The sky was a watercolor of pale blue and cloud-streaked silver, too calm for how Avery felt inside. He walked beside Natalie through the manicured garden path outside the quaint bistro she loved—La Céleste, all glass and gold and linen-draped tables. She was glowing today, not just from the pregnancy but from something softer—something settled. Joy, maybe. Or certainty.
"He's been better lately," Natalie was saying, cradling her belly. "Nate. I know what you must be thinking—"
"I'm not thinking anything," Avery interrupted with a smile, the kind he reserved for careful conversations. His fingers toyed with the hem of his cuff. "You're marrying the father of your child. That's… beautiful, Natalie."
She eyed him knowingly. "But?"
"No but." He turned toward the restaurant's exit, hand lightly grazing her back. "You deserve happiness, Nat. And if it's with Nate, then… I'll support you. Always."
