Something in me softens despite myself. She’s adorable, all wispy hair and round cheeks, her tiny fingers curling into Hopper’s shirt.
“We brought this.” He holds out the cup. “Figured you probably don’t have much stocked yet.”
I take it, my fingers brushing his, a fleeting warmth against the lingering chill in my skin. “Thanks.”
Hopper watches me, his gaze sharper now, his brows pulling together. “You look . . . tense. Everything okay?”
I hesitate, fingers tightening around the cup. The crumpled note lies just behind me, a silent warning. Part of me wants to show him—to hand it over, to let him read the words and share the weight of them. But the other part, the one that’s spent years keeping people at arm’s length, won’t let me.
Not yet.
I force a smile. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well.”
His expression says he doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he nods toward the kitchen. “You mind if I take a look around? Make sure everything’s working? The place has been empty for a while. Gas lines might be faulty.”
I hesitate, then nod. “Sure. Knock yourself out. If you want, I can—” I glance at the little girl still curled against him. “Help with your daughter?”
“Maddie, her name is Maddie,” he states, then looks at her with an adoration that melts me in place and makes my ovaries explode. Can I have someone look at me like that? “Mads, do you want to go with Nysa?”
The girl shakes her head and hand hugs his neck tightly.
“No worries, we can do this together. I’m used to it,” he states.
As he moves through the house, I sip the coffee and watch him. He’s different than I remember—older, obviously, but there’s something else. A quiet confidence, maybe. Like he’s seen too much, lost too much, and he carries the pain with him.
There’s a hurt that lingers in his body. It lingers in the set of his shoulders, in the way his fingers skim along the edges of furniture, the light switch, the worn banister—like he’s reacquainting himself with something familiar and yet irrevocably changed. The silence between us feels heavier than it should, thick with unsaid things.
I take a sip of the coffee. It’s perfect. The warmth does little to chase away the chill creeping up my spine. What broke him?
He pauses in the doorway to the living room, his gaze lingering on the furniture. “You are planning on staying long?”
“My grandmother is sick.” The words come out too flat, too controlled, as if saying them any other way might make them real. I shrug, setting the coffee down on the counter, watching the dark liquid ripple inside the mug. “I haven’t decided yet. It depends on her.”
Hopper doesn’t respond right away. He lingers, finishing his inspection of the kitchen, running his fingers over the faucet handle before testing the lock on the back door. He moves with the quiet assurance of someone used to fixing things, of someone who doesn’t ask if help is needed—just offers it anyway.
“Well, if you do happen to stay for long, let me know if you need anything.” His voice is calm, but there’s something else there, something unreadable. He turns to face me fully, his gaze settling on mine. Assessing. Like he’s trying to figure out what I’m not saying.
Like he doesn’t trust me. Or maybe he does, but he doesn’t know if he should.
“I will,” I murmur, though I’m not sure if it’s the truth.
He studies me for another beat, then nods. “Take care, Nysa.”
Maddie, still tucked against his hip, lifts her tiny hand and waves. “Buh-bye.”
A small, unexpected warmth flickers in my chest. I manage a smile. “Bye, Maddie.”
Hopper shifts her higher, adjusts his grip, then pulls open the door. A rush of cool air drifts in, and before I can decide if I want to say anything else, he’s gone.
Just like that.
And for some reason, the house feels quieter than it did before.
Chapter Four
Hopper
It’s been two days since Nysa Calloway came back.
