Page 62 of Wait For You

“Where is—” Blake began just as Kenan and Quinn walked in with Wyatt and Griffin behind them.

I glanced among the Cannon siblings, rolling my eyes slightly. “There’s no shortage of you all,” I quipped.

As if on cue, Fiona and Rosie came walking in. Rosie was clearly on the way to work, wearing a pair of hot-pink nursing scrubs while Fiona had her apron on.

Blake glanced over and burst out laughing. “Babe, you forgot to take your apron off. You better be careful, or —”

Phyllis cut in from behind the counter. “We could use you for some help with the baking.”

Fiona smiled as she untied her apron. “I went in early this morning. We have an event tonight, but I wanted to get things prepped to be baked later. For what it’s worth, I’m going back as soon as I get some coffee.”

My heart felt warm. I was still marveling at the sense of relief and peace I felt. Rich was awaiting his trial in jail. Despite his father’s attempt to get him out on bail, the court had denied it. I couldn’t help but experience a little flare of satisfaction when I was present in court when the judge refused to grant bail due to the severity of his charges. Rich’s charges were even more severe since he committed them with a firearm.

Colin had filed for me to have full custody without any visitation rights the day after the whole fiasco. He’d already sent over a proposal to Rich’s attorney for him to relinquish his rights. Colin had assured me that if I felt like Rich was safe in the future, I could support visits with Eric, but this would prevent him from being able to take me back to court again and again as he’d been doing.

In a surprise, at least for me, Barb had left Rich’s father. We’d had a few tentative lunches together. While she loved her son dearly, his actions had shocked and frightened her. Even though she had yet to be open about it, I suspected the trauma she experienced being with her husband for so long would take her some time to get over. She was very reticent to speak of it, but she seemed genuinely remorseful for not supporting me when I left before.

Adam squeezed my hip lightly where his palm rested on it. I glanced up. All it took was a subtle touch from him, and I went all gooey inside. Sweet hell. I loved this man, and there’d been a time I didn’t even think love was a possibility.

“Tessa?” he prompted in his clear, low voice.

“What?”

“Do you want to sit down?” A slight smile teased at the corners of his mouth.

I got that warm and tingly feeling in my belly. That feeling was specifically connected to Adam.

“Yes, please,” I finally said.

Rosie had stopped beside us, and she glanced from me to Adam and back again. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you were tipsy. You look loopy.”

“She’s in lo-o-o-ve,” Haven teased.

I smiled among my friends, feeling happier than I could’ve imagined. It was hard to consider I’d be this happy simply getting coffee. I recalled the way I used to feel back when I was still married to Rich. I was constantly alert and anxious when I was out in public, always worried somebody might notice something was wrong. Even when I was alone, I’d kept my guard up.

Now, I just wanted to hug all my friends and shout out my joy to the universe. Which, given the recent events, maybe seemed too much, but traumatic events tended to bring things into sharp focus.

On the heels of a shaky breath, I smiled back at Rosie. “I’m not tipsy, but I just feel good.”

My friend’s gaze sobered. “You deserve it.”

Adam’s palm shifted to the center of my lower back, coaxing me toward a table. Over the next hour or so, we chatted and had coffee. It was one of the best mornings I’d ever had.

Chapter Forty-One

Adam

Six months later

* * *

I held up the baseball glove. “One more!” I called to Eric, who stood across from me in our backyard.

He lifted his arm and threw the ball with all of his might, socking it straight to me. I caught it. “Good throw!”

Eric had settled in well. There was no doubt he carried some anxiety and trauma from what had happened with his dad. It wasn’t specifically that last night because he hadn’t known what was really happening until the last few minutes. But the first five years of his life had been spent with the overbearing and abusive presence of his father, and that had shaped him. He wanted approval from adults fiercely. He was almost too well-behaved.

I approached him and saw that flicker of hesitation and worry in his gaze. “You throw better than me.”