#conradbillie

“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.