“Uh, thank you.” I smile at Chaz. “Good…seeing you again.”

His wry smile mocks us all.

I climb back in and pull away before this becomes any more cringeworthy. Ezra’s house is easy to find. The shutters are red and his Rover is in the driveway. I get out of the car and stand in January cold for a moment, searching my mind for the perfect thing to say.

“I’m ready?” I ask out loud, leaning against the car. “Sorry I took so long. Let’s do this.”

I keep trying out opening lines all the way from the car, down the driveway, up the steps and onto the porch. When I ring the doorbell, I still don’t know what I’ll say, but I know I can’t wait any longer.

“Kimba.”

Ezra’s tall frame fills the doorway. I can’t see beyond him into the house, but I also can’t tear my eyes from his face anyway. Stubble shadows the ridge of his jaw. His hair is a little longer than I’ve seen it in awhile, the coarse curls dark and springy. His eyes under the porch light – volatile blue. The emotion emanating from him, a tempest in a thumbnail, barely contained.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

“Uh, sure. Yeah.” He steps back, allowing me entrance. A modern chandelier of wood and blown glass hangs from the foyer ceiling. There’s very little furniture in the sitting room off to the right – a couch and a television. A mismatched coffee table.

“You just moved in?” I ask, my question slicing through the tension.

“Few months ago. I didn’t want to choose the furniture…by myself.”

He holds my stare and I bite my bottom lip, look away. I’m always in control, but I feel completely out of my depth right now. What if he has found someone else? Even though Aiko seems to be with Chaz, who knows if Ezra remained single? He’s still staring at me, his eyes intense, alert. His posture, deceptively indolent, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. But there’s so much tension in his broad shoulders, in the tight muscles of his neck.

Unsure what to say next, I step farther down the hall to inspect photos on the wall. There’s a series of collages. The first holds pictures of Noah, as to be expected. Lots of them with Ezra and a baby girl who could only be Mai.

There’s no pain in my heart seeing her, at first swaddled in Ezra’s arms and then growing bigger, rounder. Eventually standing on her own, her smile bright with a few tiny teeth. There’s no jealousy or resentment. How could there be? With her midnight blue eyes, sulky-sweet mouth and dark curls, she’s so obviously, like Noah, an extension of Ezra.

And I fall in love with her on sight.

“She’s beautiful, Ez,” I breathe.