temples, and the tired lines around his eyes, and the softness under his chin that hadn’t been there before.
For a second, I thought about saying something mean. About how it felt, to be looked at like that. About how maybe now he understood.
I didn’t.
“I hope you do, Max,” I said. “For the girls.”
He nodded. He walked back to his car.
I closed the door.
Edward and I have been together for a year and a half now.
For real. No pretending.
He still eats lunch in the library every day. He still brings two sandwiches. He just doesn’t pretend anymore that he made too much.
He comes over for dinner three nights a week. He’s teaching Ava how to build a bookshelf. June calls him “Edwood,” and nobody has the heart to correct her.
Last spring, he fixed the dripping kitchen faucet. Three hours under the
