There were no ex-girlfriend testimonials for Devan. When I asked about it that night, because he brought me Vietnamese food for dinner, he just shrugged. “I don’t have any ex-girlfriends. I’ve been busy growing the business.” There was probably more to it than that, but I wasn’t here to psychoanalyze the man.

All the references said basically the same thing. They were good guys. Men of their word. They were a close-knit bunch, but they would give you the shirt off their backs if you asked for it.

I stopped short of asking Rigby’s mother for a reference. For some reason, the idea of talking to his mother terrified me. No, in all honesty, I would date a man for years with less background information than these guys had willingly handed over in twenty-four hours.

I just had to take a leap of faith now.

Well, that, and tell Chloe and her parents. I’d actually be closer to Chloe, kind of, because she worked at Virginia Tech. It didn’t stop her from telling me I was absolutely fucking insane. And then calling her mom, who marched over and demanded to meet Devan in person.

That’s what I was doing right now. Holding Huey while Rita gave Devan the third degree. She asked him where he grew up (in foster care in Minnesota, along with River), what he did for a job (he was an investor, and when he told me how much his company was worth, I might have swallowed my pho the wrong way), and did he drink or take drugs?

His parents were both alcoholics, then later drug addicts, and his mother had died when he was ten, overdosing on sleeping pills. I tried to keep the pity from my face; I’d only known him a couple of days, but I had a feeling that he’d hate it if I felt sorry for him.

Finally, after Rita had grilled him better than the CIA ever could, she tilted her head for me to walk her out. Handing Huey to Devan, I followed her outside. Even that had been a relief—being able to just hand the baby to someone. I’d never underappreciate the joy of having two free hands again.

Rita looked out over the lawn, and my mom’s flower garden. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

I chewed my lip. “I think so.”

She nodded. “And what does your gut say about them?”

I’d thought this over, and despite the fact they were all big enough to snap me like a twig, I didn’t get any bad vibes from them. My parents had been all about trusting your gut. “It says this is the right decision.”