Page 58 of Lotus

His playful smile sparks my own as I envision Gabe taking on the father figure role—a concept that is equally frightening and adorable. “I love you, but you’re not wrong. Poppy already has to deal with me and my instability.”

“Exactly. So, picturetwoof you shaping that kid’s future.”

We share a laugh.

Frightening, indeed.

Clem texted me early this morning, assuring me that Poppy was fine. My niece suffered a mild concussion, but her cat scan showed no serious trauma or any potential worries. She was already feeling better by sunrise,thank God.

I don’t know how parents do it—the constant worry, the late-night ER visits, the fevers that could be the common cold or a brain-eating infectious disease. I panic when Alexis sneezes.

Our plates are finally brought over, each adorned with enchiladas smothered in ranchero sauce. Gabe gets chicken, I get beef. Taking a bite, I address him with a mouthful of food like the classy lady I am. “How’s Oliver doing?”

Gabe sips his water through a red straw, eyes flickering from me to the dancing ice cubes in his glass. He responds with a shoulder shrug. “Fine, I guess. He nailed down that library position, so he’s pretty psyched about it.” He slurps more water, then pauses. “Well, as psyched as Oliver gets. He said something along the lines of,‘This is very desirable news’.”

A giggle slips out before my smile falls.

He didn’t tell me he got the job.

It’s been a week since I’ve spent any quality time with Oliver, and I can’t lie—it’s killing me. We haven’t exactly been avoiding each other, considering he’s regularly outside watching the birds or going for runs, and I can often be found tending to the yard in my free time. There have been quick conversations, warm waves, genuine smiles.

Casual. Easy. Carefree.

Yesterday, he caught me gawking at him as he jogged down our tree-lined street, sweating through his heather gray tank top, his muscles flexing gloriously as each foot pounded the pavement. When he spotted me perched between my bushes, he threw me an amiable wave, despite the fact that I was watching him like a Peeping Tom.

I waved back with the hedge shears, also looking like a serial killer.

It’s a miracle I’ve ever had sex.

Gabe mixes his rice and beans together, shooting me a curious glance. “You went to a place. Anywhere I want to be?”

“Doubtful,” I huff, deflating against the table on my crossed arms. “Why didn’t Oliver tell me about the library position?”

“How would I know? He’s not really big on small talk.” Gabe swallows a bite of food, then sets his fork down on his plate with a clatter. “Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“More like… a battle.”

A frown settles between his eyes. “Of wills?”

“Of tongues.”

“Jesus Christ, Sydney…”

“What?” I counter, my defenses flaring as I throw my hands up. “He asked me to teach him how to kiss. He promised it wouldn’t be weird. And now it’s weird.”

“Ya think?”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand…”

Gabe pinches the bridge of his nose with a shake of his head. “Oliver is super vulnerable right now. He’s impressionable. He’s like a damn kid.”

“He isnota kid.”

“I’m referring to the way his brain works. He was locked away in a cement hole for twenty-two fucking years, Syd. He doesn’t need your tongue complicating shit for him when he’s trying to get on his feet.”

My neck cranes backwards, offended and a little bit outraged. “First of all…”

Gabe groans, his eyes rolling up when I whip out the finger list.

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