“Okay.” His expression was crestfallen, but he stepped aside and let me walk up the steps. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

Up on my porch, I turned to face him, wondering what was safe to agree to. Dinner seemed too much like a date, and a drink meant my decision-making abilities would suffer. I bit my lip. “I have to work, but I could meet you for lunch.”

“I’ll take it.” He grinned, making my heart flutter.

“What?” I asked.

“I love it when you bite your lip. I just found an old picture of us at my dad’s kitchen table, and you were chewing on it.”

I laughed self-consciously. “I’m surprised I haven’t chewed it right off.”

“Don’t do that. I love your lips. I’ve missed them.”

My face got hot, and I smiled. “Get out of here, Tyler Shaw, before I lose my mind and invite you in.”

He laughed. “God, I missed you. Goodnight, April.”

“Goodnight.” Then I unlocked the door, went inside, and leaned back against it, exhaling with relief.

I’d managed to resist him.

If that wasn’t proof that I was stronger than I thought, I wasn’t sure what was.

We agreed by text to meet for lunch at a restaurant downtown, and I arrived first. When I saw him walking toward me, my heart jumped around in my chest.

He sat down across from me in the booth. “Hey. How was your morning?”

“Good. Yours?”

“Excellent. Virgil is doing better, I accepted the school’s offer for a coaching position, and I have an appointment with a realtor this afternoon to look at some listings on the water.”

“Wow. You’ve been busy.”

“I’m focused, that’s all. It’s easy when you know what you want.” His eyes held mine over the table, and heat bloomed at my center. “And I know what I want.”

I cleared my throat and picked up my ice water. “How did you sleep last night?”

He shrugged, giving me a rueful grin. “Not at all.”

“Jet lag?”

“No. I was thinking about . . . a lot of things.”

“Want to tell me about them?”

“Yes. Because most of them involve you—at least, I hope they do.”

The server came over and we ordered drinks and sandwiches. When we were alone again, Tyler said, “We should talk about Chip.”

I nodded. “I’m meeting him on Saturday.”

Tyler’s expression was momentarily alarmed, but he recovered and cleared his throat. “Okay. I was hoping for a little more time, but it’s okay.”

“What’s okay?”

“So I was up all night asking myself how I could earn your trust again. How I can show you that I meant what I said last night—I want you in my life for good.”

My entire body warmed, but I tried to stay cool. “And?”

“I came up with something that involves Chip, and I’ll admit it scares the shit out of me, like every time I think about it I am not okay, and I get this horrible pit in my stomach, and my intestines are all twisted, and it feels like this one time I pitched against this one team full of—”

“Tyler.” I raised my eyebrows. “I get it. It’s scary. I’m scared too.”

“Right.” He took a breath. “So I still think people are going to find out I’m his biological father, or at least speculate out loud. And I think it could make things really hard on everyone if we have to waste a lot of time and energy issuing denials and refusing to comment and telling what we know are lies. So I’ve made a decision.”

I couldn’t even breathe. “What?”

“Let’s get out ahead of it. I’ll meet him too. I’ll admit the truth, and we’ll go to a news outlet we trust with the real story—if it’s okay with him and his mom.”

The room began to spin. “Oh my God, Tyler. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Picking up my ice water again, I took several big gulps. “So . . . what does this look like?”

“I’d go with you on Saturday.”

“You would?”

“Yes. Unless you think that would unfairly blindside them.”

“It’s going to blindside them no matter what.” I paused to think about it. “But I think it’s a good thing. Robin’s letter said in the wake of losing his father, she felt like Chip was searching for family ties. And we know he admires you.”

“It’s still going to be a huge shock.” He frowned. “And they could say no. They could say they want no part of a media story.”

“How are we going to handle that part of it?”

“I’d contact a local reporter Sadie and Josh know and give her the scoop. I think that’s probably the best way to shut down gossip.”

“When did you talk to Sadie about it?”

“This morning. I invited myself to their house for breakfast before they left for work.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re really serious about this.”

“I am.” He squeezed my hand. “I want to do right by you, and by Chip. I’m not gonna lie and say I’m ready to be his father, but I feel protective of you both. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this easier, no matter how uncomfortable it is for me.”

My eyes filled, and I had to let go of his hand to fish a tissue out of my purse. “Really?” I said, dabbing at the corners of my eyes.

“Yes. Running away from this wasn’t going to solve anything. It was me taking the easy out.” He paused. “I’ll be honest—if you’d never wanted to meet him or put our past out in the open, I might have been fine with it. But you know what? I keep thinking about this—I’ve enjoyed every single minute of the time I’ve spent with Chip. I’m not sorry he turned out to be my biological son. In fact, I’m proud of it. I just don’t feel much like his father.”

I reached out for his hand again. “It’s okay. I don’t feel like his mother either. It’s not going to be that kind of relationship. But maybe we can get to a place where we feel . . . something like family to each other.”

He turned his palm to mine and laced our fingers. “I’d like that.”

Something occurred to me. “Will you see him at practice before Saturday?”

“I’ve decided to stay away from the team for the time being. I’ve got enough to do here, and I think this situation is awkward enough. I told David I’d officially start next season.”

“Okay.” I suddenly pictured Tyler and I standing on the Carswells’ doorstep with a ticking bomb in our hands that was going to explode in their living room. Did I owe them a warning? Was this the right thing?

As if he knew I was nervous about what was coming, he squeezed my hand. “Hey. Look at me.”

I met his eyes.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he said, and his grin wasn’t the cocky smirk of a hotshot teenager, but a genuine, reassuring smile. “We’ve got this.”

My heart soared—he believed in me. He believed in us.

The next day, I texted him an invite to dinner at my house. He messaged me back saying he’d only come if I sent him a grocery list for making spaghetti sauce and allowed him to cook for me, which I did.