Then she went inside. She paused at Lila’s door, easing it open just enough to hear her daughter breathing, slow and even in the dark. Then she moved through the quiet kitchen, past the herbs on the windowsill, past the sunflowers in its vase on the table.
She turned off the last lamp and climbed the stairs to bed.
Chapter 22
Pancakes and Clarifications
June
Sunday, August 30th
June woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains and the warm weight of Melissa’s arm across her waist.
Not unfamiliar anymore, really. She’d been waking up like this for a week now—in Melissa’s room, in Melissa’s bed, tangled together in sheets that smelled like cedar and rain and something warmer underneath that was just the two of them together, a smell that hadn’t existed before this and belonged to no one else. The guest room at the end of the hall sat empty, its careful neutrality no longer needed.
She turned her head, watching Melissa sleep. In the morning light, she looked softer than she ever did during the day—the sharp lines of her face relaxed, her dark hair spread across the pillow, one hand curled loosely near June’s hip. The armor she wore for the world was gone, stripped away by sleep and trustand whatever they’d built together over these strange, difficult, beautiful months.
I get to have this,June thought.I actually get to have this.
Not stolen. Not hidden. Just this: morning light and Melissa’s weight and the specific quiet of a house that was hers to be in.
Melissa stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “You’re staring.”
“You’re worth staring at.”
“Flatterer.” But Melissa was smiling, that private smile that June had learned was just for her. She stretched, catlike, and pulled June closer. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight. Lila will be up soon.”
“Mmm. Five more minutes.”
“Okay.” June laughed and kissed her—a soft, slow kiss that came from knowing there would be more. Melissa’s hand slid into her hair, deepening it, and for a moment June let herself forget about the day waiting outside the bedroom door.
Then, from down the hall, the unmistakable sound of small feet on hardwood.
They pulled apart, both of them breathless.
“Duty calls,” Melissa said ruefully.
“I’ll start breakfast. You shower.”
“Deal.”
June slipped out of bed and grabbed her robe from the chair—her robe that had a spot in the closet, just like her toothbrush had a place beside Melissa’s in the bathroom, just like her handwriting was on the grocery list still stuck to the refrigerator with a sunflower magnet. Small things. Ordinary things. Evidence of a life being built.
She padded down to the kitchen just as Lila appeared in the doorway, still in her pajamas, her hair a tangled mess.
“Morning, sweetheart. Pancakes or eggs?”
“Pancakes.” Lila climbed onto her usual stool at the island. “With blueberries.”
“Coming right up.”
June moved through the familiar kitchen—pulling ingredients from cabinets she’d organized herself, using the cast-iron pan she’d brought from her parents’ house, humming a soft tune while she worked. The herbs on the windowsill had been replaced twice since spring; the sunflowers in the backyard were starting to droop with the weight of late summer.
Everything was different. Everything was the same.
“June?” Lila’s voice was thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”
