“I’m really glad to hear that.”

To say that all the fences were mended between them would be disingenuous. Libby was nowhere near close to processing what she had learned today. “By the way, who do I look like?”

“Your great-grandmother Olivia. You’re the spitting image of her.”

The drive back to Bluestone felt daunting, especially considering Libby was going to have to fight her way through rush hour traffic. The wedding she was photographing did not kick off until tomorrow. She was essentially in no man’s land.

She drove to Springfield Town Center outside of DC and walked around, buying coffee and a cinnamon bun that was not nearly as good as what Sierra might make. When she wandered into a clothing store and found herself in the baby section, she bought a large soft blue blanket and had it gift wrapped.

To just show up at Jeremy’s house with a baby gift redefined weird. And still she drove to Dale City and parked across from the duplex that the two of them had shared just two years ago.

He had changed the white exterior to a deep blue, and someone had painted the front door a bright yellow. It had to be Monica’s bold choice. Jeremy’s color palette did not extend beyond antique white.

She was not so lost in herself as to actually walk up to the front door and ring the bell. That was the thing crazy ex-wives did. But she wanted to talk to Jeremy. Despite all the crap that had happened, he was still a friend. So she did what any self-respecting ex-wife would do. Texted him.

Hey. I’m in town. Can I drop off a gift for the baby?

The rolling bubbles appeared, stopped, and then reappeared. He was second-guessing whatever he wanted to say. And then finally, Sure. When?

Now. Parked out front of your house. She added an emoji with a chagrined expression.

The curtains in the front windows fluttered, and Libby waved, hoping she did not look like a stalker.

The front door opened; he appeared dressed in jeans and a stained T-shirt, his hair tousled.

Jeremy closed the door and crossed the yard but stopped at the curb. As he got closer, she saw the dark circles under his eyes. He was not sleeping. Which, if she was honest with herself, made her just a little happy.

She got out of the car, bringing the box wrapped in blue with her. Wariness radiated from his gaze, as it had when she had been pregnant and super hormonal. Was she going to unload on him?

“I’m not going to lose it,” she said. “I was in the area and wanted to bring this for you.”

He accepted the box, studying the big bow that had cost her an extra five dollars. “You didn’t have to do this, Libby.”

“I know. Open it.”

One tug and the ribbon gave way, allowing him to lift the top. Inside was the blanket. “I didn’t have time to get it personalized. But I figure the kid can’t read, so it doesn’t matter.”

“He was born two days ago. We just brought him home.”

Sadness and happiness twisted in her belly. “Wow. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He smoothed his hand over the fabric. “Soft.”

“The clerk in the baby store said new parents can always use big blankets.”

He replaced the top. “Good to know.”

“Honestly, the gift was an excuse.”

Thick brows knotted. “For what?”

“To see a familiar face. To talk with someone who knew my dad.”

His brow knotted. “What’s going on?”

She wanted to smile, but the tears choking her throat would not allow it. Unable to look at him, she sat on the curb.

He sat beside her, setting the present on his lap. “What’s up?”

“I found out Elaine Grant is my birth mother.”

“Who’s she?”

“Remember Woodmont, that estate where the wedding was a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yeah.”

“She owns it. Been in her family since the eighteenth century.”

“You sure it’s her? I thought your birth mother was a superspy or an international fashion model?” he teased.

Jeremy’s deadpan question coaxed a smile.

Whenever they had drunk wine together, she would theorize about her birth mother. The common denominator had always been that circumstances had prevented her mother from raising Libby.

“She had the money and the means to raise me,” Libby said. “But she was young and headed to law school.”

“Do you fault her for that?” Jeremy asked.

“I want to, but I don’t. I’m a little miffed that it’s taken thirty-one years to find out the truth.”

“Why the big secret? Did her family disapprove?”

“That’s part of it.” She tugged at the frayed edges of her jeans. “The big shoe to drop is my birth father.”

He drew in a breath. “Who was he?”

“My dad.”

“Your dad, as in Allen McKenzie?”

“The very one.”

He whistled, running a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

His shocked gaze was reaffirming. She could have told all this to Colton, but she was not sure he would have understood the depth of the news like Jeremy would. And Sierra would have been deeply disappointed in her father, and right now Libby could not handle that.

“Wow. And he knew?” Jeremy asked.

“Oh yes.”

“And your mother. I mean, your adoptive mother—I mean, Mrs. McKenzie.”

“I know what you’re saying. I don’t know. Possibly. Likely.”

They sat for a moment, each staring at the cracked pavement in front of his house. Weeds had grown up through them, stretching toward the sun.

“So what are you going to do?” Jeremy asked.

“Get on with my life. Photograph a wedding this weekend. Go home. Keep working. One foot in front of the other. What’s the alternative?”

His brows drew together, but he did not reach out and take her hand or hug her. “I don’t know what to say.”

Honesty hummed under the words, and she appreciated that he wanted to be there for her. Maybe if all this had come out sooner, and they were still together, the news would have bonded them closer. Libby would have found a way to deal with her losses better.

“How can I help?” he asked.

“You can’t. This is all on me,” she said, tapping her finger on the blue box. “You’ve got your own new life.”

He ran his finger over the soft blue ribbon. “When my son was born, my first thought was that I was sorry he wasn’t ours.” He cleared his throat. “We tried so hard, and I know how much you wanted a child.”

She sighed, pushing back grief that would always be there in some form. “I did. I still do. But you know what, I still might. Our time is up, but I’m not dead yet. As it turns out, I had a great-grandmother who had a very similar medical history to mine, but she ended up eventually having a son.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah. That’s one of the silver linings in all this. I feel like I might still have a shot at it.”

“Hey, do you want to come in and meet the baby? He’s taking a nap, which means he’s at his best right now. I can’t promise how long it will last. He’s a terrible sleeper.”