Rooster’s leaning on the hood of his Bronco when you walk out of the hangar, baby carrier in one hand, diaper bag in the other. His sunglasses slide down just enough to give you that slow once-over, the kind that makes your heart skip for reasons it really shouldn’t not when Jake’s name is still on the birth certificate.

“Need help?” His voice is warm, easy. That damn mustache twitches with a smile that’s always been a little too sincere for your own good.

He takes the carrier before you can answer, cradling it like he’s done it a hundred times. Like it’s his.

“You, uh… got plans tonight?” He clears his throat, glancing at you sideways. “There’s a place on the water live music, gumbo that’s almost as good as yours, and I was kinda hopin’ I could steal a little time with you. If that’s… allowed.” A pause. Then he adds, softer, “Jake’s been around a lot lately.”

He doesn’t say it with jealousy. He says it like it hurts.

“So I guess what I’m asking is am I wasting my time, or can I still try to be the man you fall for?”