My grandmother’s three-bedroom cottage sat up on a hill and had a fully renovated basement that held a wine cellar and theatre room. The latter was her way of trying to bribe Freddie to visit more often. It never worked. Not because he didn’t want to visit but because he was too busy with The Company. When he wasn’t at work, he was painting. I wish he’d quit his day job and just paint forever, but like he had said, you shouldn’t put all your eggs in one basket.

Earlier, as I brainstormed with Seth and Tommy over the phone, I’d gone downstairs to the cellar and picked out a bottle of red. It was one the Chateau made as an exclusive a few years back. All they did was change the label, but it had been enough to get the attention of a Prime Minister, which had the sales skyrocketing. That didn’t really matter to me since I knew next to nothing about wine, but the bottle was a cabernet so I’d taken it.

I stood from the couch, where I’d been sitting and flipping through fabrics since I’d ended the call, headed to the kitchen to open said bottle and order a pizza. Then I looked outside, it was too cool out, definitely not the kind of weather I’d take the canoe out in, but I wished I could. Grandma Joan had renovated the cottage a couple of years ago, tearing down the wall that faced the water and replacing it with glass. The view was truly spectacular and I could picture Miles’s beloved telescope sitting right there by that glass. Celia told me Rowan and Sam had passed by to pick up the other books and had spent a few minutes with Miles. A part of me hated that I hadn’t been there for it, to take pictures, even if only just to store in my memory bank. The other part of me was glad I wasn’t there because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold it together. The need to apologize to Rowan ran deep and I didn’t have time for distractions, especially when I still hadn’t settled on any of the fabrics. I picked up my wine and walked back over to the book of fabrics and the hundreds of sketches scattered around it. At least I got that part right. The couches for the hotel design were simple, but the colors I had in mind were bold and bright—royal blues and bright yellows. A Moroccan theme. I’d have to discuss it with Seth and Tommy at nine o’clock during our Skype. I set those aside and went back to the spring collection, which I’d finished sketching. I emailed Seth and Tommy everything earlier, and even though I knew the sketches were great, I was nervous about their feedback. This was my new team. I’d rocked it in Prim Paris, but what if they hated everything I did?

The doorbell rang. I set the sketches down and picked up my wallet, my grumbling stomach reminding me just how hungry I was as I walked over to the door. I pulled it open and did a double take when I saw Rowan standing on the other side, wearing jeans, a long-sleeve white shirt, and a New York Rangers cap.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m missing a fabric book.”

“You drove three hours for a fabric book?”

“I went to pick up the others and your grandmother told me you were holed up here. I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Why?” I eyed him suspiciously. If he was here to talk about splitting custody, I’d turn him away. It wasn’t that I wasn’t open to the conversation, because I knew that conversation was inevitable and necessary. I’d come here to get my head straight and I wasn’t there yet. His eyes narrowed as if he was mulling over what to say next.

“I came to apologize.”

“Really?”

Out of all the things he could have said, that was the one that surprised me the most. I’d kept his son a secret from him and he was apologizing to me?

“For what?”

“Can we discuss this inside? I’m freezing.”

I bit my tongue. How many times had we played this song and dance? Something about it felt different this time. Years ago, I would have moved out of the way and melted under those blue eyes, but I had become harder. I’d learned life lessons and grown up, so despite my galloping heart and the pulse that was skittering, I didn’t feel the need to make room for him as easily as I once would have. Eventually, after staring at each other for what felt like a solid two minutes, I moved. He walked inside slowly, looking around, taking it all in.

“This is nice.”

“It is.” I watched his broad back as he stood there and finally closed the door. My stomach growled again.

He turned around. “You hungry?”

“Very.”

“Want me to go get food? I thought about bringing something, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“I ordered pizza. It should be here any minute.”

He nodded once, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Are you still working?”

“If I wasn’t, I would’ve gone home already.”

He moved to where the book was open to the blue swatches and touched the sketches. I didn’t want his fingers on them. It was too personal, too much hurt came from the simple gesture, and I rushed over and stood in front of the coffee table, blocking his view. Unfortunately, it put me almost chest to chest with him. The scent of his cologne, his shampoo, body wash, him, infiltrated my senses. Our gazes collided and in that one tiny second, I felt it all rushing back to me and wished so badly I could forget about the past and jump on him. It was the wine, anxiety, and lack of action for sure. I knew he saw this, too, with the way his nostrils flared as he looked at me.

“Tessa.”

I glanced away, ignoring the way the rasp in his voice made everything inside me vibrate. “Please don’t look at my sketches.”

“You always let me look at your sketches.”

I met his gaze again. “How can you say that with a straight face as if you did nothing wrong?” The doorbell rang. I went to move, but Rowan grabbed my arm, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it’s supposed to mean.” I yanked my arm free, grabbed the cash on the table, and went to get my dinner.

When Rowan saw just how much I had ordered, his eyes narrowed. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No.” I walked over to the kitchen. “Why?”

“How much food did you get?”

“One pizza, one dessert pizza, and garlic rolls. Why?”

He dragged his eyes over my body slowly and back up. “Where do you store all of this food?”

“None of your business. Besides, I was starving when I ordered and you know I eat with my eyes.”

He helped me set the table. For two, of course, because Rowan was the kind of guy who invited himself into your life, your heart, and your table. I rolled my eyes but said nothing. I was torn between wishing I still wanted to apologize and wanted to ring his neck, and the longer I could smell him, see him, hear him, the more the latter seemed like the option I would take. He served me the first slice and then grabbed one for himself before refilling my wine glass.

“You’re glaring at me.” I was.

“I’m picturing your head exploding.”

He barked out a surprised laugh, a real one that lit up his eyes and showcased that perfect grin of his. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“You couldn’t handle it.”

He laughed again.

“It isn’t funny.”

“It kind of is. The entirety of this situation—from Miles to you feeling like I somehow wronged you by looking at a sketch—is borderline hysterical.”

I exhaled a breath. Fine. He wanted to ask about how I really felt, I would tell him. But first . . .

“Why’d you email me the pictures?”

“What pictures?” He bit into a slice of pizza.

“The wedding pictures.”

“What are you—” He frowned, shaking his head. “What wedding pictures? Why would I email you wedding pictures?”

“I got an email from you shortly after I got to Paris,” I said. “Attached to it were pictures of you and Camryn. She was wearing a wedding dress. I can’t even tell you what you were wearing.”

“I sent those to you?”

“Yes.”

I watched as he took another bite of pizza and then chewed slowly, studying my face as I did his, looking for any kind of reaction.

“Tessa, I didn’t email you those pictures.”

I grabbed my phone and scrolled through it, knowing that despite the fact that Celia begged me to delete the email and move on, I’d find it quickly because I never had. Whenever I had a moment of weakness and wanted to try to get in touch with him, I opened the email and reminded myself why I couldn’t. Once I had the image pulled up, I tossed my phone to him. He dropped his pizza and caught it before it hit his chest.

“You wanna know why I didn’t tell you I was pregnant? Why I didn’t tell you I’d had your baby the time I saw you at that conference? That’s why.”

He looked at the pictures for a second before setting the phone aside and looking at me again. I was sure that was sorrow I saw in his eyes, but I was past the point of caring, my blood was past the point of boiling.

“God, Rowan.” My voice fell to a whisper. “She was wearing a dress identical to the sketch I’d ripped out of my sketchbook, which looked fucking ridiculous on her, by the way, but that isn’t the point. The point is that you let her have that dress made, took pictures with her in it, and then sent them to me. For what? To rub it all in my face? I couldn’t have you and you wanted me to make sure I really understood it? To make sure I’d move on and not look back?” My voice rose with each word and I really didn’t give a damn. “It wasn’t enough that I told you I loved you and you acted like it was the worst thing in the world? Did you change your number and email for her benefit too? Because when I was pregnant and alone and fucking scared and tried to reach out to you, you were gone!”

“You could’ve told Sam,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. Hot, angry tears pricked my eyes, I blinked, and they fell down my face.

“Sam? When? Before or after chemo? Before or after he was fighting for his goddamn life? Jesus, Rowan.” I shook my head, disappointed. He’d never change. He’d come to apologize, but he didn’t mean it. He just wanted to do the socially acceptable thing. “Besides, if Sam had reached out to you and told you and you’d said no? That would have killed me. I couldn’t deal with more heartache. First you, then my pregnancy, then Sam’s health. It was too much.”

Rowan pushed his chair back and stood, walked around the table and crouched beside me. I tried to avert my eyes to the floor, to the black sneakers he wore, but he brought his hand up and brushed my hair behind my ear and I found myself glancing up to meet his gaze.

“I would never send you those pictures,” he said.

“Which means she did. And you expect me to be okay with that kind of person around my son?”

“I don’t.” He lowered his hand and placed it over mine on my lap. “I don’t want her around him either. You have to trust me on that. I’m sorry about everything I said the other day. I was taken by surprise and I just didn’t know how to handle it all. I changed my phone number and email for my sake, because the thought of reaching out to you haunted me every morning and every night.”

He reached up and cupped my face, wiping the tear that trickled down my cheek with his thumb. “You’ve always had me, Sprite,” he whispered. “Even from across the pond, despite all the lies and deception, you’ll always have me.”

“How can you possibly say that?”

“Because it’s the truth.” He smiled sadly, tilting his head. “And I didn’t recognize the dress from your sketch. I’m sorry that you had to deal with any of that, but I would never do that. How could you think I would?”

“I thought maybe you wanted me to see them before they were published in a newspaper or magazine. I don’t know.”

“Those pictures were taken for my grandparents to make things look official. They were never meant to be published anywhere.” He threaded his fingers through mine. “And I sure as fuck wouldn’t have let her wear a dress I thought you designed.”

“You really had no clue?” I searched his eyes. How could he not know?

“I wasn’t in the best state of mind those days. I’d just let you go. How could I be?”

“I don’t want her near my son,” I repeated.

“I don’t either, but I want to know him. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing, but I want to try.”

“It isn’t a game,” I said. “I’m only here right now because my mom, grandmother, Celia, and Freddie are with Miles, and they’re the only people I trust with anything in the world. Parenthood is twenty-four seven. Always on call even when you don’t want to show up to work. There are no sick days or one more minute in bed to get some rest.”

“Please let me be in your lives,” he said. “I’ll follow your lead and respect your boundaries.”

“Okay.”

He smiled. I smiled despite the uncertainty.

The alarm on my phone rang, indicating that it was time for my Skype call. I said as much to Rowan, who stood, taking my hand and pulling me with him. When I was on my feet, he lifted my knuckles to his lips and brushed a soft kiss against each peak. The feel of his soft bottom lip against my knuckles made my nerve endings go haywire. My phone vibrated.

“I really have to work.” I managed to say the words above the swooshing in my ears.

“Can I watch?”

“You need to promise you’ll behave.”

He nipped the tips of my fingers one by one, keeping his gaze locked on mine. “I always behave.”