Page 75 of Truly Madly Magically

Right here.

Sitting at my kitchen table like it’s his. A mug in his hand—my mug, filled with what I can smell is one of my tea blends when I know he prefers coffee. A book is in his other hand. My book. Well, the book Georgie gave me that I put with the small amount of baby things I’ve accumulated so far.

Zander looks up at me and smiles, happy and friendly enough to make my heart hurt. “Morning. Didn’t know you were into fairy tales.”

I can’t seem to find my normal...anything. I can’t seem to find me. I stand there and gape at him.

Until he drops the book on the table and raises his eyebrows. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I manage to say then, belting my robe tighter. Because it’s that or start saying inadvisable things like, you’re here.

Or allowing myself to feel a swell of relief so big it threatens to take my knees out.

I tell myself that what I need is alone time. And food.

As if he can read my mind in addition to taking up space in it, Zander murmurs a few words, and a big plate of breakfast appears at the empty seat at the small, cozy table. He nods toward it. “I tried to wait, but I already ate.”

I drift toward the table as if pulled by some invisible force that I’m afraid is all me. Then, before I can sit down on the empty chair, he pulls me into his lap. He presses his face into my neck, and I melt against him and—

No, no, no. We’ve got to set some boundaries. Boundaries kept us going for ten years. Now we need some that will keep us going for a lifetime. Because ascension and the Riverwood and this baby girl mean there’s a lifetime of us, so we need to plan for it.

For her sake, I tell myself.

I force myself to get up because a world without those boundaries ends the way it did ten years ago, and I already did that.

I don’t need to be crushed like that again.

And for the first time in a long, long time, I let myself think that, actually, I don’t like hurting him either.

I take too much time retying the belt of my robe, and I give it way too much attention too. “We need to make some ground rules here.”

Zander says nothing. He doesn’t nod or shake his head. He sits there, kicked back in my chair at my table, watching me. Just watching me, which is weird enough.

What’s weirder is that I can’t read his expression at all.

I choose to keep right on talking, the classic response to weirdness of any kind. “You know, there’s the whole coparenting thing. The whole we really ought to get along thing, so we don’t screw her up.” I point at my stomach in case he’s confused by what her I mean. “Don’t you think us without ground rules is a disaster waiting to happen?”

“Why don’t you eat something,” he suggests. With a smile.

What he does not do is react to the statement I dressed up like a question so we wouldn’t have to analyze if there’s any truth in it.

This, too, is weird.

But he doesn’t look like he’s planning to do anything but sit there and wait. And I am hungry. So I sit in my own chair this time. I start to eat, and my entire body rejoices at the first bite. As I shovel in more, I try to order my thoughts. “A lot has transpired in a short period of time. Don’t you think we need to slow it down and think it through?”

I stop eating the pancakes only to stab at the eggs. When I look at him, his expression is still unreadable. I can’t think of anything less Zander.

I’ll admit I expected a hint of temper on his face, even if he tries to hide it. An actual argument—our happy place—but there’s nothing.

Just this ridiculously gorgeous man sitting across from me like this is the domestic bliss we gave up on years ago, and I don’t like the shuddering thing that seems to start inside me and fan out everywhere. I restrain it—I hope.

I try not to scowl at him. “Last night was great, but it can hardly be a...usual thing, right? We know where that leads.”

“Do we?” he murmurs. Not antagonistic. Not edgy.

If I didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d say he sounds almost innocent.

It’s too much, and we know how badly we handle too much, I tell him in his head, so there’s no escaping what I’m saying. Or maybe so I don’t have to worry if I’m speaking the truth. I want to be able to be friends with you, Zander. To raise our daughter without wanting to curse you. I think that requires a certain level of...emotional distance.

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