I smile, and he holds the door open for me. He can’t give me a full-on hug since I have Emerson perched on my hip, so he gives me a quick kiss on the side of my head. “Liar. My apartment isn’t on your way. And it’s Sunday—your restaurant is closed.”

“Details,” he says, waving off my point. “Where are you headed?”

“Allysa’s. We’re having dinner with them tonight.” I hoist the diaper bag onto my shoulder, but he takes it from me.

“I’ll walk you out.” He slings the diaper bag over his shoulder. Emmy reaches for him, and I think we’re both a little surprised when she willingly transfers from my arms to his. She tucks her head against his chest, and the sight of it makes me pause for a second. It makes Atlas take a pause, too. But then he smiles at me and begins walking down to my car. He holds my hand the whole way.

I take Emmy from him and buckle her into her car seat. We’re finally in a position where Atlas can give me an actual hug, so he pulls me to him. His hug feels like an entire conversation. He’s holding me in a way that makes it feel like he’s needing strength—like he wants to take a piece of me with him. “Where are you going again?” I ask him, pulling back.

“I really am going to my restaurant,” he says. “I asked Sutton to meet me there. We need to have a serious discussion about Josh, and I’d like to do it when it’s just me and her. She feeds off an audience, so I refuse to give her one.”

“Wow. I’m actually on my way to Allysa’s to have that sit-down with Ryle I told you I wanted. What is this, problem-solving Sunday?”

Atlas laughs softly. “Hopefully.”

I kiss him. “Good luck.”

He smiles gently. “You too. Be safe, and call me as soon as you can.” He presses his mouth to mine one last time, and then when he pulls away, he says, “Love you, babe.”

He walks to his car, and I don’t know why his words leave me so flustered, but I’m smiling as I get into my car. Love you, babe. I’m still smiling as I drive away. My good mood surprises me, considering what I’m on my way to do, and how it’s more of a spontaneous intervention than a planned sit-down. I am going to Allysa and Marshall’s for dinner, but Ryle has no idea I’m heading over there with a purpose.

“Lasagna?” I ask Marshall when he opens the front door. I could smell the garlic and tomatoes from the hallway.

“Allysa’s favorite,” he says, closing the door behind me. He reaches for Emmy. “Come to Uncle Marshall,” he says, pulling her to him.

She’s giggling as soon as he makes a face at her. Marshall is one of Emmy’s favorite people, but I think we’d be hard-pressed to find a kid who doesn’t love Marshall. “Is Allysa in the kitchen?”