this isn’t the right place for that conversation.

“Never mind,” I say quietly. “Let’s get Ollie and we’ll drop you at your van, take care of that tire.”

His gaze shoots to mine. “I can do that.”

“What? You’ll run back?”

A shrug. “I’ll jog. It’s not that far.”

My brows drag together. “Sawyer⁠—”

He passes me the bag. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

And a moment after that…he’s gone.

I take a step, intending to follow⁠—

“Mom!” Ollie says. “Can we get hot chocolate now?”

I freeze, sigh, and turn to my son, to the thing that matters the most.

Then I push my anger, my worry, my hurt aside.

And I say, “Yeah, kiddo. We can.”

“This is really good, Mom,” Ollie says, taking a huge sip. He puts the mug down and grins at me wearing a hot chocolate mustache.

“Sawyer taught me how to make it,” I tell him, glad I managed to get a little food in him (even if it was from a fast-food place) as I add a dollop of whipped cream to my mug and glance out the window over the sink, half-expecting the man in question to pull up in his van, just because I spoke his name.

It’s been weeks of that.

Maybe months of it.

Him being here so often I’ve gotten used to it, that I expect him to be here, no…that I’ve come to want it.

Want him. Need him.

And ache when he’s not.

Even if I’m furious at him for this afternoon.

“It’s yummy,” Ollie says.

Smiling, I lift my mug, carry it over so I can sit next to him, then softly tap the rim of mine against his. “Cheers, honeybun.”

“Cheers, Mommy Mom,” he sing-songs.

Laughter in my chest as I take a sip. “Definitely yummy.”

He slurps. “Definitely yummy,” he parrots, making me smile as my gaze drifts out the window again, as uncertainty twines through my belly.

Where is Sawyer?