#conbillie

“Can we talk?”

Billie looked up from where she had been staring at the coffee pot with blurry eyes to find Conrad hovering at the edge of the counter, still in pajama pants. The early morning light was dim in the kitchen, and Billie hadn’t bothered turning on any lights when she stumbled downstairs at six-thirty. 

She had been in surgery late into the night and had only crawled into bed beside him around one in the morning. He and Gigi had both long been asleep, and Billie had almost gone home instead. But she and Conrad had planned to surprise Gigi with a brunch date—or what Gigi called “fancy breakfast”—at a restaurant the little girl loved the next morning. Billie had decided it made the most sense to go to Conrad’s, even if she would be forced to sneak in and creep up the stairs in the wee hours.

Billie was self-aware enough to know that she had used brunch as an excuse. She could have slept at her own house and told Conrad to call her when he and Gigi were awake. There would have been plenty of time to get back to Conrad’s for the brunch reveal to Gigi. But Billie preferred being in bed with him. There was comfort in hearing his breathing and being able to reach out to touch his back or chest in the dark.

Besides, she had thought to herself the night before. Why have a key if I don’t use it?

The fact that she had still woken up before either Conrad or Gigi, though, pissed Billie off. She hadn’t been able to doze off again, even with her hand against Conrad’s back as he slept peacefully next to her. So, she had stumbled down the stairs, accepting her fate, and flipped on the coffeemaker.

“Good morning,” she said in a sleep-rough voice.

A smile tugged at his lips. “Good morning,” he murmured. He studied her face. “Are you still up for brunch? You look exhausted.”

“You always know just what to say to make a girl feel special,” Billie said. As Conrad laughed under his breath, she added, “I’ll be fine with some coffee. I didn’t want to miss it.”

“How’s your patient?” he asked.

Billie pulled her phone out of the pocket of her robe and opened it to the status update she had received from the ICU staff. She held it out to him, and he studied the page with a furrowed brow.

“Numbers look good,” he said in a soothing tone.

“He’s not awake yet,” Billie countered. “He should have woken up last night.”

Conrad locked the phone and stepped close to slide it back into her pocket. Then he brushed a kiss into the skin of her temple and murmured, “You know it’s not always that simple.”

“I know,” Billie said. “I’m not giving up hope. It’s just… floundering.”

He ran a hand down her hair, and she shut her eyes, letting the comfort flow from his hand and soft touch into the center of her chest. Sometimes, with some cases, nothing anyone could possibly say could make her feel better. But, somehow, Conrad touching her always settled the restlessness in her chest. Not completely, of course. The anxiety would remain until she was sure one way or another how her patient would fair. Closure was important to Billie. Even if closure meant hiding in her office with the lights off and crying. But with one touch or hug, Conrad was always able to turn down the volume of her anxiety to a constant static buzz instead of blaring sirens.

The coffeemaker beeped to let her know it was finished brewing. The sound caused Billie to stir, and Conrad’s hand fell away as he moved to the cabinet to grab his own mug. She frowned, suddenly remembering what he had said when he joined her in the kitchen. 

“Sorry, what did you want to talk about?”

“We can talk about it after brunch,” he said, lips curved upwards in a gentle expression.

Her frown only deepened as nerves burst to life in her stomach. He poured coffee into their mugs, her first and then himself, before opening the fridge and pulling out the milk for her.

“Is this because of last night?” she asked, ignoring the milk.

Confusion had him squinting at her, but he opened the milk himself and poured some in her coffee. “Last night?” he repeated in question.

“Because I came here instead of going home,” she explained. She sighed and ate the crow. “I’m sorry I did that without talking to you about it. I thought about having you call me when you woke up—”

“I’m glad you came here,” he interrupted.

“Oh.” Then what… Her brain stalled out, though, failing to supply any sort of explanation.

He folded his arms over his chest and faced her, leaning a hip against the counter. “Drink your coffee.”

She picked up her mug. “Right.”

“I kind of wanted you to be awake for this discussion,” he said. He looked amused.

“I’m awake.”

“You’re really not.”

“I am,” she insisted. “Besides, I’m going to drive myself crazy wondering if you don’t just tell me what’s going on.”

He blew out a breath. “Yeah, I get that. I just… wanted to open the dialogue.”

“Okay,” she said. “About?”

He hesitated, then gestured to the living room. “Let’s sit down.”

Billie trailed after him to the couch and settled in the corner like she always did, surprised when he settled in the other corner instead of next to her. Six feet was left lying between them. She studied his face with growing fear. He looked… Was Conrad nervous?

“Okay,” she said, when he didn’t speak. “We’re sitting. Open the dialogue about what?”

“Moving in.”

“Moving in where?” she asked, stupid with exhaustion.

“Moving in together. It doesn’t have to be here.” His eyes flew around the room as if he had never seen it before. “Your place is bigger.”

And it was. Her place had three bedrooms, with a den, living room, and an eat-in kitchen, as well as a separate dining room.

“But I don’t have any furniture,” she said.

Conrad chuckled. “Drink your coffee,” he said again.

She took a sip. Her brain was trying to catch up—it really, truly was.

“We’ve only been dating for three months,” she said.

“So, that’s true,” he admitted. But he had a steel edge to his tone that told her he had anticipated this point and prepared a rebuttal. “But if you count all the time we spent together before that—”

“As friends,” she interrupted.

“Billie.”

“What?” she asked, feeling her cheeks heat at his chiding expression and gentle, almost pitying, tone.

“We hadn’t been just friends for a very long time even before I kissed you on your porch,” he said. “I had been in love with you for… I don’t even know how long.”

Two years, seven months, and six days, her brain supplied. 

Not that Billie could pinpoint the exact moment she had fallen in love with Conrad. But she did know the exact moment she had realized she was in love with him, and her brain had sort of been in countdown mode ever since.

“True,” Billie conceded, brain finally chugging along as the caffeine began to sink in. “But we weren’t dating, Conrad. You were, in fact, dating Cade for about nine months prior to that kiss.” He winced, and she sighed. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I just want us to be on the same page.”

“We are,” he assured her, the words quiet as he stared at the rug.

“Do you actually want to move in together?” she asked him. She kept her tone as gentle as possible, but even though her brain was working again she was still shocked. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

He hesitated, and she held up a hand. “Wait. Sorry. We need to back up.”

“Okay,” he said. “Where do you want to start?”

She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. Her brain spun its wheels in mud going around and around the same points. Finally, she said, “I have no idea.” 

She laughed, putting a hand to her forehead as if holding her head together. His gaze was affectionate, and part of her wanted to crawl across the couch into his lap and kiss him senseless.

“Okay, first,” she said. “I really am happy you brought this up.”

His shoulders eased, and the crinkles she loved so much fanned out from the corners of his eyes. “Good.”

“Second,” she said. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

He laughed, smothering the sound behind his hand. “Awhile,” he admitted.

“What’s awhile? Two days? A week? Eighteen years?” she joked.

“A few weeks.”

Her jaw dropped open. “Weeks? We’ve only been dating a few weeks.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, avoiding her eyes as he took a sip of coffee.

“Hawkins,” she said. His eyes flicked to her before settling on his coffee again. “Talk to me.”

“We said it already, Billie. This just feels right. I’ve only been in one other relationship that felt this right, and you can’t tell me that this doesn’t feel different to you, too.”

Her chest ached at the reference to Nic, albeit vague and roundabout. They rarely talked about her anymore. Not because they were avoiding it, but because Nic had ceased being a part of their daily lives and thoughts.

Part of Billie hated that and railed against it, even as she knew it was completely natural. They had over five years’ worth of experiences since Nic’s death. Five years, half a decade, was such a long time. Longer in years than Nic and Conrad had been together. Nearly all of Gigi’s life. And half the length of time Billie had known Conrad. 

And, yet, a piece of Billie would always think of Conrad’s place as Nic’s house. He had chosen it with Nic in mind, for the two of them, and Nic had moved mountains to make sure they got it after letting it go the first time. And that thought triggered a cement wall to slam into place between Billie and Conrad on the couch.

“Why do we keep doing everything out of order?” Billie muttered.

“There isn’t really a proper order,” Conrad pointed out, sounding almost hurt by the words. “And who are we answering to?”

Nic.

“No,” Billie said quickly, despising that she had hurt him, however unintentional that hurt had been. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant…” She licked her lips and hesitated for a long minute before saying, “I don’t know what I meant.”

The words were murmured, almost too quiet for him to hear, and she knew it was a cop out. But she felt trapped by old insecurities and frozen—in place, in time, sitting on Nic’s couch, talking to Nic’s husband about how right their connection was.

And she knew that looking at it through that lens wasn’t the full story, just a distorted view of everything that had grown between them. And she also knew that others—people who hadn’t walked next to them through the past five years—would judge and talk and say things that she prayed Gigi never heard. 

And Billie had told herself that none of it mattered. She had spent a lifetime either ignoring, dodging, or combatting preconceived biases. She could do it here, too. She could do it for Conrad and Gigi and a chance at the life she so very much wanted for herself. 

But this… Nic’s house… She forced the thoughts to silence.

“There’s no pressure here, no timeline,” Conrad said, and she could feel that he didn’t believe her lie. “Like I said, I just wanted to open the dialogue.”

She nodded, the movement jerky. “I’m going to go take a shower,” she said and fled.

#

At brunch, Conrad, Billie, and Gigi’s server was a young woman who adored Gigi on sight. The feeling was clearly mutual as Gigi began babbling as soon as their server seated them. She made the server go over the entire specials list twice, asking Billie for explanations where words were new to her.

“What are grits?” Gigi asked.

“You’ve had grits, sweetie. You didn’t like them,” Billie said, eyes still on her menu. “They’re yellowish beige and creamy? Kind of cheesy.”

“Oh yeah!” Gigi said. “I don’t like grits.”

“No, you don’t,” Conrad said. “But you like waffles.”

“I love waffles,” Gigi said, addressing the server.

“What about those pecan praline pancakes?” the server said in a sweet voice. “How did those sound?”

Gigi looked at Conrad, who gave her a significant look. “That sounds like an option, Bubble.”

Then Gigi turned to Billie. “Do I like pralines?” she whispered, with big, earnest eyes. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Billie saw Conrad and the server exchange amused glances. Ignoring them, she leaned close to the little girl. “You love pralines.”

Gigi popped upright with a wide grin. “That sounds good!”

The server nodded and jotted it down on her order pad. Billie dropped her eyes back to the menu and asked, “Could we both do a glass of the mango orange juice?”

“Of course,” the server murmured.

“And coffee,” Conrad added.

Billie nodded absently as she scanned the menu. “Can you bring a side of the breakfast potatoes, too?” She looked up at Conrad and tilted her head towards Gigi. “Those pancakes are going to be so sweet.”

His brow furrowed. “Maybe the sausage instead. Or both. Both?”

Billie shrugged. “She can’t live on carbs and sugar alone.”

“I can’t?” Gigi asked.

“I mean, you could,” Conrad said, with a shrug. “But you wouldn’t be happy for long.”

“I think I’d be happy for a really long time,” Gigi told them all.

“You’d also be bouncing off the walls,” Billie said. “Gotta soak up that sugar somehow.”

“Let’s go with both,” Conrad said to the server.

The server nodded, writing as they spoke. When they trailed off, she waited, pen poised, and then glanced up when they remained silent. “And what can I get for you two?”

“Oh,” they both said, raising the menus again.

“They’re going to split things,” Gigi said in a resigned voice. “They always split things.”

The server nodded conspiratorially. “My moms do that, too. It’s a parent thing.”

Gigi sighed with great drama. Meanwhile, Billie’s blood ran cold, and her chest squeezed with longing. A lump rose in her throat as her eyes ran over the menu, desperately trying to choose something, and she took a sip from her water glass to cover the moment. 

“I’ll have the huevos con migas,” she heard Conrad say.

Billie loved huevos con migas. Why did he always do this to her? Why was he so sweet? Huevos con migas wasn’t his favorite. What was his favorite? None of the words seemed recognizable through the haze in her vision.

Billie felt Conrad’s eyes on her like a brand against her forehead, but she kept her gaze firmly on the menu. Finally, her eyes tripped over words that made sense to her addled mind.

“I’ll have the baked eggs,” she said, holding her and Gigi’s menus out to the server. 

“Absolutely,” the server said, still smiling easily with no idea of what a bomb she had just dropped on the table.

“Oh,” Billie said, her brow furrowing. “Wait. Can we do those without mushrooms?”

The server nodded. “No problem at all.”

“I hate mushrooms,” Conrad explained to the server, tone easy as he lounged back in his chair.

Billie’s cheeks heated. 

“How come Daddy gets to not eat vegetables?” Gigi asked. 

“Oh boy,” Conrad said, though he was grinning at his daughter, love written all over his face.

“I’ll be back with your coffee and juice in a minute,” the server said, trying to hide a smile.

“Thank you,” Conrad called after her, and Billie was amused to see the server blush.

Her heartrate was slowly returning to normal after the parents joke, which Conrad hadn’t refuted. Of course, neither had Billie. Gigi hadn’t been bothered. But the mistake had been made before when the three of them were together. Billie was too maternal with Gigi—and Gigi adored Billie too much—for it to never cross strangers’ minds.

Billie had boosted Gigi higher on her hip, resisting the urge to check the time on her phone. But the barista had been flirting with each of the customers as they reached his register—thrilling the blue-haired old biddies to no end—and the elongated conversations had resulted in an extreme amount of tips and Billie’s patience dying a thousand deaths. 

No one is in your way, she had told her brain for the thirteenth time since they had joined the end of the line. Everyone deserves coffee just as much as you.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but your daughter is gorgeous,” the woman—old enough to be Billie’s grandmother, let alone Gigi’s—had said, wiggling her fingers at the one-year-old.

Gigi had hidden her sweet, tiny face against Billie’s neck, wet fingers sliding in and out of her mouth as the woman had continued to stare. Billie had frozen in place, smile brittle, and it had felt like her face would crack in half. Her brain had stalled out. 

Nic had been dead three months. Only three months and strangers had already assigned her daughter a new mother.

“She’s not mine,” Billie had said, voice flinty enough that the woman’s smile had wavered.

She doesn’t know, her brain had yelled at her in a panic.

Billie had never felt so grateful for all the years she had spent perfecting her poker face with the surface smile that never reached her eyes. She had let it smooth over her features, erasing the lines of tension around her eyes and mouth. And she had seen the woman’s posture loosen, smile coming back as if Billie had laid out the welcome mat.

“She’s my goddaughter,” Billie had finished. “We’re having a girls’ day.”

The woman had seemed even more taken with Gigi then. As if the idea of a godmother fostering a solo relationship with her goddaughter had been limited to a bygone era. And maybe it had been. To be fair, Billie had only taken Gigi solo once before Nic had died.

But Conrad had gone to a job interview that morning for a concierge service. His sitter had cancelled due to a stomach flu at the last minute. His father, Marshall, had been in Dubai—the lord only knew why this time; Billie had stopped keeping track—and Conrad had called her in a panic, spitting out all the words in a flurry over the phone line.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Billie had said, even though he had woken her from a deep sleep.

Silence had stretched on the other side of the phone, and Billie had frowned, about to ask if they had lost the connection. Then Conrad had cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m standing outside your door.”

As if to highlight that point, he had rung the apartment’s bell. Billie had blinked, wondering how he had gotten past the doorman and security guard of her high rise. All guests had to be announced. And then she had remembered: when she had added Nic’s name to the security clearance list, she had also added Conrad’s. At the time, she had never thought he would have cause to come to her apartment alone. But it had seemed better to be safe than sorry.

“If you laugh at my hair, I will kill you,” Billie had said. 

“You’re a hero,” she had heard him say as she hung up on him.

And, so, she had yanked off her bonnet, thrown on a robe, and met Conrad at the door. Without much more than a thank you, Conrad had shoved Gigi into Billie’s arms, told Billie the baby had eaten, tossed the diaper bag on the couch, squeezed Billie’s shoulder, kissed the baby, and run back out the door. Within ten seconds, Conrad had been gone, and Billie had been staring into Gigi’s happy eyes.

“Well,” Billie had said in the empty stillness of the apartment after he had gone. “I guess we’re going to have a ladies’ day, my sweet baby.”

Gigi had gurgled at her. Love had welled in Billie’s chest, and she had pressed a kiss to the little girl’s cheek. Then she had taken a surreptitious sniff of baby head and sighed in contentment.

“Let’s go do my hair, huh?” Billie had said to Gigi in an overly excited voice.

Gigi had giggled. The baby had remained thoroughly entertained by the ongoing commentary as Billie had used a heated round brush to smooth out her hair. Then Gigi had helped Billie pick out an outfit by pointing at random—completely unrelated—pieces of clothing. (Billie had sweet-talked Gigi into letting Billie wear a sundress instead.)

And that was how they had found themselves at the coffeeshop conveniently located in the ground floor retail space of Billie’s apartment building during the mid-morning, blue-hair rush.

The woman had turned to look over shoulder. “Maude,” she had said. “Maude, come here.”

Another older lady had come over. “Oh,” she had said on a gasp. “She’s beautiful.”

To be fair, Gigi had been rocking a bow the size of her face, thanks to her father. But Billie had still wondered if she should remind the women not to assume. And then she had decided she didn’t want the conversation to continue that long pre-coffee.

“Thank you,” Billie had said.

The first woman had nudged the other with her elbow. When Maude had glanced over in askance, the woman had said, “Godmother.”

“Oh, bless her,” Maude had said, grabbing at her chest. “You’re an angel.”

Billie—thoroughly uncomfortable—had licked her lips. Over the women’s shoulders, she had caught the barista’s eye, and he had nodded his head in recognition. Quickly counting the line as a group of women had moved to the side, she had found herself to be third from the front.

So close, Billie had thought to herself.

“It’s nothing,” Billie had said to them. “She’s my favorite little person.”

“Are you giving her parents a little time to themselves?” Maude had asked with a wink.

“Maude,” the first woman had said, scandalized. “You have no boundaries.” She had looked back at Billie. “She has no boundaries.”

Billie had been distracted by the pain that had suffused every inch of her, pumping through her veins. God how she wished she had been giving Nic and Conrad a day to themselves. She would have traded anything for that to be true. Instead, Conrad had been off trying to find a job that would allow him to single parent a one-year-old.

This time, she hadn’t been able to control the way her eyes welled up. The women’s faces had stiffened as they had studied her, and then they had both tilted their heads to the side with identical sympathetic expressions. And Billie had realized that, somehow, the women had known, had seen the pall of loss that hovered over every aspect of Billie’s life and visage, and known.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Maude had said in an impossibly soft voice. Her hand had reached out and squeezed Billie’s wrist. She had given Billie a stern look. “You’re going to be fine.”

The first woman—whose name Billie never did get—had added, “And so will she,” nodding at Gigi.

And Billie had found herself nodding in jerky agreement, though she would never be sure why, cupping a hand behind Gigi’s head and cuddling the little girl closer. The women had each silently patted her one more time, and then they had walked away, giving Billie the space she had so desperately needed to get herself back under control.

That had been the first time. The worst time, if she was being honest with herself, which Billie tried to be these days. Each subsequent mistake of maternity—as well meant as they all were—had been a little bit easier to handle.

But none of them had happened after she and Conrad had started dating. It was like a new first. And neither of them—not Conrad and not Gigi—had even reacted. Billie couldn’t figure out what to do with that, how to reconcile that against the guilt beating through her chest.

“So,” Conrad said, in that voice he had when he was being goofy. The one that cracked on a high note at the end of his sentences.

God Billie loved him.

“The whole Daddy hates vegetables trick,” Conrad finished. “I see through you, Giorgiana Grace.”

Billie watched Gigi try to fight her smile by staring at the table and avoiding looking at her father. 

“Besides, everybody knows that you can veto one vegetable in life,” Conrad said. “Mine is mushrooms.”

“That’s true,” Billie said. “Everyone gets one veto.”

“But you have to use it carefully,” Conrad told Gigi.

Billie nodded. “Because you only get one.”

All trace of amusement had been swept from Gigi’s face. Her serious eyes looked from Conrad to Billie and back again, clearly trying to figure out if they were messing with her. Billie and Conrad stared back at her, waiting for her next question.

Gigi’s eyes settled on Billie. “What’s your vegetable veto?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Billie said, keeping her tone calm. “It’s a big decision.”

The server came back to the table with their coffee and juices. “Your food will be right out,” she said.

“Thank you,” Billie told her before turning to Gigi. “Have some of your juice, sweetie.”

Gigi obliged, though her face was still screwed up in concentration. She drank deeply from the small cup. “So, I only get one,” Gigi said to confirm.

Billie’s eyes flicked up to Conrad, looking at him from under her lashes in the hopes that Gigi wouldn’t notice. Those crinkles she loved were fanning out from the corners of his eyes.

“You don’t have to pick now,” Conrad told his daughter.

Gigi nodded with a contemplative expression. She frowned at the white linen tablecloth.

“You could choose mushrooms, too,” Billie said. 

Gigi shook her head. “I like mushrooms.”

“Do you, though?” Conrad asked.

Gigi glared at him. “Yes,” she said, firm. “Billie and I get mushrooms on pizza, and I like them.”

Conrad raised his eyebrows at Billie. Defiantly, she jerked her chin higher and shrugged one shoulder. “You aren’t there, and mushrooms are delicious. What’s the problem?”

“Are you teaching my daughter to like mushrooms?” Conrad asked in shock. “Betrayal.”

“And pesto,” Billie said.

Gigi’s face lit up. “I like pesto!”

“Seriously?” Conrad asked, still in shock. Billie knew he appreciated a good pesto, but it was an awful lot of green for a small child, so she understood the surprise.

Billie held onto the defiance for a few more moments and then deflated. “I let her dip it in ranch,” she admitted. “I really wanted pesto that night.”

Conrad burst into laughter that had the other restaurant patrons glancing at them in indulgent amusement. Conrad held up a hand in apology to the room before rubbing it down his face to physically wipe away his glee.

“What’s so funny?” Gigi asked.

“Nothing, sweetie,” Billie said. “Hey, didn’t you say you had homework this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Gigi said, slumping a little in her booster seat.

“Did you show Aunt Billie your math workbook?” Conrad asked.

“No,” Billie said. She glanced between them. “Why?”

“Because Common Core is going to blow your mind,” Conrad said. “And I kind of want to be there when you see it.”

Billie’s lips twitched. But before she could respond, the server was back with their food. 

Within thirty seconds of getting her giant platter of pancakes with its teeny tiny pitcher of the praline syrup, Gigi had spilled the syrup across the table and into Billie’s lap. Gigi’s big eyes widened to saucers, and Conrad quickly stood to mop up the mess with his napkin. Their server dashed away, returning quickly with a cup of water and another clean napkin.

“Here,” the server said, soaking the corner and handing it to Billie.

Billie smiled up at the young woman, taking the dampened cloth. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

She finished soaking up what she could with her own napkin. And then Billie began to dab at the pant leg with the wet corner. She didn’t think she was making any progress, but with everyone hovering and watching she felt like she had to try.

“I’m sorry, Billie,” Gigi said, bottom lip trembling.

Billie smiled gently, looking up from the syrup stain. Billie suspected it was the attention that had cued Gigi into the situation being bad. She hoped Gigi knew Billie would never be angry about an accident, but, again, everyone was hovering and watching with careful eyes. That was enough to let any little girl know mistakes had been made.

“Did you do it on purpose? Was it a personal attack against my pants?” Billie asked. “I knew it. You’ve always hated these pants.”

Gigi giggled. “I don’t hate your pants.”

“Are you sure?” Billie asked with exaggerated suspicion. She heard Conrad chuckle, and he stopped leaning over the table to sit back in his chair.

“I’m sure!” Gigi cried.

“Fine, fine. I believe you,” Billie said. “And it’s okay. It’s not a big deal, sweetie. Eat your pancakes before they get cold.”

“Eat your eggs, Billie,” Conrad countered.

“Eat your sausage, Daddy,” Gigi added, clearly believing they were just naming things on the table.

The server was still hovering with uncertainty, so Billie turned to her. “Could we get another teeny pitcher? I think she salvaged some of it. But…” Billie gestured at the table and her pants.

“Of course, I’ll get you a fresh napkin, too,” the server said. But when she stood, she hovered for a moment, shy. And then she said, “You have a wonderful family.”

Billie opened her mouth, determined to correct her this time, but Conrad said, “Thank you.”

And Billie squeezed her eyes shut as she fought back the flood of emotions. When she opened her eyes, he was teasing Gigi by pretending to steal her pancakes. As if the moment hadn’t happened. As if it was no big deal.

When he caught her watching him, he pushed his plate into the middle of the table with a smile, a silent invitation to dig in, and turned back to his daughter.

God Billie loved him.

#

Arriving home after brunch, Conrad unlocked the front door, and Gigi darted inside as hopped up on sugar as they had feared. She moved so fast that Billie barely saw Gigi hit the stairs.

“Upstairs, young lady,” Conrad said in a booming voice. “I want to hear the wheels of academia turning!”

“The wheels of academia?” Billie repeated as Gigi’s giggle echoed back down the stairs.

“She has homework,” Conrad said, as if that explained everything.

Affection swamped her chest, making her cheeks heat and her fingertips tingle. Conrad’s grin was bashful, but he winked at her as he held out a hand for her jacket. She ignored the outstretched fingers for a moment and stepped into his personal space, laying her hands against his chest and brushing her mouth against his.

He let her lead, responding with gentle brushes of his lips to hers. And when she eased away again, he let her go without chasing. 

“Thanks for brunch,” she whispered, an inch or two away from his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, sounding a little dazed.

As she smiled up at him, though, he came back to himself. He kissed her forehead as he slid his hands over her collarbone and up under her jacket to slide it down her bare arms. She managed to silence the hum of pleasure that rose in her throat as his palms skimmed her skin.

When the material cleared her fingertips, he leaned past her to get a hanger from the coat closet behind her. Billie took advantage of the new position to kiss his neck gently.

“Behave yourself,” he said, a thread of humor in the low tone of his voice, despite the edge she could hear starting to inch in. “My daughter is upstairs and very much awake.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Billie said sweetly. 

His hands were busy putting the coat on the hangar behind her, one arm on either side of her body, and she took advantage again, pressing closer to his chest. And it really wasn’t her fault since his neck was right there, so, of course, she brushed her lips over the tender place where his neck met his shoulder.

“Definitely not doing anything,” he agreed.

She swallowed a giggle and let her hands slide from his chest over his ribs and down to curl around his waist. Conrad’s hands stopped with the rustling fabric, and she heard the quiet click of the metal hook of the hangar settling on the clothing rod. Then the door snicked shut behind her, and Conrad pushed her against it. A hand slid into her hair to cushion her head from the wooden door. But he didn’t pause, didn’t speak again, before his mouth captured hers in a rough, open-mouthed onslaught of lips and teeth and tongue.

Conrad tended towards gentle and romantic, taking each step in his seduction very slowly, very seriously. It had become almost a game to Billie, seeing if she could push him to his limit. 

She felt a surge of victory as one of his hands wrapped around the outside of her thigh and yanked it up to his hip. The move let him push even closer to her body, sealing them together, and her fingers convulsed, squeezing the flesh of his sides and the chambray button up that separated them.

The fingers in her hair tightened into a fist, and the sudden flash of pain, as small as it was, made her gasp against his mouth. Immediately, he broke the kiss as his fingers unclenched, and he rubbed her head where he had accidentally yanked at her scalp.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes locked on hers. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, meaning it, knowing he would never hurt her on purpose.

She drew one hand up from his waist to wrap around the back of his neck and urge him closer, wanting his mouth back on hers more than she wanted air. He came willingly, and this kiss was gentler than the previous had been—but no less intense. His fingers, still on the outside of her thigh, tightened and squeezed. Her hand gently stroked the skin of his neck.

When he pulled back a second time, he nuzzled under her jaw and kissed the sensitive skin, sending tingles running through her body that curled her toes.

“We have to stop,” he said, murmuring the words into her skin.

She whimpered and dropped her head back against the door with a thunk. “I know.”

“Tonight,” he said. Then he swore under his breath. “That’s so many hours away.”

Billie couldn’t help but laugh at the dread in his voice. Conrad pulled back to look her in the eye, crinkles fanning out from the corners of his own.

“You think my pain is oh so funny, huh?”

“Your pain?” she repeated, incredulous. “What about my pain?”

“You started this,” he teased.

“Me?” she shrieked.

“Shh,” he hushed her, but his eyes were dancing. “Gigi’s going to hear you.”

They laughed, still pressed against the door and each other. As their laughter faded, they leaned their foreheads together, quietly breathing in each other’s air as their heartbeats settled back to their normal rhythms. With their bodies so tightly together, Billie could feel Conrad’s heart like it was her own.

After a few minutes of silence, Conrad said, “You should soak these.”

Billie glanced down to where his thumb was stroking the syrup stain on her thigh. “I think they’re a lost cause. They’re dry clean only.”

He swore under his breath. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re just pants,” Billie said, shrugging one shoulder. “No big deal.”

He hesitated before asking, “Do you need to go get more clothes for the week?”

He meant from her own home. And the reminder of their early morning conversation was like having cold water splashed on her. She didn’t mean to stiffen in his arms, but she did, and she knew he felt it.

“Yeah,” she murmured, tugging her thigh out of his hand and straightening. “I should actually… probably sleep there tonight. I have things I need to take care of.”

He let her go without protest and said, “Okay.” 

But he brushed a kiss against her cheek before stepping back away from her. Immediately, she felt cold, even in the rising humidity of Georgia summer.

#

Billie pushed her front door open and stepped into the entryway, setting the bag of takeout on the console table so that she could hang up her purse. The house was quiet, with a slight chill despite the eighty-degree evening, as if it had been closed up and shuttered for weeks without human life or even sunlight entering.

Billie felt that was unfair. She had slept there the night before and only left for work that morning.

“I was only gone eleven hours,” she snapped at the empty, judge-y air.

Feeling foolish, she snatched the bag of takeout off the console and marched into the dining room. Her table—the same one she had purchased for her downtown high-rise—sat lonely in the large space. The dining room was designed for a long table with at least eight chairs, like the one Conrad had at home. Instead, she had a small, circular table that fit four at a squeeze.

But her whole house was like that, really. She had purchased it only a few months before she and Conrad had begun dating and had procrastinated on decorating. The only rooms that felt lived in were her bedroom and the living room. The apartment had been a one-bedroom, and she hadn’t invested in anything new since she had arrived in the much larger house.

Even Gigi had teased Billie about it after she moved in. Conrad and his daughter had come over for dinner on Billie’s first night in the new house, and Gigi had spent most of the evening in the empty den—not just lightly furnished, but honest-to-Betsy empty—doing cartwheels and somersaults.

“Are you going to keep it empty forever?” Gigi had asked.

“Unlikely, sweetie,” Billie had said.

She and Conrad had been leaning against the jamb on either side of the door. 

“She’s going to have to furnish it eventually,” Conrad had said.

“What’s furnish?” Gigi had called to them, taking another tumbling course across the middle of the room.

“You know furnish,” Conrad had teased his daughter.

“It just means to put furniture in a place,” Billie had said.

Conrad had jabbed her lightly with his elbow. “You always ruin my fun.”

Billie had jabbed him back. “Don’t tease your daughter so much and maybe I won’t.”

Gigi had finished her cartwheels and run over to them. “Why don’t you have furniture?” Gigi had asked, slightly out of breath.

Billie had been impressed, though she hadn’t said so. If she had been the one tumbling around the den, she would have been dizzy as hell, but Gigi had seemed unfazed.

“I haven’t bought it yet,” Billie had said, wrinkling her nose in a slightly embarrassed expression.

“Right,” Gigi had said. “But why?”

Billie had opened her mouth to respond and then shut it again. She could have explained that furnishing a house took time and money, but Gigi already had a vague idea that Billie was rich—which she was—and Billie had suspected the little girl would dispute that argument. And Gigi would have been right to do so.

Billie had known for months that she was moving into the house. She had specifically timed it so that it coincided with the end of her apartment lease. There had been plenty of time for Billie to pick out rugs or a love seat to create a cozy sitting room. Or maybe some bookshelves and a desk to carve out an office space. Or she could pick out a flat screen and some folding seats to create a home theater.

So, why the hell don’t I have furniture? she had wondered to herself. What the hell is this room even going to be?

As her brain had swirled through all the potential rooms, none of which had felt like hers, Billie had felt her expression grow troubled. Conrad had straightened next to her.

“Why don’t we go eat?” Conrad had asked, intervening. He had held out a hand to Gigi, who took it without another word. Then he had glanced at Billie, with an overly concerned expression. “You do have a table, right?”

She had shoved his shoulder towards the dining room as Conrad and Gigi had laughed. “Move it, rascals.”

And, yet, nearly nine months later, Billie was still eating at a tiny table in a mostly empty home.

Billie liked to tell herself she had just been busy—which had been true the first few months she had lived there. The hospital had been swamped and understaffed due to the lack of funds, and then Billie had been devoting a large chunk of time helping Kit’s fundraising team drum up more money for Chastain. 

Another part of the truth, though, was that she and Conrad had started dating. And when they had started dating, Billie had started spending three or four nights a week at Conrad’s and that had very quickly morphed into five or six, sometimes seven. 

With a pang, Billie wondered what Gigi and Conrad were having for dinner. He had texted her, inviting her to join them, but she had begged off. She had told him she had reams of paperwork to get through that night, given a bus crash that had flooded the OR.

And it was true. But it wasn’t true enough that she should be hiding in her echoing dining room with its too small table instead of trading bites with Gigi of whatever Conrad had prepared.

Billie forced her thoughts back to the house. What was the point of having furniture when she was never there to use it? But it left Billie’s perfectly lovely house feeling like an empty, echoing cavern.

Conrad and Gigi’s felt like a home. Billie’s felt like a…well, a house.

And the other part of the truth, the part that Billie didn’t like to think about, was why she had bought the house.

The house had been an effort to create space in her life for the family she had finally admitted she wanted. The complicated part was that the family Billie wanted was Conrad and Gigi, and she had wanted them for a long time. But Billie had decided that she needed to accept that was impossible, which had been heartbreaking and a constant struggle, but one she knew she needed to work through to get to the other side. And she also knew that, eventually, she would open herself up to someone new. After all, Conrad had proven to her that she could. And she wanted it. She wanted love and a partner and maybe even a kid or two—though she was still on the fence about the last.

The purchase of the house had been an investment in a future that Billie hadn’t truly wanted at the time but that she had hoped she would grow into. Like a pair of pants or a bottle of wine that needed to age. 

So, of course Billie hadn’t wanted to furnish it. She had barely wanted to live there.

When she had begged off of dinner that afternoon, the bubble of three dots that indicated Conrad was typing back had appeared almost immediately. She had watched them blink on the screen, then disappear, then appear again, over and over for several minutes. She had stayed glued to the screen hoping against hope that whatever he said would have been enough to fix all of it. Which was unfair. And not his burden. 

When he still seemed to be struggling after a few minutes, she had typed out “I love you” and locked the phone, setting it aside. She hadn’t dared to look at it again until leaving for the night, and she had finally seen that he had responded with “I love you, too. Tomorrow?” And her heart had leapt into her throat, and she had written back “Yes” before she could talk herself out of it.

Stop thinking about Conrad and Gigi, Billie ordered herself and set about unpacking her takeout.

She wasn’t avoiding Conrad. She was avoiding the conversation they needed to have. But she missed him like she imagined it felt to miss air. Or maybe it was more like dehydration—slowly drying out, feeling every painful crack opening in her flesh the longer she went without him.

But she didn’t know how to say everything that was battering around in her mind. None of it felt fair for him to deal with. It wasn’t his job to remind her that Nic would be proud of her or that Nic would approve of her choices. That was Billie’s role, her job. She couldn’t ask him for that. 

Between the two of them, Conrad had lost more, so Billie needed to take less. That was just how it was.

You have to stop, her brain begged her. 

Stop what? Admitting the truth?

You didn’t steal anything, her brain screamed back.

Billie resisted the urge to throw her takeout containers across the room to silence the voices arguing in her mind. Instead, she pulled the foil package towards her and carefully opened it as the scents of garlic and warm bread wafted up to her nose.

That night, she had indulged in her comfort food favorites from Curry A-Go-Go downtown: spicy butter chicken and saag paneer, with an order of garlic naan. If she was spending another cold, lonely night at home, she was absolutely going to allow herself to reek of garlic.

The smell of garlic was going to come out her damn pores.

#

“Can we have pizza for dinner?” Gigi asked as she and Billie waited on the front porch for Conrad to unlock the door.

“Not tonight, sweetie,” Billie said, eyeing the bags of groceries in her and Conrad’s arms. Trying to cut off a potential tantrum—not that Gigi was prone to them, but still—she added, “But we could have a DIY pizza night this weekend?”

“What’s a DIY pizza night?” Gigi asked, tiny nose scrunched up.

“It’s a night where Dad gets a break from cooking,” Conrad said, pushing the door open and letting Gigi and Billie file inside in front of him.

“I’m too young to cook,” Gigi said. “You told me never to turn on the stove.”

Billie bit back a smile.

“You’re never too young to take over the chores,” Conrad told her, ignoring his daughter’s very valid point. 

Gigi rolled her eyes. “I’m a kid. You’re a dad. You’re supposed to cook,” she said, stressing the word.

“But pizza night is fun,” Billie told her, trailing after Gigi as the little girl skipped down the hallway to the open plan kitchen. “You get to roll out the dough and put all the toppings on. You can pick exactly what goes on your pizza.”

“Whatever I want?” Gigi asked as Billie set her bag of groceries on the island.

“Whatever you want,” Billie promised.

“Even if I want pineapple?”

“Sacrilege,” Conrad said, setting his own bag down next to Billie’s.

Billie raised an eyebrow at him. “Even pineapple, sweetie.” She leaned down to help the little girl take off her jean jacket and stage-whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll work on him.” 

“Yay pizza night!” Gigi cried. “I’m gonna go tell Mr. Biggles.”

Billie watched as Conrad gazed after his daughter until she disappeared around the bend in the stairs.

“You guys can’t gang up on me with mushrooms,” Conrad said.

“You have to let that go,” Billie said, slanting him a smile. 

“I just can’t believe you would betray me with mushrooms on pizza.”

Billie shook out Gigi’s jacket to straighten the sleeves and walked over to him. “I promise,” she said, very seriously. “I will take your side on the mushrooms… if you let her have pineapple.”

“Blackmail,” he cried.

“Negotiations,” Billie countered.

His eyes danced at her, and Billie smirked at him before striding back down the hall. Pulling open the coat closet, she hung up Gigi’s jean jacket and then her own sweater coat. She took out a third hangar, intending to grab Conrad’s from him, but his voice interrupted her train of thought.

“I’ve been thinking about it since our first date,” Conrad said.

Billie turned to find him stalled out where the hallway opened onto the kitchen, watching her. His jacket was still on, despite the humidity beginning to rise in the Georgia morning air. 

“Thinking about what?” she asked. Then it clicked. “Oh.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Awhile.”

“What’s awhile? Two days? A week? Eighteen years?”

“A few weeks.”

He waited, eyes on her face, as she processed that information. He had given her space, she knew. She had been relieved when he didn’t push to restart the conversation when she had come back for dinner. But then a few days had become two weeks, and clearly he had gotten impatient.

“Our first date,” she said. Then again. “Our first date?”

He pulled off the light fabric jacket he preferred in the summer and early fall and closed the distance between them. She eased it out of his hand, sliding it onto the hangar, and shoving it in the closet with the others. His eyes were so tight on her face that she felt almost claustrophobic from the attention.

“Yes,” he said.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’m really confused.”

“I know. I just don’t know why,” he told her. “You know I love you. You’re here practically every night—”

“Only twice last week,” she interrupted, feeling defensive.

“And I hated that you were gone.” He paused to let that sink in, and then he pulled out the big guns. “So did Gigi.”

Billie winced. “She did?”

“Of course, she did.”

“We need to put away the groceries,” Billie said, brushing past him and trying not to cry. “We bought ice cream.”

“Yes,” Conrad said, following her back to the kitchen. “We. We bought ice cream.”

Her hand clenched on the side of the grocery bag. She couldn’t look at him.

“I wanted to open the dialogue,” Conrad said, sounding lost. “I didn’t want to scare you out of the house.”

“You didn’t,” she said, but the words came out as a whisper.

“Billie, talk to me,” he murmured.

But she couldn’t say this to him. The words throbbed in her cut-open chest.

“Is this about Nic?” he asked, in a carefully neutral tone.

Panic swept Billie into motion. She turned and started for the hallway, already visualizing the front door. “I just remembered that I…” But she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him either, so she found herself shaking her head, swallowing against the vise-like grip around her throat. “I can’t. I have to go.”

Conrad stepped into her path, hands held up in front of his body. “Billie.” She stilled, and he edged closer. “Please don’t run from me.”

“I’m not running from you,” she said.

“Then what?” he asked, and she heard an edge of frustration to his voice. “What are you running from?”

“Me? Maybe,” she said on a wet laugh. 

“You? I don’t understand.”

“I can’t say this to you,” she said, losing the war against the tears.

“Why can’t you talk to me about this?” he asked. “We talk about everything.”

“Because it’s not fair,” she said. “It’s not fair to say this to you.”

“Please talk to me. Let me help.”

Conrad’s fingers found her cheeks, thumbs brushing the tears away, only for new ones to replace the tears he had cleared. She slid her arms around his waist, burrowing her face into his chest. His warmth slipped through the cotton of his Henley, and his scent—pine and musk and Conrad and home—enveloped her. Her eyes were pouring, but, somehow, she stayed quiet, muffling the little sobs against his solidness.

“I want to,” she said into the cotton.

“What?” he murmured to her.

She pulled back, surprised when Conrad’s arms tightened for a split second before he controlled the reaction and loosened his grip. She knew she was a gross mess, had probably gotten snot all over his shirt, might even have it smeared under her nose. And all of that was less uncomfortable and humiliating and tragic than what she was about to say to him.

The words lodged in her throat. She gestured helplessly.

“Why don’t we sit?” he asked, letting go of her to point at the couch.

She nodded, hoping against hope that Gigi wouldn’t come barreling down the stairs and catch her like this. As soon as she was settled in the corner—her corner—Conrad dropped a kiss on top of her head.

“I’ll grab you some tissues,” he said and hurried out of the room.

She took the few moments he was gone to suck in a deep breath. In through the nose, hold, and out through the mouth, she reminded herself.

That was as far as she got before Conrad was back, tissue box in hand. She told herself the breathing had helped, and the urge to bolt for the front door had faded.

This time, take two on the conversation, when Conrad came to sit, he settled in right next to her. He aimed his torso to face her, one arm across the back of the couch.

Poised to grab her if she tried to run. 

Billie knew he would never. Conrad was a huge proponent of bodily autonomy. If she dashed to the front door, he would try to persuade her to stay, but he wouldn’t lay a finger on her even to stop her.

He set the tissue box in the scant inches between their thighs. His eyes were tight on her face. 

“Billie, is this about Nic?” She grimaced before she could control it. He nodded, once, decisively, and then he said, “Okay. I’m going to go first. Is that all right?”

The gesture she made as she wiped her face with tissue was caught somewhere between a shrug and a nod and a full-body shudder. But Conrad seemed to understand that what she meant was knock yourself outbecause he chuckled softly.

“We delayed facing this for so long that we were already on the same page before we ever made a move,” Conrad said. “So, I have to keep reminding myself that we’ve never actually talked about it.” He paused, considering. “Well… directly. Out loud. Each other anyway. I think we both talked to other people, if some of my recent conversations with A.J. meant what I think they mean.”

He was right, and he was right that they hadn’t said all of this out loud. Bits and pieces, but never all of it. 

They had each gone through their self-flagellation and dealt with their guilt silently in the shadows. By the time Conrad had leaned in for that first kiss, they had both been long at peace with the idea of moving forward together, which inevitably left Nic behind. Their hesitation had been centered in insecurity around how the other felt, if the other had found that same peace, as well as risking the friendship that had meant so much to both of them for five years. 

And, once they had kissed, cementing those feelings and answering those questions, they had each known exactly what the other thought without any words needing to be exchanged. So, they had never really talked about it.

Conrad took a deep breath. “When you were talking to Gigi that night, you said we were a family. I hadn’t thought about it that way. Not that I didn’t consider you family,” Conrad amended. “But it wasn’t a conscious thought, you know? You were just a part of our life. A fact of it. And then you said it out loud to Gigi, and I was like ‘Of course.’ It just fit.”

“We’re just right,” Billie said.

“Yes,” Conrad said. “We’re comfortable together. Completely, one hundred percent comfortable. I don’t want to assume anything about you and your past relationships, but I’ve never felt like that before. Like this before.”

Billie’s eyes shot to his face. Conrad was staring at his hands in his lap rather than at her. 

“It was different with Nic,” he said. “I loved her with everything in me. Every piece of me loved every piece of her.”

“I know,” Billie murmured.

“But I knew from the second I laid eyes on her that…” He shifted, hesitating to finish his sentence. 

“You wanted to be together,” Billie supplied, feeling rather prim even as she said it.

A grin flashed across his face. “That’s the PG version anyway,” he said, voice gravelly. “We weren’t… We didn’t know anything about each other, and that physical part—the sex part—was there from the beginning. Always there. It…complicates things. And we broke up and got back together so many times. And it was always exciting and wonderful, and she fit, too. She fit me. But even when I asked her to marry me, I was only ninety-five percent sure she was going to say yes.”

He laughed, but it was bitter, almost self-deprecating, and he cut it off to swallow hard. Billie felt her stomach twist in nervous anticipation. Somehow, she knew what was coming next, and she wanted to reach out and touch him, wanted to feel his warmth and his skin. Instead, she curled her fingers into fists around the tissues still in her hands.

“You,” he said, careful and tentative. “You were my friend first. Strictly platonic and someone I could rely on, could say anything to, without worrying you might disappear. And you became a part of me. I know that sounds crazy. But I meant it when I said we grew together over the last five years. Sometimes I think I know you better than I know myself. I know you in a way that I have never known another human being. I know how you’re going to react. I know how you think about things, how your brain approaches a problem. I know why you do the things you do, why you make the decisions you make, without you ever having to explain.”

He shook his head, and the motion looked a little rough. “And the fact that I missed how you felt about me is completely bonkers because, of course, I should have seen it. I think I was so scared that I was reading it all wrong, that I just… shut it out. But I’ve already told you that,” he said, cutting himself off with a sigh.

“I think Nic and I would have gotten here,” he said, gesturing between himself and Billie. “But we weren’t there yet. So, no, Billie, I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. It’s not better, it’s not more. It’s just—”

“Different,” she whispered. 

He raised his face to meet her eyes, clearly encouraged by her speaking, even if only one word. “And part of that comfort is because I saw you with Gigi, how pure and open and honest you are with her. No matter how she tests you, you never falter. And part of it is that we grew together and shaped each other,” he said. “We’re not the same people we were before Nic died. That changed us. But we also wouldn’t be the people we are now without each other.”

Billie nodded, tears starting to spill down her cheeks again. 

He rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “And all of that is to say that I understand why this house is a problem. We changed. But the house didn’t. So, you feel like you’re sliding into Nic’s life. Like you’re replacing her.”

Billie pressed a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t sob loud enough for Gigi to hear.

“And it’s one thing to visit,” Conrad said, bravely forging ahead. “It’s another thing to move in.”

“I’m sorry,” Billie said, covering her face so that he couldn’t look at her. “I’m so sorry. It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t fair is you not talking to me about this,” Conrad said. “Billie, it’s me. This is us. We talk about everything.”

“Not everything,” she muttered. 

Against all odds, Conrad laughed. The sound was relieved, almost giddy. He eased closer to her on the couch, arm sliding behind her but not touching her.

“I’d like to change that,” he said. “Everything would be really, really good.”

“There are certain things I will never talk about with you,” she said, but her lips were curling up in the corners, just like he knew they would.

And as soon as he spotted the curls, Conrad’s arm moved from the couch back to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer into his heat. She felt a shudder run through him, and she realized he had been afraid. Her not talking to him, shutting him out, had terrified him and made him question his own confidence.

With all of that swirling through her mind, she said, “I don’t know how to get past this.”

“You don’t move in here,” Conrad said, as if it was the simplest decision in the world. 

The words were firm, and the world dropped out from under Billie. He was taking the invitation back. 

He didn’t want to live with you anymore, her brain hissed at her. Because he knows you’re right. You’re stealing Nic’s life. You’re the worst friend who has ever—

“Gigi and I can move in with you,” he said.

The voice cut off, and the world righted. A second later, a wave of shock swept through her as she fully registered what he had suggested.

“My house?” she asked.

“Why not?” he asked. “Gigi loves it there.”

“She loves to visit,” Billie pointed out. “Not to live. When she’s spent the night, she slept with me. She didn’t even want to go in the guest room.”

Conrad’s arm tightened around her, and she heard him swallow again. “Uh-huh.”

“And you know I bought that place in a hurry,” Billie said. “I barely even looked around the market. I took the first one that was nearby.”

“It’s a great house,” Conrad argued.

“Sure,” Billie said. “But this is Gigi’s home. She’s lived here her whole life.”

“True, but—”

“And the yard here is way better,” she said. “You even have a hot tub. I do not have a hot tub.”

“The hot tub can move,” Conrad pointed out. “I can’t move the yard, though.”

Billie made a complicated hand gesture that said See? My point exactly.

“But this place is small,” Conrad said, relaxing against the back of the couch. “Yours is bigger. If we decided to have more kids, where would we put them here?”

“Okay, we’re putting a pin in that,” Billie said in a dry voice. “Because that’s a whole different emotional conversation and a long way off if it happens at all. We could certainly find a new, different, third house option long before that happens. And, besides, selling my place would probably cover the cost of putting an addition on this one. And don’t you own that hillside? We could build up and maybe out off the back—” She paused, hand outstretched as she pointed out his windows, and took in his expression with suspicion. “What? Why are you grinning at me?”

He shrugged, still grinning like he had won the lottery. “I only ever wanted to open the dialogue.”

And Billie suddenly realized that she was quiet inside. The voice telling her she was stealing Nic’s life was gone. 

The fear wasn’t gone. The anxiety and guilt were still roiling in her stomach, and she wasn’t sure she would ever be ready to move into Conrad’s house. 

But the voice that had been berating her for two weeks was silent.

“How do you do that?” she asked him.

“Do what?” he asked, contentment on his face. He intertwined their fingers and brought her hand up to brush a kiss against the back.

“Make everything better,” she said.

His eyes squeezed shut like she had hit him, fingers tightening around hers. He sat like that for a moment, pressing her hand against his lips, his eyes closed to the world. And when he opened them again, they looked bruised. But not the bruised that Billie had become used to—the darkness of grief, of pain, of longing. All she saw in Conrad’s eyes was…gratitude and relief.

Oblivious

“We need to tell Kit,” Billie said.

She was typing, barely paying attention to him as he crawled into the bed next to her. Gigi had insisted that they both put her to bed that night and convinced them it was only fair that Billie and Conrad each read two books, for a grand total of four. They had agreed despite the two-books-per-night rule—likely because they were both enjoying the cuddle time so much.

Conrad knew it was still novel for all of them. For Gigi, having Billie spend the night in their home was a huge change. Sure, it had happened in Gigi’s lifetime, but rarely and mostly unplanned when Conrad hadn’t wanted Billie to drive so late, so Billie had been a morning surprise at breakfast for Gigi. And Gigi had spent the night at Billie’s home hundreds of times, but being able to wake up, run down the hall, and climb into bed between Billie and Conrad was something that Gigi took advantage of nearly every morning—as if she was afraid the option was going to disappear.

It had only been a week, though, since his and Billie’s first date, and her conversation with Gigi. So, Conrad told himself that Gigi would get used to it, and, over time, it would be less novel. For now, though, Billie and Conrad were always careful to leave the door locked until their pajamas were back in place.

Billie, for her part, seemed predisposed to read as many books or sing as many songs as Gigi requested every night. Conrad suspected Billie liked it as much as Gigi did, and he loved watching the two of them together. He had known they were close, obviously—he had watched that bond form from the time Gigi was born. Conrad wasn’t sure what had changed, but it all felt different, deeper.

Maybe Billie had stopped hiding some of the adoration she felt for Gigi as much in front of him once their mutual feelings were acknowledged and understood and accepted. Or, maybe, it was simply a product of the conversation Billie had had with Gigi about being a family. Or, maybe, the change was in Conrad himself when the blinders had dropped from his eyes.

All Conrad knew was that as he listened to Billie read to his daughter, he had to push down raw emotions that had tried to rise in his throat. He had slid his arm behind Gigi to place his hand on Billie’s back and played with the ends of her hair. He had decided, as his girlfriend and daughter leaned against each other next to him on Gigi’s bed, that he would be perfectly happy if the entire world outside the house disappeared. 

He believed that he could easily spend the next forty years—or however long he had left—with no one and nothing else outside of their little trio. He knew that wasn’t healthy. He didn’t care.

As fun as the hour-long Story Time had been for all of them, though, it had left Billie hopelessly behind on her administrative paperwork. So, she had brought the hospital-issued laptop to bed with them. The move broke another one of Conrad’s cardinal house rules: no screens in the bedroom. But Conrad didn’t mind. The rule was more about leading by example for Gigi than it was for his own mental health, and he didn’t want to do or say anything that discouraged Billie from being in the bed next to him.

He took the chance to study Billie, running his eyes over her where she sat propped against his headboard. Billie was the type of woman who wore silk and satin pajamas to bed, which Conrad had known long before they started dating. He had dropped Gigi off at Billie’s in the early mornings too many times not to have caught her still in pajamas.

She had always looked luxe and relaxed and warm and like she would be slippery under his hands, and those pajamas had started to be a problem for him long before he could admit to himself why. For so long, he had told himself that the urge to touch was about the silk and satin, about how soft the delicate fabrics looked, and had nothing to do with the body underneath them.

You’re such an idiot, an amused and disgusted voice said in his mind for the eightieth time since Billie had let him kiss her on her front porch.

She also usually hadn’t been wearing a bra when she answered the door in her pajamas. And that had been equally torturous and heartwarming for him. Because, while it had messed with his mind and made his heart race and palms sweat, it had also reminded him that stony, suspicious, reserved-to-the-point-of-cold Billie Sutton was one hundred percent comfortable with him and his daughter and perfectly at ease being vulnerable in front of them.

Realizing that had made him want to gather her up in his arms and just hold her tight to him. He had given in to the urge a couple of times under the guise of saying good morning. She had laughed at him because he really wasn’t the type of person to initiate hugs, and he could tell being the exception for him had confused her. But she had also always squeezed him back warmly and led him into her kitchen to press a cup of coffee into his hands. And he had loved that, too, making her smile, even if she had been laughing at him.

He had loved Billie, and he had done it for so long that it felt like that love had been sewn into the fabric of his soul. And it had spanned different shades and hues over time—appreciation for a friend who cared for his daughter at a time when he had been falling apart; which had morphed into bone-deep affection for his favorite person; and, at some point that he couldn’t quite figure out, that had turned into wanting to see her every second of every day and hating the time they were apart so much that missing her had become a physical ache in his body.

The first time Billie had spent the night, she had pulled her pajamas out of her weekender and tossed them on the bed. Conrad had taken one look at them and grinned.

“What?” she had asked as he had stood smiling at her in his bedroom.

He had shaken his head. “You have no idea what your pajamas do to me.”

Her brown eyes had narrowed on him, that brilliant brain trying to decipher what he had meant. She had glanced at the pajamas, where they lay on his bedspread, and then back up at him. “What?” she had finally asked.

He had crowded against her, setting his hands low on her back and pulling her hips against his. Her breath had hitched, even though they had both known that Gigi had still been up and playing in her room. She could have come in at any moment, so they had needed to keep it G-rated.

“Your pajamas,” he murmured. “Are really hot.” 

“My pajamas,” Billie had repeated, incredulous.

“They look soft,” he had said, leaning closer until his lips had been a scant breath away from hers.

“They are soft,” she had agreed, and her voice had dropped to a deeper register. “How long have you been thinking about my pajamas?”

“Think about them? I dream about them.”

“I see. How long have you been dreaming about my pajamas?”

“A very long time.”

Her lips had curved in a coy smile. “You can touch my pajamas all you want, Conrad.”

He had known it was stupid, but relief had slipped through him at the words. Hearing them had felt like tacit agreement from her, permanent permission to keep her in his bed, in his life, forever.

“In my defense,” he had murmured against her mouth, still not quite touching, “you don’t wear a bra under them. And that is really, really appealing.”

“They’re pajamas, Conrad. Of course, I don’t wear a bra under them.” Then she had leaned back to look him in the eye, and he had seen the memories stirring behind her eyes. “We sit and have coffee.”

“What?” he had asked, trying to buy some time.

“When you drop Gigi off in the mornings. Sometimes you have time for coffee. We sit and have coffee and talk. And the whole time you were checking out my pajamas?”

He had laughed nervously. “Yeah. Those are really great mornings. Some of my favorites.”

“Conrad!”

Conrad had always known that Billie was beautiful, of course. He had perfect twenty-twenty vision, and Billie was the kind of beautiful that no one could really miss. But, at first, she had pissed him off too much for that beauty to fully register with him. It had faded from notice to just one more detail about her. 

Billie Damn Sutton was arrogant, genius, snarky, a lost cause, and, oh right, beautiful.

He wasn’t quite sure when that had changed, when he had become hopelessly conscious of how gorgeous she was, but he thought it had been sometime around Gigi’s second birthday. So, by his own estimation, Conrad had been tortured by her heartbreaking beauty and an overwhelming need to touch her for nearly four years. 

“Conrad?” Billie prompted him, glancing at him as he remained silent.

“Hmm? Oh, Kit. Yeah.” He stirred, coming back to the present moment, and shoved an arm behind his head. “You’re right. We should tell her this week. Do you want me to talk to her?”

The sheet had fallen to his waist as he moved his arm into position, and Billie’s eyes zoned in on the exposed skin. He watched her study him, dragging her eyes across his bare chest down to the edge of the sheet and back again. Heat began to rise in her gaze, and his stomach clenched in response.

Conrad knew what he looked like. He worked very hard to look how he did, and he loved that it worked for her.

Amused and more than a little turned on, he smirked up at her. “Earth to Billie,” he said.

She turned back to the screen, fingers poised to type, but they remained still, hovering. Then she sighed, a rough noise, and shut the laptop with a loud click.

“I’ll be right back,” she muttered.

He sat up as she threw back the covers and left the room, listening to her footsteps pad down the stairs. She was only gone for a few moments before he heard her coming back and moving down the hall.

When she reappeared in the doorway, the laptop was gone. And she shut the door, flipping the lock as she said, “I don’t want Gigi to wake up and find that in here.”

Before he could respond, she had crossed the room, climbed onto the bed, and ripped the sheet off of him. Her pajamas were very, very soft under his hands.

~*~

Conrad knocked on the open door of Kit’s office, unsurprised to find Bell leaning against her desk. “Got a minute?” he asked when they looked up.

“Of course,” Kit said warmly. “Come in, come in.”

Bell straightened and moved to stand behind his wife. “Conrad.”

Conrad smiled at them both. “So, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“You’re dating Billie,” Kit said, face lighting up as bright as a Vegas marquee.

“Rumor mill already got to you, huh?” Conrad asked, with a bashful laugh.

“No, no,” Kit said. “No one tells the boss anything. You just look—”

“Happy,” Bell finished for her. “And we couldn’t be happier for you.”

“I look happy,” Conrad repeated, looking between them. “So, of course, I must be dating Billie?”

Kit and Bell glanced at each other. “Aren’t you?” Kit asked. “It’s not just a rumor, is it?”

“No,” Conrad said. “I mean, yes. We’re dating. But—”

“Oh, that’s a relief. Billie looked like she was on cloud nine when I saw her yesterday.” Kit hurried to add, “That was helpful. You know, in putting the pieces together and all.”

“Yeah,” Bell said. “She didn’t even lecture me the other day when I called Sasha by the wrong name.”

“Who’s Sasha?” Conrad asked, hands finding his hips.

“New scrub nurse,” Bell said, with a shrug. “Billie’s a bit protective.”

“Well, that’s neither here nor there,” Kit said, standing from her chair and coming around with open arms. “Congratulations, Conrad. I’m so glad it all worked out in the end. I know how long this has been coming.”

Conrad stiffened in her arms. Kit let go, pulling away to look him in the eye, though she kept her hands on his upper arms. 

“How long has it been coming?” Conrad asked, voice cracking slightly.

“Erm.” Kit glanced at Bell again, confusing marring her face. “Years, really.”

“Years,” Bell agreed. He, too, looked confused, crossing his arms over his chest and studying Conrad’s face, as if digging for clues.

Kit let go of Conrad’s arms. “Is everything all right?”

“You are aware that everyone knew you were in love with each other, right?” Bell asked.

“So I’ve been told,” Conrad said. “But you two knew?”

“Well, of course,” Kit said.

“But…can I ask how?” he asked, laughing nervously. “Everyone just keeps saying they could see it, but I don’t get it. Did Billie talk to you about it?”

“Lord no,” Kit said. “That girl plays things so close to the chest that Churchill couldn’t get a clue off of her. Took a long time for me to figure out how she felt.”

“To be fair,” Bell said. “I think it took a long time for Billie to figure out how Billie felt.”

Kit laughed, the sound a beautiful peal in the large, spacious office. “Too right, Randolph. Poor thing was so confused for so long.”

“You were much more obvious,” Bell said to Conrad.

“To be fair,” Kit said, tilting her head to the side with a soft smile as she met Conrad’s eyes, “we knew you better.”

Bell shrugged. “That is true.”

“The first time,” Kit said on another peal of laughter, waving her hand at Conrad, “that I caught you gazing moonily at her was— When was it, Randolph? Three years ago? Two? I came home and told you over dinner.”

“We were having ravioli,” Bell said, nodding slowly. “I do remember that, yes. I think it was three years ago.” “Okay,” Conrad said. “Well, I regret asking. As fun as this is for me, I actually came to find out if there’s anything we need to sign. Forms to fill out? Anyone else we need to tell?”

“She’s not your supervisor,” Kit said, waving dismissively. “We’ll have you both sign a letter saying it’s consensual, put it in your files, and move on.”

“Finally,” Bell muttered.

“Ignore him,” Kit said. “He’s in a mood.”

“Why?” Conrad asked.

Bell let out a rough breath. “I’m pulling back from surgeries.”

Kit huffed and moved back to her desk chair.

Conrad studied Bell’s face. “Do you want to talk about that?”

“No,” Bell said, calmly. “I hate it. But it’s the right thing to do. So, I’m dealing.”

Conrad clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed firmly. “You’ve got this, Bell.”

“Thanks,” Bell muttered. “Go write your letters.”

~*~

Billie’s nervous energy had been climbing the closer they got to the long weekend. By Friday afternoon, she had been buzzing around since dawn, and Conrad had finally given up on trying to distract her. Instead, whenever she had started up again, he had simply taken her hand in his, locked his eyes on hers, and listened to the stream-of-consciousness rambling about bedspreads and river rafting. It was the only thing that seemed to work.

It didn’t hurt that, every time he had done it, she had leaned forward and kissed him, whispering, “Thank you.” He had been putty in her hands by noon.

Billie went to the airport around four p.m., returning with a travel weary Trevor and his duffle bag. She had invited him down from Baltimore for the long holiday weekend and had been stunned when his only response had been “Yeah, sure” like the invitation was commonplace between them. 

Conrad had resisted the urge to point out that she and Trevor spoke several times a month and that Trevor was far more relaxed about the relationship than Billie. Conrad didn’t think that would be helpful.

“Dr. Hawkins,” Trevor said. 

“Trevor,” Conrad said in welcome.

“Took you long enough to get your head out of your ass.”

Billie sighed roughly. “Dammit, Trevor. You lasted less than two minutes.”

“I’m just saying,” Trevor said, pointing at Conrad. “He’s the most oblivious of men.”

“He’s not wrong,” Conrad muttered.

You are such an idiot, that voice rang in his brain again.

“We talked about this in the car,” Billie said, stern. 

“You talked about this in the car,” Trevor pointed out. “You said, ‘So, Conrad and I are dating now.’ And I said, ‘Fucking finally.’ And you said, ‘You’re so funny, Trevor. And so keen in your observations.’”

“Not how I remember that conversation,” Billie said calmly.

But Conrad could see that she enjoyed Trevor’s snark. And Conrad wondered if Trevor could see it in Billie’s face, if he knew Billie well enough to spot the way the corners of her mouth tilted, even as her lips pursed.

“Since I’m dating Billie and all, maybe you should just call me Conrad.”

As Trevor’s eyebrows rose on his forehead, Conrad held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Trevor stuck his hand in Conrad’s. To no one’s surprise, he tried to crush Conrad’s hand in his own, but—having expected it—Conrad didn’t even wince, squeezing right back.

“So, what kind of paperwork do they make you fill out to date the Chief of Surgery?” Trevor asked, once he had dislodged from Conrad.

“Not much,” Billie said. “I’m not worth the hassle of filing.”

“You’re worth every hassle,” Conrad said, leaning over to kiss her.

“Oh,” Trevor said, sounding irritated and slightly disgusted. “You’re one of those cute couples.”

Tiny footsteps pounded down the stairs. “Trevor!”

“Hey, Gigi,” Trevor said, as always looking a little surprised by the girl’s enthusiasm.

Since moving to Baltimore, Trevor had come back to Atlanta to visit several times. But he had always claimed specific reasons for his trips—a potential seed fund investor wanted to meet; his friends were having a party that he couldn’t miss; he really missed “real” barbecue—never that he missed Billie or wanted to spend time with her. And, yet, somehow he had always managed to convince Billie he had needed to stay with her to “save money” as a poor, broke ex-doctor still trying to pay off his loans. And Billie had always said yes because she wanted him around. Eventually, on one of Trevor’s trips, she had brought him to the Hawkins house for dinner.

No one had expected Gigi to imprint upon Trevor like a baby duckling, least of all Conrad. And he would have been worried—as much as Conrad appreciated how Trevor had come through for Billie in the end, Trevor really was a dick a lot of the time—if Trevor hadn’t seemed so damn terrified of Conrad’s tiny, six-year-old daughter.

“Did you see the way Trevor jumped every time Gigi said his name?” Billie had asked him the following day at work.

“That was hilarious,” Conrad had said, bracing his hands on the counter as they waited for the CT scans to load. “What did he think she was going to do to him?”

“I’m never letting him live that down,” she had murmured.

“Gigi wouldn’t stop talking about him at breakfast,” Conrad had muttered. “Trevor designs new medicine. Trevor goes whitewater rafting.”

“She does appear to have a little bit of a crush,” Billie had said.

Conrad had groaned. “Not yet. She’s too young.”

“She already has one on James,” Billie had pointed out, laughing as he had groaned more loudly.

Conrad’s amusement had faded as the mental image of Billie and Dr. Yamada invaded his brain. He had accidentally caught sight of James kissing Billie’s cheek outside her office a few days prior, and, for some reason, his brain had seemed intent on reminding him every few minutes. He had shoved the mental image to the side but had been too distracted to remember what they had been talking about.

“Thank you for letting us come,” Billie had said, eyes locked on the screens.

Conrad had eyed her profile, able to read the tension there only because he had known her so well. “Billie,” he had said. “You’re always welcome. Trevor, too.”

Billie had finally turned to face him. “You know what I mean, though,” she had said gently. “Thank you for being there. For me.”

He had known how hard it was for Billie to express those kinds of emotions. And a wave of aching affection had risen in him.

“Of course,” he had said, tilting his head and smiling at her.

“And you could have invited Cade,” she had added, dropping her eyes to the floor. “I should have said that when I asked.”

Conrad had felt his face freeze. Inviting Cade had never even occurred to him. Should it have? he had wondered. But as he had considered it, his whole being had shied away from the mental image of Billie and Trevor on one side of the table, with Conrad, Gigi, and Cade on the other. 

Before he had been able to force out a response, the machines had whirred and beeped, and Billie had gone into doctor mode. “Well, there’s our problem right there,” she had said, pointing at what had looked like a shadow to Conrad. “Your patient has a bleed.”

“Operate?” he had asked.

She had hesitated, waiting as the next set of scans filled the screen. “It’s small enough it might resolve itself.” The next set of scans had appeared. “How’s his blood pressure?”

“Fine. Under control.”

Billie had nodded. “I don’t want to crack his skull if I don’t have to. Let’s give him a round of steroids to reduce the swelling, then we’ll do another set of scans in a few hours. We might have a wait and see on our hands.”

“On it,” Conrad had said. “Thanks, Billie.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she had said, heading for the door.

Conrad had watched her hips sway as she walked through the door and had told himself he wasn’t watching at all.

After dinner, Billie had curled into Conrad’s side in the armchair, watching as Gigi jumped up and down on the couch cushion next to Trevor.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Gigi asked.

Trevor, watching her bounce with wary (if a little amused) eyes, shook his head.

“Do you want a girlfriend?” Gigi asked.

Trevor shook his head again. Conrad felt Billie stifling a giggle next to him. 

“Why not?” Gigi asked.

“I’m pretty busy right now,” Trevor said. “You shouldn’t have a girlfriend if you can’t treat her right.”

“What does treat her right mean?” Gigi asked.

Trevor’s eyes flicked to Billie and Conrad. Conrad ignored the S.O.S. but Billie stepped in, “How your dad treats me, sweetie.”

“Like a queen!” Gigi yelled.

Billie snorted. “Sure.”

“Hey,” Conrad said on a laugh, squeezing Billie’s side in censure. She kissed his cheek in response. “I try.”

“You do great,” she murmured to him.

“Can Trevor put me to bed?” Gigi asked.

Conrad looked over at the couch again as Trevor threw an increasingly panicked look towards Billie. Stepping in, Conrad told his daughter, “Bubble, Trevor and Billie have to head home. It’s you and me tonight.”

Gigi’s mouth dropped open. “You’re not staying tonight?” she asked Billie.

“No, sweetie. Not tonight.”

“Please,” Gigi said, with a big fat lower lip.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Billie said. 

“We don’t have enough beds, Bubble.”

“Billie can sleep with me,” Gigi said.

A smile flickered over Trevor’s face, and his eyes dropped to his lap.

“Billie sleeps with me,” Conrad said in a faux serious voice, not bothering to explain to his daughter that he and Trevor would never share a bed.

“But you and your dad are coming to my house tomorrow.” To Trevor, Billie added, “They’re coming to dinner after the river trip.” 

“So, you finally got some furniture?” Trevor asked mildly.

Billie winced, and he laughed.

“Can we stay the night over there?” Gigi asked, eager.

Conrad exchanged a look with Billie. Technically, Billie did have enough beds for all of them to stay at her house—though Gigi likely would insist on sleeping in the bed with Billie and Conrad. 

It’s up to you, Conrad’s eyes said to her.

Billie looked over at Trevor, and Conrad saw he had been watching them. “We’ll talk about it,” Billie said.

Gigi cheered and turned back to Trevor. “Billie sings the best bedtime songs. Daddy’s better at reading because he does all the voices. But he can’t sing.”

Conrad wondered if Billie noticed the way Trevor’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah?” Trevor asked. “What does she sing to you?”

“All sorts of things,” Gigi said. “She really likes Etta James and Miranda Lambert.”

Trevor blinked and looked at Billie. Conrad didn’t even try to suppress his grin as Billie said, “What can I say? I have facets.”

~*~

Marshall stared between them from his side of the dining table. “You weren’t dating before?” he asked, squinting at them.

“No, Dad,” Conrad said, tamping down on his irritation.

“I thought you just weren’t telling anyone. Testing the waters privately, so to speak.”

“No, Dad.”

Marshall still squinted at them, studying their faces.

“He was dating Cade for almost a year,” Billie said, gentle teasing in her voice as she took a demure sip of tea.

“He was still dating Cade?” Marshall asked, incredulous. At the look on his son’s face, Marshall sat back in his chair, clearing his own expression. “I mean, of course he was, and I knew that. Because I pay attention.”

Billie rubbed a hand on Conrad’s back.

“And, yet, you thought I was dating Billie,” Conrad said, dry. 

“In my defense, you’ve been in love with her for a few years,” Marshall said. 

“That’s a strong word,” Billie murmured, standing and walking her teacup to the sink. 

After a tense moment, Conrad heard the water flip on. Conrad sighed, the sound a rough release of breath. 

“Did everyone know?” he asked his father, resigned.

“No,” Billie leapt in to assure him. “Of course, not. People are just teasing you.”

“I don’t think so,” Conrad muttered. “Kit knew without me even telling her.”

“Rumor mill,” Billie said, coming back to sit next to him.

Conrad remembered Devon knowing without being told that Conrad had ended his relationship with Cade. And why. “I… really think everyone knew,” he said to Billie.

She gave him a sympathetic look.

“I don’t think the rest of the board cares very much about your love life,” Marshall said to Conrad. Then he turned to Billie. “Though they likely care about yours.”

“Mine?” she asked, surprise evident in her voice. “Why?”

“You’re the Chief of Surgery,” Marshall said. “A five-story portrait of you is on the side of the hospital. You’re a walking, talking advertisement for Chastain. They sort of watch what you do.”

“Where were they last year when she was getting attacked in the media?” Conrad muttered.

“Calling an emergency meeting to try and fire her,” Marshall said with a shrug. “They were wrong. Kit and I blocked it.”

“Are you serious?” Conrad asked. “They were going to fire her?”

“That surprises you?” Billie asked, calm even as she slid a hand onto his thigh under the table. 

The weight of her hand on his leg was comforting, centering, cooling the edge of the anger that had taken over.

“We’re a little off topic here,” Marshall said, glaring between them. “Did you file the appropriate paperwork?”

“Kit said there wasn’t paperwork,” Conrad said. “We just need to write a letter stating the relationship is consensual and both sign it.”

“No,” Marshall said, pulling out his mobile. “That’s not good enough. Billie’s career has already taken too many hits this year. We have to get ahead of this with the board. I’m calling Kit.” He yanked the napkin off his lap and stood from the table, phone to his ear. He walked to the sliding glass door and opened it to step out onto the deck as he said, “Kit. They just told me. What do you mean no paperwork?”

“This is going well,” Conrad said as the door slid closed behind his father.

Billie buried her face in his shoulder.

“My own father didn’t know I was still dating Cade?” Conrad asked, staring into the distance.

“Conrad, how many days has he been in the U.S. in the past year?” Billie pointed out. “He didn’t even spend last Christmas with us.”

“That’s true.” Then Conrad blinked into the distance. “You spend Christmas with us.”

“Yes,” Billie said, voice patient. “Hi. I’m Billie Sutton. Your daughter’s godmother and giver of the best presents.”

That was true. Gigi always loved Billie’s gifts more than Conrad’s. To be fair, Conrad couldn’t afford a telescope that could see past the edge of the galaxy.

But that wasn’t the point.

“We all went to your dad’s for Thanksgiving dinner last year,” Conrad said, speaking slowly as the puzzle pieces began falling into place. “You spend every holiday with us.”

“Yes,” Billie said. “We’ve been doing that for almost five years. What’s the matter?”

Conrad turned to her, and he could feel that his face was white. “How am I such an idiot?”

She blinked at him. “You’re not an idiot,” she said, voice as gentle as the hand she laid on his cheek.

“Billie,” Conrad said. “My own father thought you and I were already dating.”

She bit her lip. “But we weren’t,” she said, in a too perky voice, with a cute little shrug.

Conrad hesitated. “Is that why you were around so much for us?” he asked quietly.

Billie jerked back away from him. “No,” she said, sounding offended.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprised by the vehemence. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He stopped, not sure how to fix it when he didn’t know what was wrong.

“Conrad,” she started, then stopped and seemed to gather herself. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she tried again. “All of this… Everything between us started because I loved Gigi. You and I were friends by the time Nic died, but… even that was more about Gigi than us.”

Conrad had to admit she was right. He had come to adore Billie as a friend, but that had been after Gigi was born, and he had witnessed the way she had let all her walls down to his kid. He had gotten to see who Billie was by proxy. 

Before Gigi, Billie had been a cold enigma whose walls had a single door marked Nicolette Nevin Only. After Gigi, Billie had been a gushing, effusive Super Auntie, who never ran out of patience or arms for cuddles, and tackled even the most invasive of questions with a calm, serene composure that Conrad had envied at times.

“I acted like your friend,” she said, “because I was your friend. Your best friend, and you were mine. I came to Christmas because you invited me, and I loved the idea of watching Gigi open all of her gifts. I brought you guys to Thanksgiving because you’re my family, and my father adores Gigi as much as he would a grandchild. I leapt at the chance to spend any and all time with Gigi because I liked spending time with Gigi. If you had never kissed me, I would still spend time with Gigi and come to Christmas. I would be here for both of you as long as you let me be here.”

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like the idea that she still felt like he let her. He wanted her at holidays. He wanted her with Gigi. He wanted her. Always. And he had carried that feeling around for a long time before he could admit to himself what it was. Even when he had been labeling her as best friend in his mind and aloud to anyone who would listen, he had known the feelings were too much, too big, too overwhelming, to be encompassed by those two words. And he had told himself he was satisfied anyway, like someone standing in a kitchen that was on fire feeling thankful that the coffee had finished brewing. 

Yes, Billie had been his best friend—had been, still was, and always would be. But that simple affection had nothing to do with the other part, the part that was in love with her and depended on her and couldn’t stand not seeing her.

She finished her thoughts quietly. “I had already come to terms with the idea that we were never going to be together. Nothing I ever did had an ulterior motive.”

He felt that like a blow to the chest and suddenly understood the hurt in her eyes. 

“No,” he said. He reached out and put a hand over hers. “Not what I meant.”

Billie’s eyes searched his. “Then what did you mean?” Billie murmured.

He meant to reassure her. He meant to tell her that she had been his best friend, too, and that he knew she would never have leveraged Gigi’s love or friendship with Conrad for something more. Instead, a wholly different idea came out of him.

“Kit told me the first time she caught me mooning after you was three years ago.”

Shock at hearing the words leave his own mouth left Conrad staring at Billie, and he saw the moment they landed by the confusion that crossed her face. And then she started laughing, muffling it with her hands so that she wouldn’t wake Gigi. He groaned and let his head hang on his neck.

“See,” she murmured after her glee had quieted. “I knew I wasn’t reading you wrong.”

“What?”

She sighed, though she was still smiling, and stood to begin clearing the dishes. His father’s voice drifted in from the deck through the sliding glass door, muffled and unintelligible.

“Gigi would have been, what, three?” she asked.

“I guess so,” Conrad said, embarrassed but comfortable enough to be embarrassed with her.

“That’s right around when you started dating Marion.”

“Dating is a strong word.” Conrad shifted in his chair, watching Billie move around his kitchen. “And I’m guessing this was before that. Probably around the time I came back to Chastain.”

Billie paused in what she was doing and glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Is that what Kit said?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “But getting to see you every day again had a very… uplifting effect on me.”

Billie gave him an affectionate look. “You already saw me almost every day when you were working concierge,” she said. “If anything, I saw you less once you were back at the hospital.”

“But seeing you was always planned before,” he said. “At Chastain, I could just accidentally run into you, or wind up working with you, or spot you from down the hall.”

Billie turned to stare at him. “I had no idea that you…” She shook her head, clearly unsure how to even finish that sentence. “And you never said anything?”

“I was very confused,” he said, almost apologetically.

A small smile played with the corners of her mouth as her shoulders relaxed again. “Me, too,” she said, simply.

Then she turned back to the sink and finished rinsing off the dishes. “For a while there, I was sure you felt the same way about me. Wanted to be with me like this, how I wanted to be with you. That wasn’t until after Marion, though,” she said. “And then you asked Cade out, and I decided I had been reading you wrong.”

He watched her open the dishwasher and start placing things inside. Then he stood and gathered the remaining plates and cups from the table, leaving his father’s mug where he’d left it. Marshall seemed immune to the effects of caffeine, drinking it at all hours of the day and night.

“You weren’t,” he said faintly. “You didn’t. Read me wrong.”

The smile she sent him this time was real—wide and happy—and he felt it in his bones. “I know that now,” she pointed out.

“I’m sorry I made you question that,” he said, regretting so much of the past year. “I just…”

“I know,” she said, serenely as she took the dishes out of his hands to load into the dishwasher. “I think it was good for me if I’m being honest. Which I do try to be.”

When she straightened up again, Conrad wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I know you do.” 

It was one of the things he admired about her—the fact that she was honest even when she was wrong, even when she knew she was at fault. He felt her take a deep breath.

“Until last year…” She shook her head. “Until everything with Trevor, I kind of thought you were the only friend I had. But then it all went down, and I felt so alone.”

“You’re not alone. A lot of people love you.”

I love you. I’m in love with you, he thought, barely keeping the words inside.

Conrad was aware of how he felt. He had been in love before, and he recognized the feeling. But he wasn’t ready to acknowledge it out loud.

His hesitation wasn’t about penance. Though he had screwed up a lot of things over the last couple of years, he knew. And it wasn’t about being unsure of Billie’s feelings for him. She had sacrificed too much and given too much of herself for him and his daughter to not love both him and Gigi completely and totally. Billie was in love with him. He knew her too well to doubt it. Billie was much too careful and caring of a person to have started this with Conrad—with Gigi’s tiny heart on the line—and not be in love with him.

But Conrad had promised Billie slow. And, even if Kit, Bell, and his father were all perfectly happy to label Conrad’s feelings out loud, slow and measured this relationship would be.

“I know,” Billie said. Her hands rested against his arms where they crossed over her stomach, the palms of her skin soft and warm against his forearms. “But I’m not sure I would have figured that out if we’d been together. I would have just leaned on you.”

“How do you do that?” Conrad asked.

“What?”

“Always find some life lesson in hard things.”

“About eight years of therapy,” she said, trying to make light of it. “And a lifetime of bad choices to draw upon.”

He rested his cheek on top of her head. “I wish you had leaned on me more.”

“I leaned on you plenty,” Billie said. 

Her head dropped back to rest on his shoulder. Her hand petted his forearm like she was trying to soothe him.

He brushed a kiss to the shell of her ear, and she gasped in surprise at the sensation. A shiver rolled through her body and reverberated through his where they were pressed together. His arms tightened around her in response, and her fingers flexed around his forearms, nails lightly digging into his skin.

He was capable in that moment of two thoughts: One, that Gigi was asleep, and it was late enough that she probably wasn’t going to wake up. Two, that Billie was warm and soft and right there, when he still had so much time to make up for missing out on.

So, he spun Billie around, capturing her mouth with his, pouring everything he felt for her into the kiss—all the words he wasn’t ready to say yet. She met his urgency with her own, her fingers sliding into his hair and scraping her nails against his scalp in a way that had him shoving her against the counter trying to get closer. Their tongues tangled, and a tiny sob left her that made him growl against her mouth. 

And then the sliding glass door opened loudly behind Conrad, and Billie jerked away from him. They were both panting, and Conrad dropped his forehead to the soft flesh between her neck and shoulder as he remembered Marshall existed and was in his house.

He loved his father, he did. But why did Marshall never know when to fuck off?

“Well, look at that. You’re right,” Marshall said dryly. “It is different between you now.”

Conrad straightened and turned to face his father. “What did Kit say about the paperwork?”

“She’ll have forms for you both tomorrow.” Marshall pointed a finger at Billie. “And you need to meet with the board and explain the situation.”

“What situation?” Conrad asked, spreading his arms wide. “I’m not a situation.”

Marshall gave him a wry look. “Son, you have been a situation since the day you were born.”

Billie started to laugh, turning her face into Conrad’s chest to stifle it. And Conrad gazed down at her with delight.

“Finally,” Marshall muttered, and Conrad sighed.

~*~

As Conrad flipped the completed page onto his done pile and stared at the blankness of page twenty-eight, Devon came into the break room and spotted the giant stack of forms. Devon opened the door to the shared fridge and reached in for one of his green juices.

“Did you get to the part with the affidavits?” Devon asked.

“Not yet,” Conrad said, tense. “Billie is meeting with the board now.”

“The board,” Devon repeated, clearly surprised.

Conrad set his pen down and leaned back in the chair. “The board,” he repeated, letting his irritation seep through to his tone.

“Leela and I didn’t have to do that at least,” Devon said. He paused to think. “But they did make her record a video saying she wasn’t being coerced.”

“A video,” Conrad said, getting up to walk to the coffee pot. “That’s intense.”

“It felt like overkill at the time. But they said anyone could write a letter or fill out a form. And, honestly, looking back I don’t really care.” Devon shrugged. “If someone took advantage of Leela, I would lose my mind. So… I get why we needed to do it.”

“I only have to fill out the forms,” Conrad said, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “Billie has to fill out the forms and confront the board of directors.”

“Poor thing,” Devon said.

“I wish there was more I could do,” Conrad said, taking a sip of his coffee. He set it down on the table and folded his arms across his chest. “But all I can do is fill out the next twelve pages to the best of my ability.”

Devon gave him a sympathetic look. “They sent my forms back three times asking for corrections.”

“Jesus. Really?”

“Just be prepared,” Devon advised.

The door swung open, and Billie walked into the room in a cloud of palpable anger. Conrad caught the murderous gleam in her eye and dropped his arms as he braced himself for bad news.

They said no, he thought wildly. 

He told himself he was leaping towards the worst conclusion, that the board had no reason to take exception to their relationship. As Kit had pointed out, he wasn’t in Billie’s reporting structure. There was nothing in hospital policy that prohibited them from dating. But Billie so very rarely lost her temper (when it wasn’t about a patient) that his heart was pounding.

“Don’t you surgeons have your own fancy break room with an espresso machine?” Devon asked in a teasing tone.

Billie glared at him, and Devon took an involuntary step back. “That group of people,” she said, “could single-handedly set me back three years in my self-development. Did they win? No. But they are the worst.”

Relief swept through him, and Conrad grinned giddily at her. “The worst.”

“They are the most odious—”

“Yes,” he said.

“—self-indulgent—”

“Yes.”

“—entitled—”

“Mm-hmm.”

“—judgmental—”

“Yup.”

“—assholes I have ever had to deal with, all gathered in a single room,” Billie finished.

Devon’s eyes were wide, and his lips had parted in shock. Billie very successfully gave the impression of being forever measured, calm, cool, and collected to the world. Sometimes Conrad forgot that he was one of the few people who got to see the other sides of Billie—the sides she deliberately hid from the world. 

“Wow,” Devon murmured.

Conrad spared an amused glance but was too busy adoring his girlfriend to say anything to Devon. Conrad loved getting to see Out of Control Billie. She so rarely made an appearance.

“But it’s done.” Billie blew out a breath. “And they’ve given us their probationary blessing,” she said through clenched teeth. “As long as we don’t engage in ill-advised public displays of affection. That is a direct quote, by the way.” Conrad chuckled at her wrathful tone, and Billie gave him an arch look as she said, “Which, of course, means that I’ve been thinking about doing this for an hour.”

Stepping forward, she grabbed Conrad by the neck of his scrub shirt and yanked him down to kiss him. He leaned in eagerly, wrapping his arms low around her hips and pulling her more comfortably against his body. Her arms twined around his neck as the kiss softened, deepened, became more about saying hello than sticking it to the board.

“I’ll just go,” Devon said. “Good luck with your paperwork.”

Brown eyes stared back at Billie—the same brown eyes that had always been part of her face—but they looked… lighter somehow. Her whole face was subtly different. Her skin was glowy, the curve of her lips more pronounced.

Maybe her face and eyes were merely reflecting back the lights that lined her mirror. But she kind of thought it was the happiness fizzing through her veins like bubbles in champagne.

She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. She had tried a few times to school her features back into the calm, cool, stay-at-least-six-feet-away-from-me expression that she had honed over a lifetime and perfected overseas. But the familiar arrangement of her features suddenly felt unnatural and off.

She was accustomed to her expression not matching how she felt inside. That was life—or, at least, the life Billie had experienced. A constant balancing act between staying true to herself and taking others’ feelings into account. Tempering how she felt to make it manageable from the outside.

But, as she remembered the feeling of her fingers sliding against Conrad’s, his palm settling against hers in a skin-to-skin kiss, the idea of hiding that amount of joy just felt wrong.

Billie glanced down at the tube of mascara in her hand, and her brow furrowed. Had she put any on yet? She couldn’t remember. She leaned forward and studied her lashes. Left, yes. Right, no, she realized, and set about fixing the issue.

She was keeping her makeup simple—mascara, eyeshadow, tinted lip balm—less out of a stylistic choice and more because she was terrified at the prospect of needing to touch up during the date. Her hands were already shaking, and Conrad hadn’t even arrived yet.

She tapped her phone screen to check the time, and butterflies sprang to life in her stomach again. Conrad had said he would pick her up at eight. She had less than thirty minutes to get dressed, do her hair, and sit down for some deep breathing exercises.

Crap. Should I just tie it back? she wondered, scrutinizing her hair. It still looked mostly okay from when she had styled it that morning. She could just brush it and leave it. But it wasn’t perfect. And she wanted everything to be perfect.

She knew it was only dinner. She and Conrad had eaten dinner together hundreds of times over the past five years. Dinner, lunch, brunch, breakfast, afternoon snacks, midnight picnics—they had experienced every type of meal imaginable together. She had no reason to be nervous, or afraid that she would forget which fork to use or run out of conversation for the first time ever.

Conrad wasn’t even the type to take her to a fancy restaurant on a date. Besides, she would never forget the right fork. She had drilled it into herself as sternly as the names of all the bones in the human body.

And Billie was thankful that she could assume Conrad was going to pick somewhere on the more casual side. Maybe even Waylon’s—though maybe not since they could run into friends there. Regardless, he was far more likely to pick somewhere with sawdust on the floor than somewhere that relied on multiple forks for a meal.

Billie rubbed her forehead to stop the stream-of-consciousness rant. She was stalling. And spiraling. But mostly stalling.

Dress, she told herself, stern, and forced her feet to move back into the bedroom.

The problem was that Gigi had almost always been a buffer, literally sitting between Billie and Conrad’s bodies. And the few times Gigi hadn’t been physically present, the two of them had been in a group of friends, or Marshall had been with them, or they had been in the hospital café. They had never been alone.

Except for once: the day after the medical board hearing; the only day she could remember as just the two of them, alone. And that had been… different. She barely remembered that day, more worried about Trevor than she was about herself, and terribly tongue-tied telling Conrad the whole, horrible tale.

Trying to condense twenty-seven years into a manageable story was hard. She started and stopped and restarted so many times that she was terrified Conrad would get impatient. But he never did. He barely even asked questions and only let himself do that much after she had gotten through the whole thing once.

She knew they had eaten—they had spent nearly fourteen hours together—but she would never be able to tell anyone what they had eaten or where.

Luckily—or unluckily maybe—she had spent the entire day leading up to their date mentally sifting through her wardrobe. So, she knew exactly which dress she was going to wear. She had decided black would be too stark, too fancy for the type of place Conrad was likely to choose. She had opted for a slate blue a-line dress that hit just below her knee, with a sweetheart neckline and fluttery little sleeves. Paired with small jet studs, the delicate necklace she wore every day, and ankle boots with the tiniest of block heels, Billie thought she managed to look understated and modest, casual enough for a pub and yet elegant enough that she was obviously dressed for a date.

Standing in front of the mirror, Billie smoothed her hand down her hips, feeling the silky fabric of the dress, and scrutinizing every last detail of the outfit. Satisfied and disproportionately proud of herself, she gave her reflection a smug nod and went downstairs to tell herself she wasn’t nervous in a different room.

She was getting a glass of water in the kitchen when Conrad’s knock sounded through the first story of the house. Billie hesitated at the sink, glass hovering, and wondered why she was surprised. Had she really thought he would use his key? He always had before when picking Gigi up, or the two of them were coming over for movie night, but things were different now.

Were they? Of course, they were. Right? Yes. They were different.

For God’s sake, move, she told herself, when she realized she had left him standing at the door for far too long.

She straightened her shoulders and set the glass down in the sink. Then she turned and walked to the door, head as high as she could get it and not be looking down her nose at anything.

His bashful smile was firmly in place, eyes on the wooden boards of her porch, as she opened the door. “I almost used my key,” he admitted to the porch. He looked up, shaking his head “But then I thought—”

His words seemed to dry up as he took her in. She knew she was smiling too wide. She probably looked like she was having a manic episode. But he was so adorable. How was she supposed to resist grinning at him?

“Wow,” he said on an exhale.

Billie’s cheeks heated. She wanted to say Come on, Hawkins. You’ve seen me dressed up before. But she bit the teasing back, recognizing that this was one of those moments they would never get to have again, and she didn’t want to ruin it out of nerves. So, she took a beat to absorb his expression.

“You clean up well, yourself,” she said.

And he did, but she already knew that. Despite the fact that his preference was to live in jeans and a Henley, she had seen him dressed up on a number of occasions. Kit and Bell’s wedding, of course, but other times, too. Forcing tense conversation with him at the first-year residents reception. Flipping through photos from his wedding to Nic. Seeing him leave for a date with Cade straight from a shift. Catching his eye across the room at fundraising events Kit drafted them both to attend.

But Conrad had never dressed up for Billie. His black button up, grey pants, and shiny leather boots were wreaking havoc on her poor heart, which was now beating three times faster than it should be. And he was still staring, lips slightly parted, having not seemed to register her words at all.

She tilted her head. “Do you want to come in?”

He pointed vaguely over his shoulder to his car at the curb. “Reservation.”

Her nerves spiked again. Reservation? But she forced out a nod and held onto her smile. “Let me get my jacket.”

Her hands were shaking again when she pulled open the coat closet. Her hand floated for a moment between her leather jacket—what she had assumed she would wear—and a light shawl collared coat—something more appropriate for the places Conrad’s pants were implying. She didn’t know which to choose. Since when did Conrad Hawkins make reservations?

“You okay?” he called to her.

He couldn’t see her from his vantage point. Between the front door and the door to the closet, his view was entirely blocked. But she knew she had hesitated too long—again. She grabbed the leather jacket and shut the closet, snagging her purse off the entryway console on her way back to Conrad.

“Peachy,” she said and stepped through the front door and into her date.

#

What is happening? Billie thought to herself as they pulled up to the valet stand.

She knew exactly where they were, even though the restaurant (rather famously) lacked any type of signage. Instead, the entire front of the building was a glass wall, encouraging anyone from the street or sidewalk to look in at the patrons.

The nerves that had been strumming along in her chest—eased by the conversation in the car—flipped on an amplifier and began slamming out power chords. Her fingers spasmed around the seat belt before she forced them to relax, unhook the clip, and open the door. Conrad handed the keys to the valet and then held his hand out to her. She slid hers into his grip readily, but she was so flummoxed that she barely felt the contact.

Le Ciel was not where Billie had expected Conrad to take her.

Le Ciel was so famous that The New York Times had written an article solely about how famous it was.

Le Ciel was a prix fixe menu that used words like “truffle foam” and “deconstructed.”

And Le Ciel was a sea of two-top tables lit with candles. No four-tops in sight, and definitely nothing larger. Not at Le Ciel. Because Le Ciel was widely considered the most romantic restaurant in Atlanta.

How had Conrad even gotten a reservation? Le Ciel booked up months in advance. James had once idly mentioned that the waitlist for a Valentine’s Day reservation was running three years out.

“I treated the owner’s son when I worked concierge,” Conrad murmured to her as he held open the door. “I called in a favor.”

She stared at him, lips parting, and he gave her a modest, half-shrug in response. Then he tilted his head towards the coat person, and she nodded, slipping the leather jacket off. He took care of checking their jackets and then put a hand on the small of her back to approach the hostess stand. The young woman nodded when Conrad gave his name and led them to a table in the corner by the massive windows.

It was very clearly the best table in the house, and Billie was abruptly certain she would not be able to eat anything. She couldn’t even remember if the fish fork was the one placed randomly on the righthand side with the spoons or if that was the seafood fork.

“Can I interest you in our signature cocktail?” the hostess asked.

“Um…sure,” Billie said, then shook her head. “Actually, no, just water for now, please.”

“Water would be great,” Conrad added.

“Of course,” the hostess said. “Your server will be right over with an amuse bouche. Bon appetit.”

“Thank you,” Conrad said, as Billie managed a faint smile.

As soon as the hostess was gone, Billie’s eyes locked on Conrad’s face. He was watching her, alert, as if he could sense something was off. And maybe he could. She had been quieter than usual in the car, shocked at the mention of a reservation, which didn’t fit inside her expectations for the night at all.

Confused. She was confused. And slightly shaken. She had mentally prepared for a pub. She had even worried her dress was too fancy for whatever Conrad had planned, and now she was sitting in Le Ciel feeling underdressed. She wasn’t—her dress was a silky, flowy fabric, and the coat check hadn’t even blinked when Conrad had handed over their leather jackets.

She licked her lips. “This is nice.”

His eyes crinkled, but he managed not to laugh. “Isn’t it?”

“Did you give this guy’s son your kidney?” she asked.

“No,” Conrad said, eyes still dancing in the candlelight. “I didn’t do anything special. I think his son just liked me.”

“This is the nicest table in the place, Conrad,” Billie said, feeling herself relax the more they spoke. “You clearly went above and beyond.”

“No organs were involved,” he said. Then he stopped to think. “No organs from outside his body, anyway.”

She chuckled, then looked around self-consciously. “It’s so quiet.”

“It’s like a library,” Conrad said.

“Good evening,” their server said, seeming to materialize out of nowhere next to them.

Billie grabbed at the edge of the table, while Conrad jumped a little and then smoothed the motion out to look like he had just been leaning back in his chair. They both murmured something along the lines of good eveningback and listened as the server introduced himself, and then verbally prepared them for the menu they were about to eat, which sounded amazing but included seven courses and complicated wine pairings. When he was done, he gestured to someone behind him, and another person came forward with two ceramic spoons that they set on the table in front of Conrad and Billie.

And in the center of the table, they placed a basket of…leaves?

The server stepped forward again. “In front of you, you’ll find salmon roe atop roasted octopus brined in watermelon juice. We recommend chewing the mint leaves between each course to truly cleanse the palate. Bon appetit.”

As the server faded into the dimness around them, Conrad braced his hands on the table, palms flat on either side of the ceramic spoon.

“Are you going to eat it?” Billie asked. “Or challenge it to a duel?”

Conrad’s bashful grin spread across his face. “I didn’t understand what half of that menu meant.”

“Me, either,” Billie said and lifted her spoon. “Bottoms up, Hawkins.”

“Bottoms up,” he muttered back.

They clinked their spoons together and tossed the spoons back at the same time. As weird as the combination sounded, the effect was delicious. Billie chewed as she watched Conrad nod thoughtfully and swallow.

“Chewy,” he said.

She nearly spit out her own octopus in laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth at the last second. She managed to swallow and took a sip of her water to clear her airway.

“So, you loved it, huh?” she asked.

God she loved him. The feeling was overwhelming, and so familiar after the past two years that she very nearly shoved it down like she always had before. She was so used to hiding it that she fidgeted at the knowledge that it was out there for everyone to see, for him to see. But she loved Conrad so much in that moment that she let it all shine through her eyes.

But he looked away from her, sending her stomach into freefall. A month ago, she would have retreated. She would have set her walls firmly back in place, reminded herself that Conrad wasn’t hers, picked a nice neutral topic to distract them, and then avoided him for a day while she got back on course.

But Conrad had kissed her and brought her out to the fanciest restaurant in town. Both very clear signals that he returned her feelings. So, Billie set her hand on the table and tentatively slid it forward along the tablecloth towards the middle. He met her halfway, his fingers gently tangling with her own.

He opened his mouth, leaning forward, and she heard buzzing. They both furrowed their brows, letting go of each other to seek out their phones. As doctors, they didn’t have the luxury of letting the call go to voicemail.

“It’s me,” Conrad told her, pressing the button to answer. “Devon. Everything okay?”

Billie’s breath caught as fear spilled into her chest. Gigi.

“Does she have a fever?”

Immediately, Billie started looking around the restaurant, trying to spot their server through the dimness. She listened with one ear as Conrad continued his conversation with Devon.

“…wasn’t herself earlier, but she’s been in a mood the past couple of days. I didn’t think she…”

Finally, she spotted the server, lingering at the hostess stand near the better-lit foyer. Billie narrowed her eyes at his back, willing him to turn around.

“…be there soon.”

“Go,” Billie said, as soon as she was sure Conrad had hung up. “I’ll get the check. Call me and tell me how she is, okay?”

She felt Conrad’s gaze on her face, but she was still busy trying to catch their server’s eye. He was still leaning against the hostess stand, had barely moved in the fifteen seconds Billie had been staring. The hostess was gorgeous, of course, tall and willowy.

But good grief, Billie thought, eyeing the server.

After a moment, Billie realized that Conrad hadn’t budged, and she looked back at him, confused. He was gazing at her.

“You’re not leaving,” she pointed out.

“I…” He shook himself. “Yeah, I just… Why don’t you—No, I mean, can you come with me?”

“Yes,” she said, telling herself not to stop and think. “Hold on.”

She stood, setting her napkin on the table, and marched across the restaurant. Smile, she reminded herself. Easy. Your server is a glorified child likely trying to put himself through college. Do not eviscerate him for something he had no part in. Deep breaths. In and out. That’s good.

But Gigi needed Conrad, and their server was still flirting with the hostess. Gigi wasn’t well. And Billie shoved the panic down deeper in her soul.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, smoothly stepping in front of the server so that he would have no way of ignoring her. “But we need our check.”

Nerves flashed across his face. “Is everything all right? Is your food—”

“The food is fine,” she said. “But our sitter just called, and my date’s daughter isn’t feeling well. So—”

“No problem at all,” he said, face clearing and empathy stitching a frown onto his face. “I can bring the card reader to the table.”

“Thank you,” Billie said, relieved.

“I’ll get your coats,” the hostess offered.

“Thank you,” Billie said again, this time a little more sincerely.

#

As soon as Billie buckled her seat belt, the car was moving with Conrad tense and restless in the driver’s seat. She should have offered to drive, but she never drove when she, Conrad, and Gigi went anywhere. Even if she had thought to offer, it would have felt entirely foreign to be behind the wheel while he sat in the passenger seat, leg jumping up and down as his brain ran through all the possible medical explanations for his daughter’s symptoms.

“I heard you tell Devon that she’s been off the last few days,” Billie said.

His swallow was audible across the car. “I was going to talk to you about that.”

Her gaze sharpened on his profile. “Talk to me about what?”

Billie had known when he spoke to Gigi about them dating earlier that week. He had murmured it in her ear one morning while they were waiting for the screens to load with scans in the CT room. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss it, since Devon had barged in, and then they had each been called on separate critical issues. And her OR had been so busy the rest of the week that she hadn’t had a chance to see Gigi since the conversation.

She had been a bit surprised that Conrad had already spoken to his daughter. Particularly since Billie and Conrad never had the conversation. It had all been vague and implied, and they had each known what the other meant—we’re together now—but it hadn’t been said per se.

Part of her was disappointed. She had wanted to be there when he told Gigi. She didn’t know how Gigi was going to respond. She knew Gigi would understand the basics after her father’s relationship with Cade. It was different with Billie, though, and she had wanted to be there to reassure the little girl.

But it wasn’t her place to ask, only to be invited, and Conrad hadn’t, so Billie hadn’t said anything.

“When I told Gigi about us, she was excited, but I don’t think she really understood,” Conrad said. “She just seemed to think it would mean sleepovers like…”

He trailed off, and she stifled a laugh at his discomfort. “Like Cade used to?”

“Yeah,” he said on a groan. “I tried to explain the difference. I told her you would be coming over more, and, yes, there might be sleepovers and, no, you wouldn’t be sleeping in her room.” He paused to grin as Billie laughed, then continued, “But everything I mentioned you already do with us, everything Cade did, aside from the sleepovers. Like going on our weekend outings or coming over for movie night. And you take Gigi for an overnight once or twice a month. So, none of it was helpful.”

He sounded frustrated with himself again, frustrated again about how much time he had let lapse by running from his feelings. Billie ran a hand down his bicep, a swift gesture of comfort. Then she pulled her hands back into her lap. She told herself not to ask, but she had to know.

“But she was excited, right?”

“Yes,” he said, firm. “Ecstatic.”

“Good,” Billie murmured, pleased.

“Did you expect different?” Conrad asked, tone teasing. He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “She did ask if I would kiss you like I did Cade.”

“She did?” Billie asked, surprised.

Conrad nodded. “I told her yes and asked if she wanted to talk about that. But then she asked about dinosaurs because they’re doing a unit in school. So, I thought she was fine.”

“Since then she’s been off, though?” she prompted.

“It started a couple of days later. She’s been complaining about a stomachache the last two days, wheedling to stay home from school.” He shook his head. “I let her yesterday, and she spent the whole day in bed, but I couldn’t find anything medically wrong with her. And she’s done this before when she was nervous about something. So, I thought sending her to school was the right thing to do, and she seemed fine when I left tonight.”

“What’s she nervous about?” Billie asked.

She wracked her brain, but they were in a quiet period in terms of Gigi’s afterschool activities. No holidays. No events. She was excited to start day camp when school let out for the summer, but that didn’t start for a couple of months, and her next belt wouldn’t be for at least four.

“I’m not sure,” Conrad said on a sigh. “I thought getting a night with Devon might be so exciting that it would shake her out of whatever this is. But it’s been two days, Billie. I don’t…”

He trailed off, and she heard everything that he wasn’t saying.

…know what to do.

…know if I did the right thing.

…know how to help her.

“You’re a great dad,” she reminded him. “Maybe she just needs some time to tell you what it is.”

He shook his head. “I think she tried, and I just didn’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last night at dinner, she talked a lot about Cade,” he said.

“Cade,” Billie repeated in surprise. She turned to stare out the windshield, brow furrowed. “I didn’t think she and Cade were close.”

“They weren’t,” Conrad said. “I’m not even just telling myself that. They weren’t close. They liked each other fine. But Gigi never asked for Cade to tuck her in or read her a book or anything like she does with you and Devon and AJ.”

All of which was the impression Billie had gotten of their relationship from Gigi herself. And she had always thought that was due in equal measures to Conrad shielding Gigi from his first relationship since Nic and Cade having trouble opening herself up to people.

“But Gigi’s asking for Cade now?”

None of this was making sense to Billie. And clearly not to Conrad if his frustrated tone was anything to go by.

“No, not really asking for her,” he said. “Gigi had a lot of questions about the breakup, and what it meant. Why weren’t we seeing Cade anymore? When were we going to see her again? That sort of thing.”

He stopped, gathering his thoughts, and Billie waited. She wished she could ease his frustration with himself, but all she could do for him was listen.

“I think she was trying to ask me something else, not about Cade at all, but it wasn’t making much sense,” he said, as though admitting a sin.

“Okay,” Billie said slowly. They were getting close to Conrad’s and running out of time. “How did you explain the breakup to her?”

He shifted restlessly as they stopped at a red light. “I told Gigi that Cade and I were going to be friends, but that Cade wouldn’t be around as much because we weren’t dating anymore. So, she wouldn’t be spending the night or going out with us anymore. And that it had nothing to do with Gigi, and that we both still cared about her. I tried to make the conversation about Cade and the conversation about you separate. I spaced them out over a few days. I don’t know if that helped.”

Billie’s brow was still furrowed. “It sounds like you handled it right,” she said.

Conrad blew out a breath. “Apparently not.”

The light turned green, and Conrad drove the last few blocks to the house in silence. Billie turned everything over in her mind, trying to find an explanation for Gigi’s anxiety, but she came up blank. She would have understood if Cade had meant a lot to Gigi, but she hadn’t. Could it just be the change? Kids didn’t do well with change, right?

As they stepped from the car, Conrad came around to her side, gently shutting her door. She grasped his jacket, pulling him close. Without prompting, he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, exhaling shakily into the night, hands cupping her shoulders.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about all of this?” Billie asked.

Conrad always talked to her about Gigi things and not just Gigi—everything, really, even Cade. She shoved down the hurt that he hadn’t this time. She could feel the tension vibrating through his body into hers. This hadn’t been about Billie; it had been about Conrad, and she needed to understand.

“I wanted tonight to be about us,” he said, voice gravelly and low.

Oh, she thought.

“Conrad, Gigi is part of us,” Billie said. She let go of his jacket and cupped her hands around his face, pulling him far enough away that they could see each other. “Nothing is ever going to change that. Always talk to me about Gigi.”

His eyes looked wet as she ran a gentle hand down his jaw to rest against his neck. Before she could tell for sure if it was just the moonlight playing tricks, he blinked and looked away.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

He shrugged, smiling at the driveway. “Loving us.”

“You really need to stop thanking me for that,” she said, injecting a little levity into the conversation. “You’re going to give me a complex. I’ll expect it daily with my cup of coffee.”

“God forbid,” he murmured.

Then he took a deep breath and stepped back. Her hands trailed from his cheek and neck, falling to her sides. But he held out his hand for hers milliseconds later, and she interlaced her fingers with his. She loved that he seemed to want to hold her hand as much as she wanted to hold his. She would take any excuse.

He gave her a wry smile. “Let’s go.”

When they stepped through the front door, Devon was slowly pacing the living room with Gigi cradled in his arms. Her face was buried in his neck, and Billie’s heart twisted.

Devon caught sight of them as he turned to begin pacing in the opposite direction, and his eyes lit up with relief. “Hey,” he said. “I think she’s out again.”

“Let’s put her back in bed,” Conrad said. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Devon said, brow furrowed with worry.

“Talk to me,” Conrad ordered, hot on Devon’s heels.

Billie followed behind Conrad, doing a deep breathing exercise to quell the pounding of her heart.

Conrad thinks it’s just nerves, she reminded herself.

But the sight of Gigi looking so small in Devon’s arms, her little face hidden from the world, was branded across Billie’s brain.

“She seemed fine when you left,” Devon said as they got to the top of the stairs. “We played with the telescope for a while, then got ready for bed. I tucked her in, read a book, but then she asked for another one. And I know you said only one, but—”

Conrad cut him off. “It’s okay. So, you read a second book.”

Devon settled Gigi on the bed, and the little girl rolled over into a fetal position. Billie felt the tension ratchet up in the room.

“We read four,” Devon said. “She tried for a fifth, but I told her it was too late, and she needed to close her eyes and try to sleep. I offered to stay with her, but that’s when she started saying that her stomach hurt. No fever. Pupils are fine. I palpated but didn’t feel anything off. I took her downstairs and gave her some ginger ale. But then she asked me to pick her up…” Devon stopped to swallow, arms crossing tightly over his chest.

“Like she used to,” Conrad finished for him.

Devon nodded. “So, I tried walking her like we did when she was a baby, and that seemed to work better than anything else. She had only been asleep for a few minutes by the time you got home.”

Billie had been watching Gigi’s face and saw the little girl’s eyes blink open. She was kneeling next to her before she consciously told herself to move.

“Hi sweetie,” Billie murmured to her. “Everything’s okay. You can go back to sleep.”

But Gigi was already sitting up, little face crumpled, arms held out to Billie. She slid next to Gigi and pulled the little girl into her lap, holding her close and making soothing noises as Gigi started to cry. Conrad came to sit next to Billie, and Devon hovered with an anxious face, clearly at a loss as to what his role was.

“Bubble, talk to me,” Conrad said, his voice a thousand times softer than when he had said the same to Devon.

To Billie’s utter shock, Gigi squirmed away from her father and cried harder as her arms squeezed around Billie’s neck. A deep hurt spasmed across Conrad’s face, and Billie wanted to reach out to him, but her hands and arms were full of Gigi, whose tears were so profound that Billie could feel the skin of her neck getting wet. Billie caught his gaze with hers instead, trying to send him love and strength through just that contact.

“Sweetie,” Billie murmured, rubbing a hand on Gigi’s back. “You have to talk to us. Is it your stomach?”

Gigi nodded, hiccupping against Billie’s neck.

“Can you sit up for me?” Billie asked. “We need to take a look at you.”

Gigi shook her head.

“You don’t want us to examine you?” Billie guessed.

Gigi stayed still against her.

“Okay,” Billie said. “We’re not going to do that, okay?”

Gigi’s arms loosened slightly.

“Do you want to talk to me about why you’re mad at your dad?” Billie asked gently.

She kept her eyes on Conrad’s face, and she saw the words hit him like a physical blow. But it was the only thing that made sense, and, knowing Gigi and how much she idolized Conrad, Billie could definitely see the unfamiliar feeling tying Gigi’s stomach in knots.

Billie felt Gigi shake her head, and Billie ran a soothing hand down Gigi’s hair. “I think you’d feel better if you talked about it.”

“I’m going to go downstairs,” Devon said. “I’ll give you guys a minute.”

Conrad stood and walked with Devon to the door. “You can go home,” Billie heard him say. “We’ve got it from here. Thank you for…”

Their voices trailed off as they got further down the stairs. Gigi let go of Billie’s neck, and the little girl sat back in Billie’s arms. Her face was streaked with tears, big eyes miserable.

“Baby,” Billie said, cupping Gigi’s cheek. “What’s going on?”

Gigi’s small fingers reached out to play with the ends of Billie’s hair. In the end, Billie had decided to leave it down, and it was damp from Gigi’s sobbing. But Gigi gently curled one lock around her tiny finger and held onto it.

“You and Daddy are dating?” Gigi asked.

They both knew it wasn’t a question. Conrad had explicitly told Gigi that he and Billie were together. Billie knew that she should have Conrad handle this conversation with his daughter. But Conrad was downstairs, and Gigi was asking her. So, Billie nodded slowly.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

Gigi’s face crumpled again, and Billie pulled her close. Heart shredded, Billie told herself Gigi was only five-going-on-six. She couldn’t possibly know how deeply she had just hurt Billie, and it wasn’t Gigi’s fault. But Billie just didn’t understand the reaction. Conrad had said Gigi was excited when he told her. Billie had thought Gigi adored her; she had thought they were each other’s favorites.

“Baby, if your dad and me dating bothers you this much—” Billie took a deep breath, swallowing down the words she wanted to offer. Then we won’t. I promise. Curious that her heart was still beating when it was dead in her chest. “Why don’t we talk about this with your dad?”

Billie caught the movement of a shadow and looked up as Conrad appeared in the doorway. She knew her face was a wreck, and she saw the fear on his, but she wasn’t sure how much he had overheard. And, so, when he started forward into the room, she shook her head at him.

Gigi was sobbing hard now, and her words were barely intelligible. “No…away…Cade…”

“What?” Billie whispered. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t hear that.”

Gigi pulled back again, with her hand still tight on the curl she had never let go of. “You’re mine,” she said, and the words were not only clear but fierce.

A very inappropriate flash of amusement swept through Billie, and she recognized it as giddy relief. She swallowed it down as she saw Conrad lean against the doorjamb out of the corner of her eye, something about his body loosening like a rope that had been stretched taut and then released.

“I am yours,” Billie assured her. “And I will always be yours, no matter what happens with your dad.”

Gigi’s face was still screwed up into a stubborn moue, but Billie saw something ease in the little girl, too, and the tears slowed. Her fingers worried the curl still tight in her grip.

“Cade went away,” Gigi said simply.

And, abruptly, it all made sense to Billie. Part of her brain wondered if this made it click for Conrad, too, but she was focused on Gigi and didn’t want to spare him a glance. They needed to have this conversation, and she didn’t want to clue the little girl into the fact that he was there since all of this seemed to be aimed at her father.

How in the world was she going to explain this to Gigi? How could she possibly explain the confidence she had in her relationship with Conrad? They still had never been on one complete date, and somehow Billie was one hundred percent sure that he was it for her. He and Gigi were Billie’s home. But even if he wasn’t, if—God forbid—he left her and decimated her heart, they would all still be okay.

Gigi has to come first. The words reverberated through Billie’s brain, and they weren’t hers. They were remembered from a long-ago conversation with Nic about how to do the hard things after Gigi was born.

Nic had licked her lips and continued, “Before me. Before Conrad. Honestly, sometimes I think I would shove him in front of a bus to save Gigi. Does that make me a bad person?”

And Billie had laughed and said, “Don’t worry. If someone needs to shove Conrad in front of a bus, I’ll do it for you. That’s just the kind of friend I am.”

“Oh my god,” Nic had said, but she had been laughing. “Just save Gigi, okay? If it’s a choice between me and the baby. Pick the baby.”

“Like you even have to tell me that,” Billie had said, genuinely offended.

Billie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, Nic’s face flashing through her mind with that reassuring smile—the one that always said I adore you, Billie Sutton, you maniac.

Taking a soothing breath, Billie did her best to save Gigi. For Nic, sure, of course. But mostly for Gigi because, well, Gigi was the best thing that had ever happened to Billie.

“Breakups are really hard, sweetie,” was how Billie began. “Sometimes, after a breakup, one of the people needs to… to not see the person they were dating. Because it hurts too much to see them and making that hurt a little less is all that matters. Grownups call it getting space.”

Gigi still wasn’t looking Billie in the eye, and Billie felt like she was floundering. But she steeled her spine and kept trying.

“Cade needs space right now. She cared about your dad and you,” she said, stressing those last words, “a lot. It’s hard for her that she and your dad aren’t dating anymore.” She hesitated before saying the next, sending a silent prayer out to the universe that she was right. “Cade and I are not the same.”

Gigi’s eyes flicked up to Billie’s and then back down to the curl.

Bingo, Billie thought.

“We’re family. You, me, and your dad. But you and I are different,” Billie said. “And I don’t think I can explain that to you. And I know you hate it when we tell you that you’ll understand when you’re older, but, baby, I didn’t get it until I was close to forty.”

Gigi rolled her eyes, but her lips were pulling into a little smile at the corners.

“I didn’t get it until I met you. Nothing in the universe could make me stay away from you,” Billie said. “If your dad decided to break up with me, that wouldn’t change. You and I will never change. I will never need space from you. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Forever and always.”

When Gigi wrapped her arms around Billie’s neck again, her body was loose, and her grip was easy. Billie knew they hadn’t solved the problem. One conversation wasn’t going to be enough, but it was a start. The rest would take time.

She cleared her throat. “Can you talk to your dad? He loves you so much, and he’s really worried about you.”

Gigi nodded and slid from Billie’s lap to sit cross-legged on her unicorn sheets. Billie pressed a kiss to Gigi’s hair and whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Gigi said.

She stood, smoothing the skirt of her dress out of habit, and met Conrad’s gaze. As Conrad stepped past her, his eyes looked bruised. He paused as if he wanted to say something to her, but she tilted her head towards Gigi.

“Later,” she murmured and stepped into the hallway.

Conrad and Gigi didn’t say much. Gigi was too sleepy. And Billie couldn’t see what was happening around the door that she had pulled halfway shut, but she imagined they did a lot of cuddling.

She was leaning on the wall outside Gigi’s room, hands braced behind the small of her back, when Conrad stepped out and eased the door shut behind him. She tilted her head to the side and studied his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, beating her to the punch.

“Not really,” she said, knowing her smile was wan. “But I feel better knowing what’s wrong. You?”

His face collapsed. “I really messed this up. With Gigi.”

“No, you didn’t,” Billie said.

“With Cade,” he continued. “With you.”

“No,” Billie said again. “You didn’t.”

He stared at her. “How can you say that?” he murmured. “We could have… If I hadn’t been running from this, then I never would have dated Cade—”

“You don’t know that,” she interrupted him. “I can’t speak for Cade. But I can speak for me, and I feel like I can speak for Gigi. We’re going to be fine, Conrad. It’s just going to take some time.”

“But—”

She gathered both of his hands in hers. “The choice you made when you started to date Cade was what you needed at the time. A casual relationship with someone you were attracted to and liked as a person, with the potential for more. Someone you could build a future with, one step at a time.”

“Back up. You think I still would have chosen Cade if I had known how you felt about me?” he asked, studying her.

“I don’t know,” Billie said, shrugging one shoulder.

“Well, I do. And I would not have.”

“Okay,” she said. “But maybe that would have been a mistake.”

He stared at her, mouth working.

“We,” she said, stressing the word, “are full of stakes. We have so much to lose here. There was no way to make us casual or ease into something real over time. We were going to be serious from day one. That’s just how it is. Maybe you weren’t ready for that.”

He started to speak again, and she cupped his cheek to still him.

“If so,” she said, “that is completely understandable. Did I like it? No. Did it hurt me? Yes. Did it make me unreasonably angry at the time? Hell yeah. But do I hold it against you? Absolutely not.”

Annoyance flashed across his face. “We’re going to argue about this later,” he said, stubborn. “Because I definitely would have chosen you, and I’ve been thinking about it for a few days now, and I’m slightly pissed that you didn’t tell me how you felt.”

She sighed quietly. “Okay, we can argue about that tomorrow night.”

“Saturday,” he muttered. “You have three surgeries tomorrow.”

But he had never let go of her hand, and he was absently playing with her fingers in his. And she was so far gone on him that the fact he was scheduling an argument with her—with thoughtful consideration for her stress level, no less—made her want to rise on her tiptoes and seal her mouth to his. But they weren’t done with this discussion.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “My point is that we’ll never know what would have happened. We only know what did happen, and where we are now. Thinking through what ifs and if onlys will never help us. Remember?”

She saw the moment he remembered their conversation from four years earlier.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Billie had said.

Conrad’s beard had been soaked with tears. Her arms had been wrapped around him, trying to hold all the broken pieces of him together as he wept. Both of his hands had been pressed to his mouth so that Gigi wouldn’t hear from her crib upstairs.

Billie had been on a date—half-heartedly going through the motions of trying to reenter normal life—when Conrad had called. Gigi had taken her first steps. And Nic hadn’t been there to see it.

Billie had barely explained the situation to poor Dave—a setup that Kit had only convinced Billie to accept by assuring her Dave wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship, just someone to take around while he got to know Atlanta. But making polite conversation without talking about the defining moment of her life—losing Nic—had been exhausting, and Billie had quickly realized she hadn’t been ready. She had driven like a bat out of hell to Conrad’s house and had found him an absolute mess on the floor.

He had sputtered out what Nic would have done, what Nic would have given to see Gigi’s first steps. He had talked about the things they would have been doing—he and Nic—if she had been there. He had outlined all the ways they would have celebrated, the next steps, what Nic would have thought and said and done. And Billie had wrapped her arms around him, trying to fill the holes she could feel in both of them, despite knowing it was an impossible task.

She had waited until the tears stopped to say it. And Conrad had barely even looked at her.

“Doing what?” he had asked, hoarse from the crying jag.

“Wondering what could have been,” she had whispered back. “Nic isn’t here, and I hate that. Torturing ourselves with the what ifs and if onlys is—”

“I can’t just stop thinking about her, Billie,” he had snapped, pulling away from her entirely.

“I know that,” she had snapped back. “I never said that, Conrad. But what if Gigi came downstairs right now, or heard you crying?”

He had looked away from her, stubborn and angry and silent.

“You want to be mad at me?” Billie had snarled at him, trying to keep her voice at whisper level. “That’s fine. Be mad. I can take it, Hawkins. Yell at me. Call me names. I’m still not going anywhere. I loved her, too, and I will never stop missing her. But we have to stop torturing ourselves. She isn’t here, Conrad. We have to live with that and find a way to move forward. Find a way to remember her and honor her that doesn’t leave us paralyzed.”

His throat had worked.

“For Gigi,” Billie had added. “If not for yourself. Gigi has to come first.”

“I know,” he had snapped, but some of the heat was gone from his voice.

Billie had taken a chance and reached out to grasp his wrist. She had kept her grip strong, a reminder that he could lean on her, and not too soft because she had thought he might shake her off if she tried that. He hadn’t moved, letting her touch him.

“You’re doing great,” she had said. “Nic would be so proud of you and the father you’ve become. But you are all Gigi’s got, and she has to come first."

At that, his head had fallen back against the wall with an audible clunk. Billie had forced herself not to wince in response, telling her neuro-self to shut it. But then he had nodded his head.

“No more what ifs,” he had agreed.

They had both known she was making it sound too easy. And Billie had known he was only agreeing to try. But agreeing had been enough. Trying had been enough. And, together, they had muddled through.

Standing outside of Gigi’s door, five years hovered around them. All of the rough moments that Billie and Conrad had muddled through together had shaped them into the two people standing there staring at each other, able to show each other their raw, unfiltered selves. Their history had grown like a living thing between them, each hard decision and uncomfortable conversation and touch of solace and piece of advice and kick in the ass had become a vine that entwined around them, through them, pulling them tighter and closer until Billie had no longer been sure where her world began and where Conrad’s ended.

Finally, Conrad nodded his head, just as stubborn and reluctant to concede as he had been four years prior. Her hand slid from his cheek down to rest against his chest. His heart thudded under her palm as they stared at each other.

“Where did you come from?” he whispered. He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

Her eyebrows knit together. “You’ve asked me that before,” she murmured back to him.

“Have I?” But he didn’t really seem to be paying attention. “I’m really sorry we had to cut our date short.”

She blinked at him. “Who said it was over? What, because we changed venues? You’re not getting off that easy, Hawkins.”

He didn’t laugh, like she was expecting. Didn’t even smile. But he did lean forward.

He moved so incrementally that, at first, she didn’t think he was moving at all. Then he braced a hand on the wall next to her head, and she realized he was easing into her body and closing the gap between them. Sweet anticipation spun through her chest, gathering up like cotton candy.

His second kiss was as slow as the first had been. She was better prepared this time, though, for the dueling waves of tenderness and heat that swamped her body.

His lips were soft, barely a whisper, brushing against hers once, twice, a third time. Then he settled in and pushed closer, mouth opening over hers. He still tasted like the mint leaves from Le Ciel.

Time seemed to stretch and lengthen as his lips moved against hers. Billie wasn’t sure she had ever been this happy. She had yearned for this with an acute ache for so long—the feeling of Conrad against her, of him wanting to be in her arms—that a part of her honestly couldn’t believe it was really, truly happening. But here he was holding her with soft hands, lips languid against hers—half comfort and half desire.

She felt a lump rising in her throat, and he seemed to sense that she needed a moment. Maybe her lips had started to tremble. He eased his mouth away, trailing soft kisses across her cheek. Her head slowly tilted to the side of its own volition, and Conrad followed the silent directive with more gentle kisses.

As his lips brushed down her neck, she let out an involuntary hum of pleasure that made his hand clench at her waist and pull her closer to him. She realized then that he wasn’t quite as relaxed and languid as she had thought. His control was on a tight leash.

But the sound had also reminded Billie that they were standing mere feet outside his daughter’s bedroom.

“Conrad,” she whispered. “Gigi.”

He pulled his mouth away from her skin but rested his forehead in the curve of her shoulder on a groan. “Right.”

The feeling of his fingers still clenched at her waist made her bold. “Change venues again?” she asked.

“God yes,” he muttered, and she stifled a giggle.

But as they both turned to put distance between themselves and Gigi’s door, they found the darkened doorway to Conrad’s bedroom staring back at them. Billie froze, immediately going rigid.

Conrad settled a hand in the curve of her lower back, radiating calm and soothing energy. “Not tonight,” he said.

Every muscle relaxed in Billie’s body. “Not tonight.”

“We go slow,” he said, using the hand on the small of her back to urge her body closer again.

A wide, brilliant, happy smile spread across her face as she rested both hands against his chest. “Slow,” she agreed.

Conrad smiled back, and they stood there in the hallway, simply smiling at each other for a long time. Heat simmered in his eyes, but the lines of his face were easy. She wondered what he saw in hers.

“Making out is slow,” Conrad said.

“True,” Billie said. She considered and then said, “As long as no clothes come off, that’s slow, right?”

Conrad paused, as if thinking this over, and he said, “I think there need to be hard lines, though. Tonight, first base. No further.”

“We just did that,” Billie said, pointing towards where he’d had her pressed against the wall.

“But I don’t think we’re ready for second,” he said.

“Really?” she asked, genuinely surprised. Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Not ready, or too ready?”

He didn’t respond to that but took a deliberate step backward. “Why don’t we get a snack? That octopus thing was not very filling.”

“Yes, please,” she said. “Though, honestly, if all the courses were that size, we would have been in serious trouble even if we hadn’t been called away. Thank goodness we stuck to water.”

“I thought you loved places like that,” Conrad said, as he followed her down the stairs. “You donate to the ballet. You took Gigi to the opera gala last year. James took you to that experimental menu…thing.”

“Pop up,” she supplied, surprised he remembered that.

She glanced at Conrad as they moved into the kitchen. It had never occurred to her that he might be comparing them with her and James. But his face was calm—serene really—and she couldn’t discern a clue to his thoughts.

“Every once in a while, it’s nice to get dressed up and do something different,” she said, partly agreeing with him.

He nodded, back to her as he opened the fridge. She watched his muscles move under his button-up as he pushed things around inside, then let her eyes glance down at the grey trousers and dress shoes. He had looked almost foreign to her when she opened the door earlier that evening, so out of character.

It had been bugging her all night—until the distraction of Gigi’s crisis—that he had taken her to Le Ciel of all places. Why? Conrad was Waylon’s, through and through. He was shots of whiskey and always in motion. She had assumed there would be some sort of activity followed by a burger, with Conrad dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt. Instead, she had gotten Ultimate Romance Ken Doll on her porch, and now he was mentioning James and saying he thought she liked—

And it clicked into place for Billie.

Billie would have happily gone axe-throwing because Conrad would have enjoyed axe-throwing. She would have been terrible at it, fighting the nagging urge to remind him that beer and sharp weapons should never be paired, but she would have loved it because he would have been happy. And Conrad had happily pulled the few strings he had at his disposal to get a reservation at the nicest restaurant in the city because he thought she would enjoy it, even if it was entirely outside of his comfort zone.

She reached out and snagged the waistband of his pants as he passed her. He glanced down at her hand with clear surprise but tossed the bag of bread he was holding on the counter and crowded into her personal space. He settled a hand on the counter on either side of her body, caging her in with his full attention locked on her. Exactly how she liked it.

“If I had to pick the perfect date,” she said, palms finding his waist. “I’d pick you in jeans and a Henley any day.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, though he looked pleased anyway. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, suddenly remembering to be embarrassed. “Shut up and kiss me.”