PART 3:

She likes you, Lena observed. The feeling is mutual. Evan settled Maya against his chest, and she immediately put her thumb in her mouth, resting her head on his shoulder. Oh, are we doing nap time? Okay, I can work with that. With You don’t have to hold her. She can sit in her chair. Lena. Evan’s voice was gentle. It’s fine. I’ve got her.

And he did. He had her settled perfectly, one hand supporting her back, the other free to drink his coffee. He looked completely natural, completely at ease. Lena felt her carefully constructed walls cracking, and it terrified her. Tell me about your work, Evan said. What kind of design do you do? Mostly branding for small businesses, logos, marketing materials, website design.

I like helping people figure out their visual identity, what they want to say about themselves before they say a single word. Lena warmed to the subject despite herself. It’s like translation work in a way. Taking the feeling of a business and turning it into something visible. That’s fascinating.

Do you have a favorite project you’ve worked on? There’s a women’s shelter downtown. I did all their materials pro bono brochures, their website, signage. The director wanted everything to feel hopeful without being saccharine, strong without being harsh. It took months to get it right, but when women walk into that space now, they know immediately that they’re safe. Lena’s voice caught.

That one mattered. I can tell. Evan shifted slightly, careful not to wake Maya, who was now fully asleep against him. It’s amazing what you do. Creating safety through design. It’s amazing what you do. shaping young minds, helping kids believe in themselves. Lena smiled. We’re both in the business of building futures, I guess.

I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. Evan paused. Can I ask you something personal? Lena tensed. Here it came. The question about Maya’s father, about whether there was an ex in the picture, about all the messy details she never wanted to explain. You can ask, “Why did you move to Seattle?” Sarah said you needed a fresh start, but he seemed to choose his words carefully.

“You don’t have to answer if it’s too much. I’m just trying to understand your story.” “My sister died,” Lena said simply. The words still felt like swallowing glass. Even after 2 years, she lived here, and after she was gone, Portland felt haunted. Everywhere I went, I saw memories of her. I needed to be somewhere new, somewhere that wasn’t soaked in grief.

I’m so sorry, Evan said, and his eyes held genuine compassion. Were you close? Very. She was my best friend, my person. Losing her. Lena looked down at her tea. It broke something in me that I don’t think will ever fully heal. No, Evan agreed quietly. It won’t, but you learn to carry it differently. The grief becomes part of you instead of all of you.

Exactly. Lena met his eyes again, and something passed between them. Recognition, understanding, the kinship of people who’d survived loss and learned to keep breathing. Anyway, Maya stirred in Evan’s arms, making small sleeping sounds. He adjusted his hold automatically, rocking her gently. “You’re really good with her,” Lena said. “I’ve had practice.

Sophie went through a phase where she’d only sleep if someone was holding her and walking in circles. I logged about a thousand miles around my living room.” He smiled at the memory. My Apple Watch thought I was training for a marathon. Lena laughed. Maya did the same thing. I used to walk her around my apartment for hours.

My downstairs neighbor complained about the footsteps. Did you tell them you had a tiny dictator who would scream if you stopped moving? I did actually. She brought me earplugs and coffee the next day. Turns out she had three kids of her own. The veterans always understand, Evan said. It’s the people without kids who think you’re just doing it wrong.

Oh, I’ve gotten so much unsolicited advice. Just let her cry it out. You’re creating bad habits. Children need schedules. Lena rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, Maya and I are just trying to survive each day without anyone crying in public. Public crying is unavoidable, Evan said. Seriously. Sophie had a complete meltdown in the cereal aisle last week because they were out of the specific brand she wanted.

People were looking at me like I was torturing her. What did you do? Bought five boxes of a different brand, let her cry, and then we went home and ate ice cream for dinner. He shrugged. Some battles aren’t worth fighting. You’re my hero, Lena said, meaning it. They talked for another hour, the conversation flowing easily from parenting disasters to favorite books to whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Evan was firmly pro.

Lena was diplomatically neutral. The cafe filled and emptied around them. Rain continued to fall outside, turning the windows into watercolor paintings. Maya woke up eventually, groggy and clingy. Lena expected her to cry for Mama to reject Evan now that she was more aware. Instead, she blinked up at him, touched his face with her small hand, and said, “Nice.

” Evan’s eyes went suspiciously bright. “You’re pretty nice, too, kiddo.” “I should probably get her home,” Lena said reluctantly. It’s almost her real nap time, and if she doesn’t sleep soon, this evening is going to be rough. I understand. Evan stood carefully, passing Maya back to Lena. The little girl went without protest, but she kept the elephant clutched in her fist.

👉 [Tap here for the Next Part ] 👈