“He’s happy. Happier than I’ve seen him since…” She doesn’t utter the words, but she doesn’t need to. “Just don’t… complicate things.”

“Don’t complicate things? That’s your advice? Poor Matthew Jr. These are the pep talks he has to look forward to?”

Hallie ignores my heavy sarcasm. “I’m glad you brought that up. Let me grab him. It’s good for him to hear his family’s voices.”

“Wait, what? Are you kidding? He’s a baby. He’s—Hallie? Hallie!”

The line is silent. I huff an impatient breath as I study the coral color I painted my toes last night. Against the bright blue of my flip-flops, the color seems too gaudy. Clownish. Garish. I should have stuck with the paler shade of pink I was originally planning on.

“Okay, he’s on,” Hallie helpfully informs me, since the line sounds no different than it did before, seeing as the other end of the phone call is still silent, albeit with my three-month-old nephew supposedly being held nearby.

“Hello, Matthew,” I state, feeling ridiculous. I have many talents. Conversing with a baby that’s a mere dozen weeks old is not one of them. “Your mother has lost it.” Hopefully Hallie is listening. “I think your father has more sense, but to be honest, I’ve never really talked with him enough to tell. You’re lucky you can just sleep through everything now. Enjoy that. It gets worse. Soon you’ll have to—”

“Could you wrap this conversation up and order?”

I know that voice. That superior, silken tone with the slightest whisper of a German accent. A timbre that manages to caress one syllable and then send the next one hurtling through the air like a sharpened blade.

I’m very surprised to encounter Adler Beck in this small coffee shop, but I don’t let my face betray the slightest hint of it as I slowly turn to face him. Damn him, he looks as alluring as usual. Smarmy and arrogant and sexy.

Arms crossed.

Eyebrows raised.

“Conversation may be too generous of a term, actually. If I’m not mistaken, you’re talking to an infant, by the sound of things?” Condescension drips from each syllable.

I haven’t given a single thought to whether I might encounter Beck again since I left him in the park’s bathroom—where it would be; what I might say. Mostly because I didn’t think I would, which I obviously need to stop assuming. But if I had considered seeing him, my first choice of venue would not have been a coffee shop crammed with under-caffeinated patrons staring at him, with my nephew gurgling in my ear.