They dissolve into playful bickering again, fast and familiar, overlapping stories and mock-horror recounts about Bea’s pregnancy cravings and the time Colby tried to dye Clementine’s hair orange to match her name.
And I just…watch.
Listen.
Smile when I should and try not to let it show that something in me aches.
Not because they’re perfect, but because they belong to each other, loudly and unconditionally.
And I’ve never had that.
Not even once.
“So,” Bea says, brushing a bit of windblown hair from her eyes as the girls begin restocking a crate of mini honey jars. “How are you settling in?”
I tuck my hands into the sleeves of my cardigan and hope she doesn’t ask about where I live—or worse, my job. Does she know how I really met her son? Why he has contact with a social worker when he’s all but a self-proclaimed hermit?
What if I accidentally put my foot in my mouth and drop a bomb I have no right dropping?
Have you ruined anything else lately?
Maybe it’s the motherly tone in her voice or the panic swirling through me, but a little of the truth slips free without my permission.
“Oh. Um… slowly, I guess.” I shrug. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind. Today’s actually my first full day off where I’ve felt well enough to explore.”
“Well enough?” The concern on her face is surprising.
“Nothing serious,” I say quickly. “I have celiac, and the last few days were just… a little rough.”
Her eyes soften. “You poor thing.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’m used to it. But I am really loving it here so far. Heart Springs is—” I break off, shrugging with an honest smile. “It's special.”
More questions are written all over Bea’s face, so I quickly change the subject and gesture toward the golden sticks in the twins’ hands. “What are those?”
More questions are written all over Bea’s face, so I quickly change the subject and gesture toward the golden sticks in the twins’ hands. “What are those?”
“Honey,” they say in unison, holding them between us.
A giggle slips free at their uncanny response. It’s a littleShining, but also adorable. When they don’t back down from their offerings, I reach out and snag the sticks. The sunlight hits just right, and the amber liquid glows in my palm like warm glass. I turn one over, mesmerized.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, voice quiet.
“I agree,” Bea says with a knowing little smile that makes me feel warm and squirmy all at once.
All three stare at me expectantly for long enough, my skin itches.
“What?” I ask, blinking.
“Well, aren’t you going to try it?”
“Wait—try it now?”
They all nod, grinning identical Archer grins like this is a cult and I’m being drafted.
“Oh. Uh. Of course,” I murmur, carefully tearing off the tip of one of the sticks and squeezing it until a bead of golden syrup hits my tongue.
The taste is like summer and warmth and something else I can’t quite name. Something nostalgic.
