Page 69 of Weather Girl

I clench my fist around my bag so hard, the sequins start stabbing my skin. This is going to be bad. All the toxicity Torrance talked about—if anyone could draw it out, it’s got to be another man, even if it’s one Torrance only went on a couple casual dates with.

But Seth flashes him a good-natured grin. “Torrance giving away our secrets?”

“It was too great not to share,” she says. “The glockenspiel player is pretty spectacular, right?”

Ryan nods his agreement while I reassess everything I have ever known about music. Then he gives them a salute. “You two have a great night.”

When he leaves, I wait for someone to yell. For fists to fly.

“So you can definitely do better than me,” Seth says, but there’s no edge to his voice. In fact, he’s still smiling.

Torrance relaxes instantly. “I mean, I tried. But you make it so hard to stay away.”

He slings an arm around her again, pulling her close, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

What... is happening?

Beneath the table, Russell’s hand finds my knee, thumb rubbing a soft circle. Maybe it’s reassurance that this is really happening. That maybe we really are done meddling.

“We should do this more often,” Torrance says, reaching for an olive on the too-pricey appetizer plate she and Seth ordered. By my calculation, each of those olives cost $2.50. “It’s been a while since we’ve been out with anyone from work.”

Seth gestures between Russell and me, and I try to push away all my Hale-induced shock. “How long have the two of you been a thing?”

“About three weeks, I guess?” I say, looking to Russell for confirmation. He nods. We haven’t talked about making this official, but I want to believe we’re heading that direction.

“I’ve gotten to know Ari a little better lately,” Torrance says. “But I’m afraid you remain something of a mystery, Russell.”

“And your daughter.” Seth spears an olive with a tiny appetizer fork. “Have you two met?”

“I sort of accidentally babysat her last week,” I say, hoping Russell’s okay with me mentioning this. “We were supposed to only do dinner, but we wound up spending the whole evening running lines for a musical she’s in.”

“Mixed families can be a lot of fun,” Seth says. “Both my parents remarried, and I have... fifteen siblings now.” He squints, as though mentally counting, needing to make sure he gets the number right.

“Sometimes just one is a lot for me,” I say with a laugh.

It’s only when Russell removes his hand from my knee that I realize he’s been quiet during this entire exchange.

“You two do make a great couple.” Torrance lifts her eyebrows in this suggestive way. “And if Ari and Elodie get along...”

A muscle in Russell’s jaw twitches. The Hales are pushing a little too hard, and I’m not sure how to politely tell them to back off.

“This is still very new,” Russell says, more to his glass of champagne than to any of us. He puts a half inch of space between us in the booth. It’s slight, but it’s enough to notice. “And... I’m not exactly in the market for a stepmom for my kid.”

The sentence hits like a one-in-a-million bolt of lightning, straight to my chest.

I’m not exactly in the market for a stepmom.

Suddenly, I feel very, very small.

Seth launches into a story about his last family reunion, but I can’t bring myself to do anything but smile and nod as the club around me blurs.

I think about the Russell I’ve gotten to know over the past few months. The man who got me vending machine junk food and watched a solar eclipse while holding his breath. He’s protective of his kid, and I can’t blame him for that, especially knowing his history. But if I’m being honest—and selfish, because god do I feel selfish for obsessing over it—my brain won’t let it go.

It’s not a role I’m actively seeking out, so I can’t understand why it feels like I’ve taken a fist to the stomach.

It invades the most vulnerable parts of my mind the rest of the night, when we’re dancing and when we’re saying goodbye to the Hales and later, too, when Russell comes back to my apartment and we’re too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Even then, I lie awake, wondering if this means he thinks I’d be a bad mother. If he somehow knows my history.

If he’s already decided we’re not meant to last.

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