Page 80 of Can't Always Get What You Want

That sounds like a bit much.

“At the screen, yes,” she says, laughing. “Full-on ranting. Dropping f-bombs like it was her job. She didn’t know I was his sister, obviously. I just stood there holding my veggie burger while she destroyed his whole soul in front of everyone.”

I’m laughing now too, imagining it. “And you introduced them after that?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She sets the napkin down, leaning in like it’s a confidential mission debrief. “Once I realized she was funny as hell and not, like, an actual stalker, I mentioned her to him and?—”

“Let me guess—he took is as a challenge?”

“Exactly.” She grins. “Next thing I know, he’s ‘accidentally’ grabbing takeout from the same place three nights in a row. Then she finally called him out on it and they started talking. Fast-forward a year, and now I’m officially Auntie Nova.”

“You’re gonna be the cool aunt.”

“Iamthe cool aunt,” she corrects. “I’ve already bought three tiny onesies, one of which says ‘My Auntie is Cooler Than Your Mom.’”

I smile at her, something warm blooming in my chest as I watch the pride in her eyes. She’s radiant when she talks about them—like she’s carved out a space in this world where she belongs, where she’s needed, where she gets tobesomething more than the girl who hides her feelings behind sarcasm.

“What about kids of your own?” I blurt out.

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nova

“What about kids of your own?”

The question hits harder than I expect—sudden, direct, like a pebble chucked into still water.

My fork pauses halfway to my mouth.

I blink. Slowly lower the fork back to my plate. My chest does this weird stuttery thing, like my heart missed a step on the stairs.

I glance up, and Luca’s already got that look—regret, maybe, or embarrassment. His eyes flicker like he wants to take it back. I don’t want him to.

We should have real talks, yeah?

“I do.” I swallow, voice smaller than I expect. “Of course I’ve thought about it to the point where if it doesn’t happen with a partner I could still do it. I’ve imagined raising a baby on my own.”

His brows lift slightly. “Really?”

I nod. “I know it sounds insane, but I love the idea of having someone small to love. Someone to raise into a good human. I think I’d be a good mom.”

Luca shifts a little, his hand brushing against mine on the counter. “I don’t think that sounds crazy at all.”

My eyes lift to his.

“I think it sounds brave,” he says. “And kind of badass.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “You’d say that even if I told you I wanted to raise a child in a yurt in Montana.”

“Would you let me help build the yurt?” he asks, deadly serious.

I snort. “As if I would live in one.”

Be serious.

We fall into silence again, but it’s a good silence—the kind that doesn’t feel like pressure or the need to fill space with noise. The kind of silence that lets you breathe a little deeper, like your body finally got the memo that you’re safe.

“I meant what I said. About wanting to be a mom. I think I’d be really protective. Maybe even kind of intense.”

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