Noah’s eyes were fully closed now and the kid’s head had thunked sideways against Lily’s shoulder. I watched his mouth drop open, soft little snores rippling across the table. Lily tried to ease him upright, but he only slumped heavier, one fist curled around the sleeve of her cardigan like a rock climber dangling over a cliff.
“He’s out cold,” I said. I tried to keep the smile out of my voice, but it crept in anyway. The sight was too damn sweet not to comment on.
Lily looked down at her son, then over at me, like she was embarrassed. “He loves to go from sixty to zero in three seconds flat.”
“Sure seems like it.” I braced my elbows on the table and cocked my head, studying the kid. “He looks comfortable, but if you want, I can move him to the living room. Couch will let him stretch out.”
Her face did this subtle softening thing, like someone exhaling after holding their breath too long. “Would you? I hate waking him when he’s this out.”
I was already out of my chair. I circled the table, careful not to jostle anything, and Lily started to stand, trying to maneuverNoah onto her hip. The kid was boneless, all dead weight and floppy arms, but she managed to pry him loose. Then, just as she got him upright, his cheek mashed against her neck and he let out a little whimper. Something in me responded to the sound—an old, buried instinct that I’d never needed before.
“Here,” I said, holding out my arms. “Let me.”
She hesitated. Just for a second, like she had to decide if she trusted me with her most precious thing. Then she handed him over, gentle and deliberate. The kid weighed more than I expected, but he curled right into my chest, his body going heavy and warm against me. For a second, it was like nothing else in the world existed except this: me, holding a sleeping boy, the shape of his mother’s hand lingering on my arm.
I carried Noah to the living room, careful to avoid the random boxes and piles of gear littering the floor. I’d given up on the old couch and sprung for a new one—one of those huge plush sectional jobs. I laid Noah down, propping his head with a throw pillow. He shifted, snuffling, and reached out blindly until his fist landed on the armrest. Satisfied, he went right back to sleep.
Lily hovered at my elbow, hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “He’ll be okay here?”
“Of course,” I said. I grabbed the throw blanket I’d put there earlier that day—a faded one with a Big Sky Brewing logo—and draped it over him. Lily tucked the edges around his legs, then brushed his hair off his forehead. The gesture was tender, practiced, and I felt something sharp twist in my chest.
She looked up, catching my eyes on her. “Thank you,” she whispered, like maybe she was afraid to disturb the air.
I wanted to say something clever, maybe flirt a little, but the words stuck. Instead, I just nodded and watched her sit on the edge of the couch, eyes never leaving Noah’s face.
After a minute, she sighed. “You’re good with him,” she said, so quiet it barely reached me. “Most people act like he’s a wild animal.”
I smirked. “That’s because most people never met a real wild animal. He’s a lot easier than a pissed-off bull, I promise.”
She smiled, for real this time, and the line of her mouth did something that made my pulse pick up. I tried to focus on the room instead—on the mess I’d made moving in, the ugly light fixture overhead, the faint lines where old photos had once hung on the wall.
I was about to ask if she wanted coffee, just to fill the space, when she surprised me.
“Can I see the rest of your house?”
It took me a second to process the request. “Sure. It’s mostly boxes and empty spaces, but you’re welcome to judge.”
She stood, careful not to make any sudden moves, and smoothed her hair behind her ear. “I just want to stretch my legs. And I’m curious and nosy, to be honest.”
“Curious and nosy is like a requirement for living in Whittier Falls,” I said, with a laugh. “Let me—just a sec.”
Before I left the room, I circled back to the front door. Habit, mostly, but with Noah in the house, it felt important. I checked the deadbolt, then jiggled the handle, making sure it was solid. I slid the doorknob lock into place too, then did the same with the back door off the kitchen.
Lily watched me from the doorway, eyebrow raised. “Expecting trouble?”
I shrugged. “Not out here. But you and Noah are in the house.”
Her eyebrows quirked up for a second before she smiled.
“Ready?” I asked.
She followed me through the house, our footsteps echoing in the high-ceilinged hall. I showed her mud room and the laundryroom, the half bath I’d managed to paint a horrible shade of green. She laughed at my lack of style, but it was a kind laugh, not mean. At every turn, she asked questions—about the history of the place, about the weird little doors and shelves built into the walls, about my plans for fixing up the old barn out back.
It felt easy. Not like a date, not like a tour for a stranger. Just—easy. Natural. Like I’d known her for years, instead of weeks.
We reached the stairs, and I hesitated. “There’s not much up there. A couple bedrooms and a bathroom. I haven’t touched them yet.”
She tilted her head, inviting me to go first. “I won’t judge,” she said, though that’s not what I was worried about. We were about to be upstairs alone together, in close proximity to a bed. I wanted Lily more than I remember ever wanting anyone, but I didn’t want her to feel cornered or rushed.
