"Oof. Did he say anything?"
"I mean, he asked, but I deflected and he dropped it."
The silence stretches between us.
"So what does Warren say about where this is going?" Gemma finally asks, gentle but direct.
My stomach tightens. "He doesn’t. Not exactly."
"Not exactly means not at all."
"He’s incredible with Beckett. And when we’re together?—"
"In bed?"
"Not just that. But yeah, that too." Heat rushes to my face. "He looks at me like I’m everything he wants. It's all so perfect."
"But he won’t say it."
I rub my temple. "He said we should take it day by day. That there’s too much to work through."
"Janie." Her voice softens. "Are you sure you're not in deeper than he is?"
"You don't see us together."
"I see you falling in love with a man who won't talk about tomorrow."
"It's complicated?—"
"It always is. Just be careful with your heart, okay? And Beckett's."
Thankfully, we move on to less emotionally draining topics. I hear about her new crush in Savannah, and we make plans that Beckett and I will come up to visit soon. Talking with Gemma always grounds me in a way I need, especially right now.
After we hang up, I stare at the empty yard, her words clinging like smoke I can't wave away.
Still, the weekend softens the edges. Saturday night, we curled on the couch, Beckett asleep between us, Warren’s hand brushing mine under the blanket.
Sunday meant pancakes and sticky fingers, Warren chasing Beckett through the yard until all three of us collapsed in the grass.
Ordinary things, but threaded with something that felt extraordinary.
By Monday morning, the magic has evaporated. My direct line rings, the caller ID flashing “Pope Carrigan.”
My stomach tightens. Pope never calls me unless something's wrong. Especially at eight in the morning.
"Good morning, Pope."
"Janie." His tone lacks its usual polished charm. "We need to discuss the Branson situation."
I sit back, and the chair rolls slightly away from my desk. "What is it now? They seemed pretty happy after we jumped through hoops last weekend. Their son received priority care."
"They were. Until they weren't." His words clip short, efficient. "I've just received confirmation that they've pulled their family membership from the concierge program."
"That's unfortunate, but?—"
"They've also revoked their endowment."
The floor seems to tilt beneath me. I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees. That endowment funds nearly sixty percent of my outreach program.