“I’m going to go to bed,” Ethan says, looking at me. “Good night, Mom.”

“I’ll come up and check on you in a little bit.”

He grins. “Good night, Cole.”

“Have a good sleep, buddy.”

Ethan bounds up the steps and into the darkness.

As soon as he’s out of sight, I draw in a lungful of air. What just happened?

Cole turns toward me slowly and sits on the end of the couch. He runs a hand over his chin and sighs.

“I d-don’t . . . ,” I stammer. “I don’t know what just happened here. I feel gobsmacked.”

He smiles. “That kid loves his mom.”

“Well, his mom loves him, too, but I literally had no idea that he knew that I cried in my bathroom.”

Cole twists his head to mine. A darkness filters through his blue eyes.

“Not that it happens often,” I add in a hurry. “But I didn’t know he worried about me like that. Here I am worrying about Ethan and how any man I date will affect him, and he’s worrying about it too. What the heck?”

“He’s not worried about that. His concern is for you.” Cole shrugs. “He wants you to be happy.”

“I’m only happy if he’s happy.”

Cole starts to speak but stops. He runs a hand over his chin again.

“You were great with him,” I say, my heart squeezing in my chest again. He listened in a way that showed Ethan his opinions were important. He validated him and supported him. My gosh. “Thank you for that.”

He smiles. “I really had a fun time tonight. It’s been a long damn time since I ate burgers and chips. And then played Uno and watched game shows while drinking milkshakes.”

“We live a glamorous life over here,” I say, laughing.

His smile remains, but he stills. “You’ve carved out a pretty neat little piece of the world for the two of you. I know that it hasn’t been easy, and you’re not where you want to go yet, but I hope you see how great it is.”

I pull my legs to my chest and absorb the compliment. It fills me with pride.

“I have this house in San Diego,” he says, his gaze drifting off into the abyss. “It’s . . . very nice. I have nice cars. The ocean is in my backyard.”

Wow.

“I’ve purchased paintings and rugs and dishes. I’ve hosted parties on occasion and had dinners with my friends in the kitchen. And no matter what I do, it doesn’t feel like this.” He looks at me again. “It doesn’t feel like home.”

My chest is the only thing that moves. My breaths, quick and shallow, are the only sound that I can hear.

I force a swallow. “Maybe you have bad taste.”