Getting Miles ready for daycare on Monday was a shit-show. Between my mom saying yes to everything I said no to and him whining that he wanted to stay home with her, I was about ready to lose my mind. As if that weren’t enough, I couldn’t find my phone anywhere, and I wasn’t sure I knew how to survive the subway without it. It had to be in my bag, probably somewhere underneath the baby wipes, NASA spaceships, and Paw Patrol figurines I used to entertain Miles whenever we were out eating and I had to take a call. I picked up Miles’s backpack, gave Mom a kiss, and offered him my hand.

“Let’s go, Miles.”

“I still don’t wanna.” He crossed his arms, pouting.

Mom smiled and leaned down. “You have to go so that you can come back and teach grandma everything you learned today. When you get back, we’ll go to the park and then out for some ice cream with Nana, how ’bout that?”

“Okay.” He grinned.

Mom straightened. “I’m going to take a shower and go to Celia’s. Mom and I are supposed to go to a wine tasting later.”

“And then you’re going to the park with Miles?”

“It isn’t like I’m driving him anywhere. Besides, some of us can handle our alcohol,” she said with a gleam in her eyes. I couldn’t help it, I laughed. I’d woken up with the mother of all hangovers yesterday and spent the entire day nursing it and telling everyone around me to shut up.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You need to get out more, baby,” Mom said. “Take advantage of us. We’re here to help you. Go have some fun this week.”

“I have fun.”

“Gymboree doesn’t count as fun, Tess.” Mom shot me a look. “And Miles needs a father figure in his life.” She glanced at Miles, who was walking around the coffee table with a rocket in his hands.

“He has Freddie.”

She gave me that sad look I was used to from her. It had been at least a year since the last time she asked who Miles’s father was and I was grateful for it because I wasn’t sure I had it in me to lie or omit things anymore. I still couldn’t believe she hadn’t figured it out. Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe everyone around me knew and they were just playing along for my own sake. I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Let’s go, Miles,” I said. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll take you up on the offer.”

I held Miles’s hand as we walked to the elevator, letting him push the button outside and inside. He was obsessed with buttons and doors and basically everything that had a reaction to his touch. I watched his eyes as they lit up when the elevator started moving. He turned the rocket over upside down to indicate that we were going in that direction. The kid amazed me.

“I have a team trying to come up with a concept for a car. Maybe you can help,” I told him as the elevator doors opened. “Like cool colors and a theme.”

“Like a rocket.”

I laughed. Everything was like a rocket to him. “Like a . . .” I stopped walking and looked down at him. He glanced up, sensing this. “Oh my god, Miles. Like a rocket!”

I let go of his hand and rummaged through my messenger bag until I found my small sketchpad that I used to jot down ideas. Miles tugged at my arm as I flipped it open to a fresh page and scribbled: NASA (think: rocket).

“Mommy, there’s a man here.”

“Just stay by my side and let him get through,” I said, only half-listening. If I could get the right blue for the leather and come up with a way that—

Small arms wrapped around my leg. “He keeps looking at me.”

My head whipped up, my gaze landing on the glass door and Rowan, who was standing on the other side of it. My pulse spiked. I pushed everything back into my bag, put the strap back on my shoulder and took a hold of Miles’s hand again before walking over to the door. I pushed it open. Rowan looked at me for a beat before training his eyes on Miles. I fought the urge to push him behind me and keep him out of sight. This was not how I planned on doing this. Not that I’d composed much of a plan, but if I had, this would not have been it.

“What are you doing here?”

He looked up and held my gaze for entirely too long. Silently, I prayed he wouldn’t ask the question I knew he wanted to. I would crack, completely and utterly shatter and tell both him and Miles right then and there.

“I came to pick up the books.”

“What books?”

“The books of fabric.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I blinked. “Um . . . I need to get him to daycare. I can give them to you in like twenty minutes. I can even call Freddie and have him—”

“That’s okay. I’ll walk with you.”

“Walk—” I cleared my throat to clear the squeak from my voice. “You want to walk with us?”

“Sure.” His eyes searched mine. “Is there a problem?”

He knew. He knew. He knew. He had to know.

“No. No problem at all.”

We started walking.

“What’s your name, little man?” Rowan said when he reached the corner. Of course, the walking signal was red. Miles looked at me, then at him, as if to ask whether or not he should tell him. I gave him a nod.

“Miles Frederick Monte.”

“Miles, huh?” Rowan’s eyes met mine briefly, but in those two seconds, I knew he knew. I just knew it. He looked at Miles. “Nice name. I’m Rowan Andrew Hawthorne.”

Had this been an entirely different situation, I would have found his response charming. Miles let go of my hand and offered it for him to shake. Something Freddie and I had been working on with him, and in this moment, I wished like hell I could take it all back. I didn’t want them touching. That was a lie. I was just freaking the hell out.

“Je suis très heureux de faire votre connaissance,” Miles responded, telling Rowan that he was pleased to meet him.

---

“Whoa.” Rowan chuckled, his eyes lighting up. “How old are you?”

“Three,” he said.

Rowan gave me another one of those knowing glances, and I turned away.

Fuck my life.