“No,” Noah said. “He has a monster truck!”
She winked at me. “You are brave, Lily.”
Ford set Noah down, and Eryn gave Ford a quick, tight hug. “Good to see you,” she whispered, and I thought if anyone could get Gray to get over his grudge against Ford, it was Eryn. She could practically get anyone to do anything. “Come in, come in. Don’t worry, Ford, Damon isn’t joining us tonight.”
Ford laughed, but I felt a weight lift off my shoulders I didn’t realize had been there. I didn’t want to have to ice another bruise tonight.
Inside, the open floor plan of house showed off a crash of color and sound. The kitchen was a war zone of platters and bowls and the aroma of roasting potatoes and garlic. Walker was there, apron around his neck, basting something in a pan with one hand and texting with the other. Mason and Chloe had arrived with Abby, who immediately tackled Noah and they both rolled across the floor in a tangle of giggles.
It felt like walking straight into a Hallmark movie—one I had never been part of, but somehow now belonged to.
Ford hovered by the door, a little stiff, taking in the noise and chaos with a wary look. Eryn caught it and squeezed hisarm. “Come on, I’ll get you a beer. Or wine, if you want to stay civilized.”
Ford grinned, the edge of tension melting. “Beer’s good.”
I drifted to the kitchen, where Sutton and Chloe were lining up plates. “Here,” Sutton said, thrusting a bowl of salad into my hands. “Put this on the table, then go socialize. You don’t have to help. Eryn threatened to murder us if we put you to work.”
I followed orders, placing the salad next to trivets waiting for the hot stuff. The table was massive, built for a family twice this size. I ran my fingers along the edge, feeling the ridges and nicks, the history etched into the wood.
Behind me, Ford and Walker were talking quietly near the window, voices low. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could see the way Walker clapped Ford on the back, pulling him in with an easy smile. It was the first time I’d seen Ford look relaxed since he set foot inside.
Noah and Abby zipped past, arms outstretched, chasing invisible birds—I think. I watched them, my chest tightening in that weird way it does when you realize you’re happy and terrified of losing it at the same time.
The next half hour was a tangle of laughter, clinking glasses, and shouted questions about whose turn it was to set the table or wrangle the kids. I mostly trailed after Noah, keeping him from breaking anything valuable or ingesting an entire bowl of potato chips before dinner. At one point, Ford joined us in the living room and knelt down to help Noah and Abby build a “monster garage” out of blocks and plastic dinosaurs.
He didn’t treat the kids like distractions—he got down on their level and listened to their nonsense with the kind of attention that made them both light up. Abby explained her theory of dinosaurs (“They went extinct because they didn’t have jackets”) and Ford nodded along, adding, “Makes sense. Montana winters are brutal.”
Noah clung to Ford’s arm, clearly convinced he was the coolest person alive.
As we wrangled the kids to the table, the last of the light faded and the overheads glowed soft and warm. Eryn had set the big farmhouse table with mismatched plates and napkins, little jars of wildflowers in the center. The room buzzed with a kind of energy I hadn’t felt since I was a kid—like something good might happen, and for once, it didn’t have to be earned with pain or effort.
A few minutes later, Eryn called everyone to the table. There was a brief, beautiful chaos as people herded the kids and found seats.
Walker called everyone to attention with a loud whistle. “Gray’s on his way in,” he announced, and something in the air changed. Not tense, exactly, but charged.
Caroline ducked her head. Mason took a swig from his glass, eyes on the door. Eryn smoothed her dress and squeezed my hand under the table.
Then the back door opened.
Gray Anderson entered, six-foot-three of pure Montana. He wore a flannel shirt that was probably older than Noah, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and his short hair stuck up like he’d just run a baseball mitt sized hand through it a dozen times. He paused when he saw Ford, not moving, not blinking, just taking in the fact of him.
Nobody spoke for a moment. Even the kids stilled.
Then Gray entered the dining room slowly, setting the platter down on a trivet and turning to find Ford.
“I’m sorry it took me a minute to get used to you being back. Twenty years is too damn long without my friend,” he said, voice rough with emotion. He held out his hand, but when Ford took it, Gray pulled him in for a hug.
Ford slapped Gray’s back, something in his face softening. “Should’ve come back sooner,” he said.
Gray let go and looked Ford up and down, then nodded once. “We both could’ve done better. But we’ll do better going forward.”
Eryn had tears in her eyes, and I felt a soft happiness flood my chest. It was a simple thing, but it shifted the air in the room. Like a weight had been lifted.
It was over in a minute, but the effect lingered—like the house itself was relieved.
Walker crowed, “Now that we’ve had our cue-the-sappy-music moment, can we please eat before Abby starts gnawing on the furniture?”
Everyone laughed, and the last of the tension was gone.
