Chapter 3
A small shrug. “Still divorced. Still figuring things out.” His eyes rested on her face, silent but keen. She folded her arms. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
Byron blinked. “Like what?”
“Like I am going to fall apart.”
He smiled faintly. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. That’s the second time you did it.”
He took a small breath. “Okay. Maybe I am. But not because I think you’re weak.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I look at you,” he said slowly, “because you’re carrying something heavy, and you won’t let anyone else hold even a piece of it.”
Jennifer swallowed. She hadn’t expected that answer. It was too real.
“I don’t want anyone else to carry it,” she whispered. “It’s mine. I let Devlin in, and it almost destroyed me.”
Byron nodded. “I get it.”
He didn’t say more. He just stood there, calm as still water.
Jennifer turned and opened the paper bag Cara had sent. Inside was a thick envelope and a small ceramic pendant-a moon-shaped charm they had both made during a pottery workshop over a year ago, and she smiled sadly at it, her fingers brushing its smooth edges.
“I forgot about this,” she murmured.
“It’s beautiful,” Byron said quietly.
She looked up and found him looking at her again, but this time it wasn’t worry that filled his eyes. It was something else-something more, in fact: admiration. Warmth.
She quickly looked away, heat rushing through her cheeks.
“You were always different,” she suddenly said.
Byron looked at her, astonished.
“Back when you and Devlin were still close,” she continued. “You never treated me like a trophy. Most of his friends did. They’d talk to me like I was lucky just to be standing next to him.”
“I never saw it that way,” Byron replied.
“I know. That’s why I remembered you.”
He looked down, and his mouth twitched into a soft smile. “That’s nice to hear.”
She hesitated. “Did you know about the affair?”
Byron’s expression changed. He didn’t answer immediately.
“I had a feeling,” he finally said. “Devlin always thought he was subtle. But he wasn’t.”
The chest of Jennifer became tight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t have proof. And I didn’t think you’d believe me. People in love… they want to believe the best.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “I was a fool.”
“No,” he replied firmly. “You were just in love with the wrong man.”
There it was again that tone-soft, steady, honest. It disarmed her. Made her want to just drop her defenses for a moment.
But not yet.
Instead, she turned around and started making tea. It occupied her-have something to focus on apart from the ache in her chest and the strange warmth spreading through her every time he spoke.
He said nothing more while she worked. Just sat waiting, watching at the table.
He nodded as she served the tea, sliding the cup in front of him.
“I didn’t intend to come here,” he said a moment later.
“No?”
He shook his head. “But I kept thinking about that sketchbook. About you.”
Jennifer stared at him, her cup halfway to her lips.
“I remembered all the times you used to sit there in that back corner of the studio, sketching in silence. You didn’t speak much. But you felt everything.”
She lowered her cup, slowly. “Why did you draw me?”
For a long moment, Byron looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then he said, “Because I missed that version of you. The one who smiled without fear. The one who still believed she deserved love.”
Jennifer blinked rapidly. Her throat became tight.
“I don’t believe that anymore,” she said softly.
“You should,” he said.
Their eyes met. The silence between them was thick, bristling with emotion, with something neither dared to name hovering just underneath.
Then a loud knock broke the moment.
Jennifer jerked.
Byron stood halfway, alert. “Anyone expecting anyone?”
“No,” she responded, voice shaking.
The knock came again, louder this time.
Jennifer meandered slowly to the door. Her fingers hovered over the knob. She hesitated, then finally turned it.
The door swung open.
And there he was.
Devlin, with neat hair, expensive coat buttoned, expression unreadable.
Jennifer felt her breath being deprived.
“Hi, Jen,” he said.
Byron was frozen in the kitchen doorway.
Devlin’s eyes flicked past her to lock on Byron.
“Oh,” said Devlin with icy cool. “Company. How charming.” Jennifer felt her body trembling. The chill between the two men enveloped the entire room.
Byron kept quiet.
Devlin smiled coldly. “I just came to talk to you.”
Jennifer swallowed hard. “I think we need to put that in the past,” she said.
Devlin’s smile had left his face. “No, we’re not until I say what I’ve come here to say.” Jennifer turned slightly, torn between two worlds. One man from her past, rent with pain. The other uncertain, kind, and unknown.
She looked back at Devlin, and then he said something that turned her blood cold.
“I know what you are hiding from me.” Her breath caught. “What are you talking about?”
He moved closer, eyes glinting. “The letter. From your doctor.” Jennifer’s heart had stopped.
Byron’s voice rumbled low and protective. “What letter?” Jennifer felt her legs go weak.
Because now she knew-for certain that Devlin knew about the pregnancy.
Byron had stayed quite a while more, without demanding to know things, simply checking in from time to time to make sure she was okay or not. That was appreciated far more than he realized. Still, she hadn’t confided in him at all. Not yet. Not about the letter. Not about the test results. Not even about the baby.
Still too raw. Too new.
Not even sure of what she wanted to do. All that she knew was that Devlin knowing only increased everything else.
She turned the corner, her mind wandering, and bumped into an unknown person coming out of a café.
“Sorry…” she started, then froze when her gaze traveled back up.
It was him.
Devlin.
