I slept on and off the first half of Sunday, alternating naps with periods of self-loathing and regret. There was a decent amount of self-pity as well, which was sort of pathetic and disgusting, but I kept telling myself that I’d done what I had to, everyone was better off, and even though it hurt, I was taking this pain for the greater good. I was a martyr.

Like I said. Pathetic.

I texted Rachel asking about Paisley, and she told me she’d spoken to her pediatrician, who said to bring her in on Tuesday for a check-up but as long as the fever stayed under a hundred he wasn’t too concerned. Rachel promised to text me an update sometime this evening, and I messaged her back with my firm’s address, telling her I’d meet her there at nine AM. I also emailed my boss and said I’d be back to work earlier than expected.

After that, I forced myself out of bed and dragged my ass to the gym. I did not want to be the guy who lays around in bed feeling sorry for himself. I worked out hard, and it felt good to punish my body. It took my mind off the ache of missing Paisley and Emme. It also gave me back a piece of my former self. I’d missed working out, missed spending time by myself on myself, missed feeling strong and capable and good at something. I watched myself in the mirror, sweat dripping from my skin, muscles flexing, body hard and tense, and I felt like me again. I probably spent two solid hours there. When I was done, I grabbed a shower and some food at the gym’s cafe, still riding high.

Back at my apartment building however, the story changed.

In the hallway outside Emme’s door, I listened carefully to see if I could hear anything inside, but it didn’t sound as if she was home. Disappointed, I let myself into my apartment. It was probably a good thing that I needed to find a new place to live. Even if she didn’t hate me, we were never going to be friends again like we were before. I fucking hated that.

I spent the rest of the evening doing laundry, cleaning up my apartment, and trying not to look at the baby furniture I’d bought. It seemed way too quiet, so I turned on CNN, but the news was depressing. I ended up turning it off and going to bed early.

Up in my bedroom, I lay in bed on my back, hands behind my head. The room seemed so empty. Why was that? I’d spent plenty of nights in bed alone. I liked my alone time. It was part of what I missed about my old life, wasn’t it?

But I found myself looking at the little sleeper next to the bed and missing the daughter who’d turned my life upside down. Maybe I hadn’t been the perfect dad right out of the gate, but I was the only father she had. Okay, trying to do an entire month all by myself had been a stupid move—especially since I had never even changed a diaper before—but I’d learned a lot and I’d keep trying. Tomorrow, I’d ask Rachel if I could have her back over the weekend.

Although I prayed I’d never actually have to do that rectal thermometer thing.

When sleep continued to elude me, I couldn’t help reaching for the pillow next to me and bringing it to my face. Inhaling deeply, I searched for any trace of the woman who’d made me so happy these last couple weeks. Who’d brought out a new side in me. Who’d made me love her.

And it was there—the scent of her hair.

I breathed in slowly, again and again, torturing myself with the memory of her until I couldn’t stand it and threw the pillow to the floor. Wallowing was not going to help me get over this and move forward. I needed to refocus on the things that mattered, the things I could control: looking for a new apartment, arranging custody with Rachel, getting back to work, keeping fit.

Sooner or later my feelings would catch up.

On Monday, Rachel and I filed the affidavit and I got to spend a little time with Paisley. I showed her off at the office, and even though I didn’t like how everyone kept saying how surprised they were to see how good I was with her, I felt like a proud dad. When it was time for them to go, I walked with Rachel to her car.

“When can I see her again?” I asked once I’d buckled Paisley in and kissed her goodbye.

“This weekend?” she offered. “Assuming she’s feeling good, I mean.”

I nodded. “Should I drive to Battle Creek to pick her up?”

She thought for a second. “I could meet you halfway. That might be easier. Then one of us isn’t driving three hours all the time.”

“Okay. Let’s plan on that. We can settle on a time this week.”

“Sounds good.” She paused. “I’m sorry again about how I handled the pregnancy and everything. I should have told you right away.”

“Let’s just move forward from here, okay? No sense in looking back.”

She gave me a smile. “Good idea.”

I opened the driver’s side door for her, and she got behind the wheel. But before closing it, she said, “Hey, Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you said it was none of my business, but I wanted to say again that I think Emme is really nice. And I could tell she has feelings for you.”

I frowned and stared at the asphalt. Stuck my hands in my pockets.

“And Saturday night you seemed pretty miserable about the breakup. Is there any chance you could work it out?”

“I don’t think so,” I said with a shrug. “We don’t want the same things.”

“Okay, just thought I’d mention it. Have a good week.”

I didn’t have a good week. I had a shit week.

I did all the things I said I was going to do—let my landlord know I was looking to move out, contacted a real estate agent about finding a small house with a yard, went to the gym every night after work, and checked in with Rachel every day about Paisley. After work on Thursday, some of the single guys at the firm I used to hang around with asked me to go get a drink with them at Grey Ghost. We hung out at the bar for a while, talked up a group of women who were celebrating someone’s thirtieth birthday, and ended up getting one big table with them for dinner. One of the women was clearly interested in me, a leggy brunette, and spent the entire evening trying to let me know she was up for a good time.

I wasn’t even tempted. In fact, I was sort of repulsed.

All I could think about was that this was supposed to be fun, but it wasn’t. It was my old life—slightly adjusted—but it didn’t feel right. It was like trying to button a shirt you used to wear all the time but didn’t fit you anymore. It was too tight, you couldn’t breathe, and you realized you hated the pattern anyway.

I ended up throwing down some cash, making an excuse, and leaving the table early. It was a long walk to where I’d parked, but I didn’t mind. Hands in my pockets, I took my time and tried to think about what I could do to feel good again, or at least less miserable. Clearly, the answer wasn’t going back to work or spending more time at the gym.

When all my freedom had been abruptly taken away from me with Paisley’s arrival, I’d lamented the loss of it, but getting it back again only reminded me what I’d started to dislike about it before—I was lonely. Back then, I’d been too stubborn to admit that maybe meaningless sex wasn’t enough to satisfy the need to feel connected to another human being. And too scared to let myself feel anything for anyone beyond surface-level affection.

Then came Emme.

She was the first person who’d pushed me, with her irresistible combination of feisty and fragile, to go deeper. To let myself care. To let myself feel. Sex with her was better than it had ever been with anyone else because of that emotional connection. And the thought of having meaningless sex with someone else just for fun was abhorrent to me—I wouldn’t even have been able to do it. And I didn’t want to. I only wanted her.

My plan to forget her and embrace my old life wasn’t working. I missed her. I needed her. I ached for her.

I made up my mind. When I got home, I’d knock on her door. Even if she slammed the door in my face two seconds later, it would be worth it.

I had to see her.

Thirty minutes later, I stood in front of her door. My heart was beating way too fast. I straightened my hair and my tie. Checked my breath and my zipper. Took a deep breath.

Then I knocked.

And waited—nothing. I knocked again. No answer.

It was possible she was working tonight. She must have worked a lot all week, because I hadn’t seen her once. Or else she was trying to avoid me, which was totally possible.

I was about to knock again when I heard her laugh. I turned toward the elevator and saw her walking down the hall, her phone at her ear. It was like I’d been punched in the stomach—I couldn’t breathe.

“Yes, totally,” she was saying. “That sounds perfect. I’ll—” She’d spotted me and stopped walking. “Mia, can I call you back? Thanks. Bye.” She lowered her phone. Her expression said not amused. “What are you doing?”

I have no fucking idea. “I’m…I’m locked out,” I said.

“Oh.” She tilted her head. “Where’s Paisley?”

“With her mom. I let Rachel take her.” Immediately I felt guilty about it. “She had that fever and I didn’t know what I was doing…” I’d started to sweat. I wanted to take my suit coat off. “I thought she’d be better off with her mother.”

Emme looked at me for a moment before speaking. “You gave up too soon.”

“Emme—”

“Let me get your key,” she said, turning her back to me to unlock her door. She opened the door and went inside without inviting me in.

I went in anyway.

Her apartment was dark and I shut the door behind me, cutting off the light from the hall.

“Hey.” She spun to face me, backing up against the narrow console table to the right of the door. “What the hell are you—?”

I cut her off with a kiss, my hands clenching fistfuls of hair at the back of her head. My mouth opened over hers, my tongue slashing inside. She fought me at first, pushing against my chest with both hands. But her head slanted and her lips opened and her tongue reached for mine. I could feel the heat radiating off her body. Was it fury or desire?

I pulled my mouth off hers. Our breath mingled, quick and hot. “Do you hate me?” I whispered.

“Fuck you,” she seethed. Then she slapped me. Hard.

I kissed her again, crushing my lips to hers. Her fingers slid into my hair, her nails raking against my scalp. I reached down and hiked up her skirt, slipping my hands up the back of her thighs and shoving down her underwear. “Do you hate me?”

“Fuck you.” Her hands were at my belt. My zipper. My cock.

I lifted her up and set her on the table and she wrapped her legs around me. It felt familiar, fighting with her. Our kiss was a weapon, our mouths seeking to annihilate, consume, destroy.

I slid one finger inside her. Then two. She worked her hand up and down my cock, bit my bottom lip as I circled my thumb over her clit.

In the end it was she who decided, pulling me closer, placing me inside her.

I gave her an inch and stopped. She bit me again.

“You hate me,” I said, wishing she would just admit it. I wanted to hear it.

She reached around and grabbed my ass, pulling me all the way inside her so quickly my knees nearly gave out. Her lips moved against mine. “Fuck. You.”

I lost it all then—any ounce of control I still had left, which wasn’t much. I fucked her like it was a vendetta, like I had vengeance in my blood, like I hated her as much as I loved her.

And I did love her. God help me, I loved her and wanted her and needed her. She was mine, she was mine—that’s what I needed to prove. Her body answered to mine, her heart answered to mine, her soul answered to mine. We were together. We were one. We were inextricable.

We came together with the force of a nuclear blast. In fact, the only word I could think of as everything around us shattered was destroyed.

I was miserable without her. In pieces.

But what could I do?

When it was over, and reality sank in, I didn’t know what to say. I pulled out of her and she slid off the table, tugging her skirt down as I zipped up my pants. She wouldn’t look at me.

“Emme,” I began.

She looked at me sharply. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

“I wasn’t going to. I’m not sorry.”

“Neither am I.”

We glared at each other in the dark.

“I fucking miss you,” I said. “I miss you so much.”

She lifted her chin. “Good. Asshole.”

“God, Emme. I know I can’t make you happy. What am I supposed to do?”

“You don’t know anything,” she said. Then she sniffed, and a sob escaped her.

I took her head in my hands and rested my forehead against hers. We stayed that way for a moment, my heart desperately trying to break free from its cage, her entire body trembling, until she pushed me away.

“I took the job at the winery.” Another weapon hurled at me.

My heart plummeted. “You did?”

“Yes. I’ll get your key.” She turned around and opened the drawer in the console table.

“Never mind,” I told her, pulling open her apartment door. “I’m not locked out.”

I had Paisley that weekend and wanted to knock on Emme’s door a thousand times. To invite her over, to ask her to go for a walk, to tell her how much I missed her, how sorry I was. I loved having Paisley back with me, but it was so much better when I could share the experience with someone—the adorable moments, like when she started babbling at me and I swear she said Dada, and the less adorable moments, like when she shit herself so violently, it went up her back.

Up her back.

(I feel like there are reasons no one tells young people these things before they become parents. The world’s population would probably decline dramatically.)

But I never had the nerve to reach out to Emme, and I took Paisley back again on Sunday as lonely as I’d ever been. The following week, my real estate agent took me to see four different houses, and I was dying to tell Emme about all of them. In fact, I wished she’d been with me every time, because I felt like she’d think of things I wouldn’t, questions to ask and things to verify that were important for a family.

A family. Something I never thought I’d have. Or even want.

But as I walked through these houses, I kept picturing it—me and Paisley and Emme, always Emme. Planting flowers with Paisley as I mowed the lawn. Cooking with me in the kitchen. Sharing a bed with me.

After a while, I even started to picture another child. A sibling for Paisley. A little dark-haired boy with Emme’s big heart and my sense of style.

A Connery man.

And then maybe there would be another little girl, a baby sister for Paisley to dote on. Another little angel with her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes who loved to tell knock-knock jokes. I could see her. I could see it all. And it made me happy.

But how could I get there?

On Thursday I saw one house I liked more than all the others right off the bat, a two-story Dutch Colonial with three bedrooms and two baths built in 1926 but equipped with a brand new kitchen, a gorgeous old formal dining room, a fireplace, tons of windows, and a banister I could see kids sliding down as their mother yelled, “I told you not to slide down that banister again!”

It was perfect. It was terrifying. It was at my fingertips, just beyond reach.

I told my agent I needed to think about it for a few days.

Right after leaving that house, I went to the grocery store to pick up something for dinner. I was in the checkout line when I heard my name.

“Nate?”

I turned and saw Stella Devine behind me. “Hey,” I said, wondering what Emme had told her sisters. “How are you?”

“Good.” The smile she gave me was either genuine or really practiced. “How are you?”

“Okay.”

“How’s Paisley?”

“She’s great. I pick her up for the weekend tomorrow.”

“How nice.”

There was an awkward pause. “I haven’t seen Emme much lately,” I said. “How is she?”

“I haven’t seen her much either.” She looked me right in the eye. “But honestly, I think she’s pretty miserable.”

I nodded, closing my eyes for a moment. “I am, too.” Then I took a breath. “Stella, do you have time for coffee after this? I feel like I’m losing my mind. I need to ask you something.”

She didn’t answer right away, which made me feel like she was going to turn me down for sure and she was simply trying to think of a way to do it nicely. But she surprised me. “There’s a Starbucks right across the street. Meet there?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Twenty minutes later we were sitting across from each other at a table for two in the back of the small, narrow coffee shop. Stella had taken the plastic top off her coffee and was blowing across its steaming surface, but I was ignoring mine. I hadn’t planned this—what the hell had I been thinking? What was I going to say?

She must have sensed my discomfort as I struggled for words. “You wanted to ask me something?” she prompted.

“Emme told me she took that job up north,” I blurted.

“Yes.”

“Does she…does she really want to go?”

Stella lifted her shoulders. “Yes and no. She loves the city, but I think she likes the idea of a change. She hasn’t been very happy lately.”

I swallowed. “That’s my fault. I hurt her.”

“I know.” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” I stared at a nick in the table’s wooden surface.

“I think you do.”

I looked up in surprise. Her tone was calm but eyes challenged me.

A moment later, she went on. “Usually when I have a patient who pushes away someone they care about, it’s one or more of a few different things. They fear being rejected, they think they don’t deserve love, or they just cannot stop thinking negatively about all the terrible what-ifs that could happen.” She sipped again. “Any of that sound familiar?”

I laughed uncomfortably. “All of it?”

She gave me a gentle smile that reminded me so much of Emme my heart ached. “She mentioned you felt you needed space once you two had grown close.”

Cringe. “Yeah, I said that to her, but it wasn’t the truth. That was me trying to push her away.”

“Because…”

“Because I panicked, I guess. I’ve avoided relationships my entire life because they never end happily, and they always end.”

“Many do, but not all,” she countered. “Relationships are a lot of work. They take a lot of compromise, trust, forgiveness, and communication.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know if I’m good at those things.”

“Would you be willing to try? For Emme?”

“I’d do anything for Emme. But what if I can’t give her what she wants? I have a daughter now, and she has to be my first priority. That’s a huge change in my life and I’m scared to make another one. What if—?”

“Don’t do that,” Stella warned, setting her cup down. “No scary ‘what ifs.’ Stick to the present. So, you’re a father—that’s a big deal. Being a single parent will necessarily take up a lot of your time and energy, and not every woman would be okay coming in second all the time. I get that. But.” She paused. “I think Emme understands.”

“But is that fair to her? To ask her to be so understanding? She wants to get married eventually. What if I never do?”

She shrugged. “Again, that’s a ‘what if’ you’re using to shield yourself from intimacy.”

I was beginning to see what Emme meant when she said it could be kind of annoying to have a sister who was also a therapist. But I also knew I needed to hear this. “Tell me what to do,” I said. “I thought I’d feel better once she was gone and I could reclaim as much of my old life and my old self as possible, but I was wrong. I don’t want to go back to who I was. It doesn’t feel right anymore. Nothing feels right without her.” I stopped to take a breath. “And now she’s taken that job, and I’m worried I can’t get her back. That I have nothing to offer her other than myself. Nothing to promise her.”

Stella thought for a while before answering. “First, I think you can get her back. I’m not saying it won’t take some work, because Emme is really hurt. She’s determined to make changes in her life and the way she approaches relationships that will help her avoid having her heart broken again.” She shrugged. “She’s pretty much got your face in a red circle with a line through it.”

I nodded glumly. “I’m sure she does.”

“But.” Stella leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her eyes lighting up. “Emme loves a big romantic gesture. I think you could get her to give you another chance.”

“A big romantic gesture?” I blinked. “I’ve got no idea what that could be.”

“Me neither. And it has to come from you. Something to show her that you love and accept her for who she is and you want her in your life. I don’t think she’s looking for promises beyond that, Nate. And I don’t think you have to offer her anything but your willingness to be open to the journey with her.”

“I am.” I swallowed hard. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” She picked up her coffee and sipped.

“You know, I looked at some houses this week,” I went on, surprising myself. “And I was in this one, and it was like I could see it all so clearly—me and Emme and a family. I got chills.”

“You’re giving me chills.” She smiled. “So it’s all right there in front of you.”

“You’re right. It is.” I picked up my coffee and took a drink, although it was only lukewarm now. My mind was spinning—how was I going to make it all happen? There were so many pieces that needed to fall in place. How was I going to get her to listen to me?

“She’s visiting Mia this weekend,” said Stella. “She left about an hour ago and will be gone until Sunday.” Then she must have seen how crushed I was that more days had to pass before I could set eyes on Emme again because she laughed gently. “That is a very sad face.”

“I feel sad,” I admitted. “I don’t want to wait. I want to fix this.”

She tilted her head and shrugged. “You could go up there and surprise her.”

I sat up taller in my seat. “You think?”

“Sure. Why not?”

The gears in my head went into overdrive. “Stella, do you happen to know where she’s staying?”

“At the winery. Our cousin Mia’s place.”

“Could I ask you for contact information for Mia?”

She thought for a second, then pulled her phone from her purse. “Sure, why not? Mia loves a good romantic gesture, too.”

“Thanks.” I put Mia’s cell number into my phone, still not exactly sure how I was going to win Emme back, but positive I was going to try.

Tonight.

First, I called my boss and asked for the day off tomorrow, offering to work overtime next week to make up for lost billable hours. She said it wouldn’t be a problem.

Next, I called Rachel and told her I’d be coming from a different direction tomorrow and might need a slight adjustment on the pickup time, depending on traffic.

Finally, I called Mia Fournier.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Mia?”

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“I hope so. This is Nate Pearson. I’m a friend of your cousin Emme?”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Pearson?”

I detected a note of cool formality in her voice, and I didn’t blame her. She’d probably heard what a first class asshole I’d been to her cousin.

“For now, just hear me out.” I signaled, veered onto the on ramp to I-75, and hit the gas.

“I’m about to sit down to dinner with my family. Will this take long?”

“I hope not. Has Emme arrived yet?”

“No. I’m expecting her around nine.”

I checked the clock on my dash. It was six-thirty, which meant the timeline would be tight if I wanted to pull this off. But it could be done.

I decided not to waste any time beating around the bush. Mia was a businesswoman with a family and would appreciate my getting straight to the point.

“I’m in love with Emme, but I blew it. I need your help to win her back.”

“All right, Nate Pearson, you’ve got my attention. Speak.”