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My voice got quieter. “I think Klair and I would’ve gotten better versions of both of them if they’d separated.”

Nash nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“No.”

I looked up. “What?”

“That phrase is bullshit.”

I laughed. “Excuse me?”

“‘It is what it is’ is what people say when they don’t want to talk about how something affected them.”

“Here you go.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Psychologist.”

“Interior decorator.”

My mouth dropped. I reached over and smacked his arm. He caught my hand and his thumb moved slowly across my knuckles.

“Do you want kids?”

My hand went still in his. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

I looked at him. “You’re not gonna ask why?”

“You said you don’t know.”

“That’s never stopped you from asking shit before.”

He smiled. “Do you want me to ask?”

I thought about it. “No, but I want to tell you.”

I pulled my hand free and wrapped both palms around my wineglass.

“I was pregnant once. It didn’t continue.”

His face changed. “Miscarriage?”

I shook my head. “No. I terminated it.”

Nash nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“I was in a relationship that had a lot of shit attached to it. Trauma. Baggage. Complications.”

Understatement of the fucking century.

“And when I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to believe it would change things.”

I stared into the wine. “For a little while, I did.”