“Oh.” I don’t think I frown, but I must because Nadia frowns and steps toward me, offering the travel mug to me again. “Oh,” I say again, wrapping my hand around the warm cup. I lift it to my face and take a careful sip, mostly to waste time, but also because this coffee tastes like my favorite vanilla oat milk. I can’t remember if I told them my favorite color, but I know I’ve never told them my coffee order, which means Darren remembered. I smile against the rim of my cup when I take another high-octane sip.

“But if you can stay?” Nadia whispers.

“I can.” I blurt those two words out and then turn to her. “I want to.”

Nadia smiles against her green coffee mug. “Good. Because I want you to stay.”

“Why in the hell are these shoes so goddamn expensive?”

Nadia very carefully places the boys’s Christmas presents into the trunk of her car. And I am not playing. We place them inside. We don’t throw or toss them; they’re too goddamn expensive for that.

Nadia laughs. “It’s a scam, we know. These are supposed to be basketball shoes, but I would have to beat a child with my purse if they stepped on these damn things during a rec league game. But the boys really don’t ask for much…” She looks at me with soft, pleading eyes as if I have contributed in any way to this purchase. I have not! But I swoon a bit that she’s included me in this very expensive — for them — parenting milestone.

“Your boys better know how lucky they are.”

She laughs. “They don’t. Um…it’s a bit early for lunch, but do you…”

As much as it hurts, I have to shake my head. “I’m so tired,” I say and then immediately yawn.

Her face falls, and that honestly breaks my heart. I move forward and cup her jaw carefully. Her makeup is immaculate. “Hey,” I whisper, wanting to kiss her so goddamn bad. “Blame your husband. He’s the one who made me squirt on my kitchen counter. My roommate was pissed because our whole apartment smelled like bleach when she got home. I had to blame one of our other roommates for letting something spoil in the fridge.”

I feel her loosen in my arms, and it’s like catnip. I preen at that feeling, at knowing that she feels safe enough to just let herself be with me. And I know that not just because of her soft body leaning against mine, her smile and soft laughter, but when she wraps her arms around me. I don’t kiss her, but I brush my mouth against hers.

“My baby knows how to use his tongue,” she says against my lips.