Page 82 of No Greater Love
After he left—with another kiss that made me consider calling in sick myself—I finished my angry cleaning and tried to prepare myself for Thursday.
Sarah thought she was dealing with the same Nate she'd left eleven years ago. Overwhelmed, alone, grateful for any scrap of help or approval.
She was about to learn how much had changed.
Because Nate wasn't alone anymore. He had me, and I'd learned to fight dirty from the best of them.
Game on, Sarah. Game on.
twenty-eight
nate
The coffee shopon Broad Street was deliberately neutral… not somewhere I'd been with Tasha, not anywhere that held memories. Just a generic space with exposed brick walls and the aggressive smell of espresso. I'd arrived fifteen minutes early, partly out of military habit and partly because I needed time to steady myself.
Tasha sat beside me, her hand resting on my thigh under the table. Not possessive, just... present. A reminder that I wasn't doing this alone.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
"Define okay."
"Fair point." She squeezed my leg gently. "Remember, we're just listening today. No commitments."
I nodded, but we both knew it was much more complicated than that.
The door chimed, and there she was.
Sarah looked... different. Not dramatically so, but in a thousand small ways that added up to someone I barely recognized. Her hair was shorter, styled in a way that probably cost more than our monthly grocery budget. Designer jeans, soft cashmere sweater, subtle jewelry that whispered money. She'd gained maybe twenty pounds, but it suited her. She looked healthy, settled. Successful.
She spotted us immediately, and something flickered across her face when she saw Tasha. Just for a second, then it was replaced by a careful smile.
"Nate." She approached our table with studied casualness. "Thank you for meeting me."
"Sarah." I stood—automatic courtesy drilled in by years of military service—but didn't offer my hand. "This is Tasha Williams."
"Of course." Sarah's smile never wavered as she extended her hand to Tasha. "I've heard wonderful things."
Tasha shook her hand briefly, professionally. "I'm sure you have."
If Sarah caught the edge in Tasha's voice, she didn't show it. She settled into the chair across from us, movements careful and deliberate. Everything about her seemed rehearsed.
"Can I get you something?" I asked, defaulting to politeness.
"Just water, thanks. I've already had too much caffeine today." She laughed, light and self-deprecating. "Nervous energy."
I went to the counter, grateful for the brief escape. When I returned with her water, Sarah was studying Tasha with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"So," Sarah said, wrapping her hands around the glass. "I imagine you have questions."
"Just one," Tasha said evenly. "Why now?"
Sarah's eyes flicked to me, then back to Tasha. "Because I'm finally in a place where I can be the mother Paige deserves. I know that might be hard to believe?—"
"You're right," Tasha cut in. "It is hard to believe."
"Tasha." My voice carried a gentle warning, but Sarah held up a hand.
"No, it's okay. She's protective of you both. I respect that." Sarah took a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice had a vulnerable quality that seemed almost genuine. "I was working at a coffee shop, taking random community college classes with no direction. I was drowning, and I knew--Iknew--I was going to damage that beautiful little girl if I stayed."
