She stared at him and nodded slowly. "Yes. What I chose to do."

The admittance was a surprise, the acceptance of her acts even more so. But it was the hard set to her jaw and the fight that leaped into her eyes that told the real story.

"I was so determined to ignore the outreach from CPS. Some woman, some stranger, wanted my son. What right did she have? What place? You were mine. I wasn't giving you up."

Wasn't giving him up? "You never said that. Not to me."

"I didn't know what to do. I was panicked that someone could take you away. I was even more panicked at the little voice that kept whispering to me that you deserved better. That every time I took something I was betraying you."

"So you fought Louisa?"

"I was prepared to. I decided I'd ignore it and if that didn't work, I'd fight it. But I wasn't giving you up."

The news struck him with all the force of a hammer to the head. She hadn't wanted to give him up?

Before he could push on that, she went on with her story. "I wasn't going to go along with it, but I had one way and one way only at that time in my life of dealing with problems. I fought it for a few days. I told myself that CPS had an eye on you and I'd do well to stay clean for a few weeks. Let it all die down. And then someone had some fresh weed at work and I figured, what the hell. I was going off shift. It would help me relax."

She ran a finger over the handle of her mug, the repetitive motion mesmerizing him as he took in all she'd told him. He remembered that night, and his mother was on a hell of a lot more than a joint.

"I picked up some guy who'd been hanging around the bar where I worked. Charming when he wanted to be. Hard. Edgy. It was why I'd stayed away when he first started making overtures. But the joint loosened me up. And when he offered me something a lot harder, I was more than ready to say yes."

Landon picked up his mug, the alternative version of that night filling in all the gaps he'd always wondered about. Had always wanted to understand.

She had been better leading up to that night. They'd eaten at home several nights in a row, and she'd asked him about school. She'd even showed up at his last soccer game, when he'd won the plaque.

And then it had all gone to hell.

"I knew it was wrong. I think it's part of the reason I wasn't fully out of it there at the end. I wanted oblivion, but I couldn't get it. Couldn't get past the pounding voice inside my head, which only grew louder, that I was inviting trouble into the house. That maybe you would be better off in foster care. That I didn't deserve you."

Her face crumpled at that. Something deep inside of him wanted to reach out, to touch her, but he held back. Like he somehow knew that if he touched her, he'd be saying it was okay.

If he touched her, he'd be letting her back into his life.

She lifted her eyes to him. Tears sheened the dark depths, but she still hadn't cried. "I heard you scream and I flew out of the bedroom. I was outside myself, and all I could think was that I had to get to you. I had to save you."

The retelling lay heavy on the air, the weight of time and memory leaving it like a bright, glowing, pulsing ball that floated between them.

"I also knew I had to save you by giving you up. Whatever life I thought I could give you, that night proved I wasn't capable of it."

"So you signed the papers."

"I signed the papers. I had a few more benders after that. The day the hearing was finalized. A few months after that, when I passed by the school and saw you laughing with a few friends. And a few more months after that, on your birthday. And then it stopped."

"Why?"

"Because I made it stop. I realized I could mourn you or I could become someone else. Someone who wasn't ashamed all the time. I went home, tail between my legs, but my parents welcomed me back. They helped me. They're why I know I'm clean and going to stay that way."

"So why come back here?"

"Because the only person I've ever loved beyond reason is here. And I've been hoping I could find some small way to make things right."

He wanted to hang back. Wanted to avoid and ignore and just walk away. But the same tug that had pulled her back to Brooklyn had him extending a hand. When she took it, matching their palms to each other in the way she'd done when he was small, Landon realized Daphne's mother might have had a point.

Never underestimate what was inside.

Daphne glanced at her phone once more, but the screen was pitch black. No text messages. No phone calls. Nothing.

She was on the verge of calling Landon's mother but was well aware using a nuclear option like that needed a bit more thought.

And a few more hours before even considering it.

She'd tried Nick and Emma only to get voicemail for both of them. She'd finally fumbled through a message for Nick she hoped didn't sound too needy or desperate, even though she was both. And then she'd sat down to wait.

Where had Landon gone?

She considered a casual stroll over to the brownstone on Cherry Street, but figured a face-to-face visit wasn't going to go down any easier than a phone call if Landon wasn't at his mother's.

Her phone buzzed in her hand and she nearly bobbled it, she was holding on so tight.

LOOK UP.

There were little eye emojis wiggling next to the words, but Daphne barely saw them as she scrambled to stand.

Landon stood across the street, still in the same T-shirt and jeans he'd worn that morning to her parents'. The look was so reminiscent of the first time she'd seen him, all legs and feet. Then she'd assumed he was some Brooklyn hipster, a cliched version of the men she saw in and around town.

How amazing to find he was so much more.

He waited for a truck to lumber past, then crossed the street in a few quick strides. She rushed to him before he'd barely cleared the asphalt. "I am so sorry. Sorry for my mother and her big nosy mouth and her need to butt in and her endless pester-"

Hard lips stopped her tirade, the firm press of his lips silencing her.

She gave herself over to the kiss, amazed as always that the simple act could calm her so quickly.

But as the kiss played out, she was dimly aware something had changed. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

Daphne heard a million things in that lone word and sensed that wherever he'd gone, it had been good for him. "Where were you?"

"I visited Amber."

"Oh." She considered for a moment. "Did my mother put you up to it?"

"No. I put me up to it."

"Was it because I pressured you?"

"No." He stopped, shook his head. "But you were a big part of it. I want what's between us. I want to love you and make a life with you. And I don't want anything standing in our way."

"Your past isn't something to be brushed off or pushed away. I hope you don't think that. Or think that I feel that way. It's part of you. Part of who you are."

"I know. But it's not all of me."

She looked into his eyes. Since they'd met she'd seen desire, anger, and laughter-and that wry, funny sense that made him who he was.

But this time she saw something else.

For the first time since they met, she saw peace.

"I love you, Landon."

"And I love you."

An idea popped into her head and she went with it on impulse. "Does that mean you'll finally tell me why you went to visit Gretchen Reynolds's daughter all on your own?"

"It was Fender's idea."

"Blaming your brother? These aren't some stolen fireworks you can blame on someone else."

"In this case, I'm blaming him because it was his idea. But it gets more interesting than that. I think Fender likes her."

"Harlow Reynolds?"

"Yep."

"Look at you, sharing gossip before noon."

Landon bent down and pressed his lips to her ear. "I can share a whole lot more."

Daphne smiled against his cheek and whispered right back. "Then what are we waiting for?"

"Nothing, my love. Not one single thing."

Epilogue.

"I love this house." Landon stared up at the brownstone, the dark-colored stones rising above him for four stories.

"This is one of the most gorgeous streets in Park Heights." Daphne's hand stayed tight in his, her grip firm as they stood waiting at the door. "Everyone loves this house."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. My mother goes out of her way to drive down this street on her way home from the market. And last I heard, that celebrity and his partner were buying up the house at the end of the block."

"The renovations start next month."

"More gossip before noon, McGee?"

Landon couldn't hold back his smile at her tease. "Like you're not going to spread that the first chance you get."

"But of course."

The door swung open, his mother outlined in the doorway. Her smile was bright, but Landon saw the worry that tinged the edges. Took in the dark circles that rimmed her eyes. He'd put them there. Not the break-in or Gretchen's behavior or even the stress of her borough presidency bid, but him.

"Come in." She gestured them into the house, giving Daphne a hug before turning to him. Landon pulled her close, the warm, subtle scent of roses wrapping around him. She'd smelled like that forever. Soft. Warm.

Welcoming.

She'd welcomed him and his brothers when they had no one else. She'd made them a family, and then she'd seen to it that they felt just how much they belonged each and every day that came after.

"I love you, Mom."

She clung to him, her arms tight around his waist. "I love you, too."

The tread of Daphne's footsteps echoed down the hall, and he heard the light swish of the kitchen door. He squeezed even tighter before stepping back. "There are so many things I want to tell you."

"About?"

"About my case. And about Amber. And about Daphne."

"I want to hear all of it."

Landon followed her to the dining-room table and took a seat next to hers. Her coffee cup still steamed, and he couldn't help but smile when he saw the bright yellow legal pad half-scribbled in to-dos.

"Still making lists?"

"It's the only way to get things done."

"I can write you a computer program to do the same thing."

"But a computer program won't give me the satisfaction of crossing items off that list."

They'd had the debate for years, his promise he could make things better and her promise they were already pretty damn good.

Why had it taken him so long to listen?

"So tell me about your case."

"Daphne got Gretchen to confess. Or at least confess to her daughter, who called it in earlier today. Apparently she hired a private detective to go nosing around our lives and my office. He took the servers and then put them back after Gretchen canceled the job and told him she wasn't going to pay his bills."

"Are you pressing charges?"