“Of course you did,” I mutter, tucking it into my pocket like it might explode if I give it too much attention. “Wonder what he wants now.”
Charlie’s eyes soften, just a fraction. “That,” he says gently, “is never a good question.”
The bell rings again. Another customer. Another hopeful face, and the distraction I desperately need right now, and as luck would have it she’s got two friends with her.
“Welcome to Leaf & Letter. Let me guess, you’re here for a snake plant or to see Plant Daddy?”
One of the women cackles, shoving another one of the trio forward. “Me. I’m here for a snake plant because of Plant Daddy."
I paste on my best professional smile so I don’t spit my laugh across the room at this poor woman.
“Amazing,” I say. “Well, you’re in the right place if you want something that survives neglect and still looks fabulous.”
And somehow, that feels like the truest thing I’ve said all day.
Bless my slow cooker.This bad boy has done all of the emotional heavy lifting today.
When I get home, the whole apartment smells like beef broth and garlic, making my mouth water instantly when I cross the threshold. I’d thrown the roast in before we left this morning, still half-asleep, and bracing myself for the day ahead at Leaf & Letter. Now it’s been simmering all day, turning into the kind of French dip meat Theo loves so much that he once asked if we could have it for his birthday.
I lift the lid and steam curls up like it’s applauding me for my efforts. TheywereHerculean, if I say so myself.
“Okay,” I murmur. “We did it.”
Theo bursts through the door ten minutes later, cheeks pink from being out with his friend, eyes bright. “Do I smell French dip?”
“You sure do,” I say, pulling the meat apart with a fork. “Because I am generous and also because you would riot if I didn’t.”
He laughs and drops his backpack by the door. “I’m gonna change.”
“Five minutes,” I call. “Then dinner.”
He disappears down the hall, leaving me alone with the hiss of the slow cooker and the quiet settling of the apartment. My shoulders drop. Today was unlike any other day I’ve had at that shop. The crowds. The snake plants. The video. Sawyer’s stupid, charming face popping up on half the phones in Alexandria.
But it was also good. So good. Weird, but also terrifyingly good. It’s put a pep in my step kind of good.
“Dinner, Theo,” I call when the sandwiches are ready.
“Coming,” Theo shouts back.
I’m plating everything when I hear it—crowd noise, sharp and electric, coming from the living room. I frown.
Theo peeks into the kitchen, holding the remote. “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Can we eat in the living room? The Dominion’s on.”
Of course they are.
I hesitate. “You won’t lose your appetite watching a hockey game, will you?” Insane to ask, but a mother can only hope.
“No,” he says solemnly. “But I might lose my voice.” He then cocks his head to the side. “Will it make you lose yours?”
“It might.” I sigh. I look into his big brown eyes, flickering with excitement and hope, pretty sure there’s a sprinkle of pure joy in them, too. I take one final cleansing breath of air, then surrender to fate. “Fine. But no spilling au jus on the couch.”
One fist pump later, I take my spot beside a very happy Theo, settling in next to him and tucking into my sandwich. Just hearing the announcer’s voice brings back forgotten memories I’d love to bury forever, but it seems I’ve got a son who simply won’t let me.
“Look!” Theo’s voice pipes up, interrupting my thoughts, high-pitched and excited. “It’s Sawyer!”
