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It Starts with Us (It Ends with Us #2)(46)

Author:Colleen Hoover

Emmy is wearing the outfit Rylee wore at her first birthday party. I was hoping it would eventually be passed down to Emmy, because it’s adorable. It’s a pair of pink leggings with green whole watermelons on them, and a green long-sleeved top with a pink slice of watermelon in the center of it.

My mother has bought almost everything else Emmy wears, including the blue jacket I’m putting on her right now.

“That doesn’t match her outfit,” my mother says. “Where’s the pink jacket I bought her?”

“It’s too little, and it’s a jacket, and she’s one year old. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t match.”

My mother huffs, and I can tell by that look on her face that Emmy is going to come home in a brand-new jacket this afternoon. I kiss Emmy on the cheek, and my mother heads for the door.

I hand Rob the diaper bag, and he hoists it over his shoulder. “Want me to carry her?” he asks my mother.

She squeezes Emmy tighter. “I’ve got her.” She addresses me over her shoulder. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

“About what time?” I ask her. I don’t usually clarify a time with her, but I’m thinking about asking Atlas what he’s doing right now. We can maybe grab lunch since we’re both off today and I’m kid-free.

“I’ll text you. Why? Are you going somewhere?” she asks. “I figured you’d just catch up on sleep.”

I don’t dare tell her I might sneak away to meet a guy. She’d ask me questions well past the botanical garden closing hours. “Yeah, I’ll probably just sleep. I’ll keep my phone on, though. Have fun.”

My mother is out the door and down the hallway, but Rob pauses and looks at me. “Make sure you park your car in the same spot. She’ll notice if you move it, and she’ll ask questions.” He winks, a clear indication that he can read me better than she can.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I whisper.

I close the door and go find my phone. I’ve been rushing to get Emmy dressed and out the door, so I haven’t looked at my phone since I hung up with my mother. I have a missed call from Atlas from twenty minutes ago.

My stomach flips with anticipation. I hope he’s off today. I use my phone camera to check my appearance, and then I call him back over video chat.

I hated when he called me over video chat the first time, but now it feels like the natural thing to do. I always want to see his face. I like seeing what he’s wearing and where he’s at and the faces he makes when he says the things he says.

I’m already smiling when I hear the sound that indicates he’s answered the call. He lifts the phone, and when I finally make out what I’m looking at, I can see he’s standing in an unfamiliar kitchen. It’s white and bright and different from the kitchen I remember when I visited his house almost two years ago.

“Morning,” he says. He’s smiling, but he looks tired, like he either just woke up or is about to fall asleep.

“Hey.”

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“I did. Finally.” I squint my eyes trying to see past him. “Did you remodel your kitchen?”

Atlas glances over his shoulder, and then looks back at me. “I moved.”

“What? When?”

“Earlier this year. Sold my house and got a place closer to the restaurant.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Closer to the restaurant means closer to me. I wonder how far apart we live now. “Are you cooking?”

Atlas aims his phone at his countertop. There’s a pan of eggs, a pile of bacon, pancakes, and… two plates. Two glasses of juice. My heart drops. “That’s a lot of food,” I say, attempting to hide the immense jealousy running through me.

“I’m not alone,” he says, panning the screen back to his face.

My disappointment must be clearly written all over me, because he immediately shakes his head.

“No, Lily. That’s not…” He laughs and seems flustered. His reaction is adorable but not entirely reassuring yet. He holds the phone up a little higher until I can see a person standing behind him. I’m not sure who’s with him, but it isn’t another woman.

It’s a kid.

A kid who looks just like Atlas, and he’s staring right at me with eyes that look identical to Atlas’s eyes. Does he have a child I don’t know about?

What is going on?

“She thinks I’m your son,” the kid says. “You’re freaking her out.”

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