Page 140 of Reeves

His eyes flick to mine. “It’s Petty Officer.”

I give him a lazy salute and smile.

“Kid wanted the book.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Not a whole lot of ways that plays out.”

I shake my head, but there’s no real bite to it. “You could’ve said no.”

“Could’ve.”

He doesn’t elaborate. And for once, I don’t push him to.

It’s different this afternoon and tonight. The space between us doesn’t tighten the way it used to when we didn’t land on the same side of an argument.

“Kids ask for things all the time, you know,” I say, more out of habit than anything. “You can’t always give in.”

His gaze flicks to me, steady but not challenging. “Yeah, I know that.”

A week of spending time together doesn’t always. I know that. I'm secretly happy for him to indulge Benjy like this. He loves the attention, and it's good for both of them.

He takes another drink, then adds, quieter, “I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Hearing him admit that tugs at my heartstrings.

I lean back in my chair, letting the cool air hit my skin. “He liked that. You reading to him.”

Reeves glances over. “You think so?”

“He was hanging on every word,” I say. “You didn’t talk to him like he was five. You talked to him like he could keep up.”

Reeves sets his bottle on the table, his thumb dragging once along the label. “He can.”

A small smile pulls at my mouth. “I know. He's a sharp kid."

There’s a pause, crickets chirping in the background.

“He’s always been like that,” I add. “Once something clicks, he wants to understand all of it. Not just the surface.”

Reeves nods once.

I glance at him, then back out toward the dark yard. “He gets that from you.”

That’s the closest I’ve come to saying it out loud to him.

Not only the curiosity, but the way Benjy locks onto something and doesn’t let go. He wants to understand how things work, not just accept them.

Reeves doesn’t answer right away.

He rolls the bottle between his palms, the glass catching what little light spills from the kitchen window.

"I should probably head back soon." His voice carries that familiar note of preparation, the one that used to make my stomach drop. "You've got work tomorrow, and Benjy has school."

The words form before I can stop them. Before I can think through all the reasons this is complicated.

"You could stay again."

It's simple and direct, with no misunderstanding of what that means.

I take a sip of beer to keep from adding qualifiers or explanations. The taste is bitter, the beer now warmer than I normally like it.