“I drafted a formal truce,” Cole said, sliding the document across the small round table.

“Equal joint custody, weekly dinners, and an agreement to start private marriage counseling next week.”

“Joint custody,” I repeated.

“We belong together, Lauren,” he said, cutting in before I could finish my thought.

“Let me come home tonight.”

I looked down at the blue cover of the legal document next to my cold tea.

“I need time to go over this with my lawyer,” I said.

Cole frowned, his thumb moving faster on his cuff.