I swallow. “Everything okay?”
He hesitates, then nods once. “Yeah.”
“I’ll be right down,” I say.
He lingers another second. “Anything I can do to help in the kitchen?”
The kitchen.
Oh boy.
“Just unpack the food,” I answer quickly. “That will help.”
“I’m on it.”
His shoes pound down the stairs, and the sound fades into the open space below. I release a breath and unzip my bag, kneeling to tuck my things into the top drawer of the dresser.
That’s when I notice it. A photo, half-hidden against the back corner. I tug it free carefully. It’s a little boy, maybe two years old. Big dark eyes. Thick lashes. A crooked, mischievous smile that looks familiar.
Tuck.
It has to be.
My lips curve.
There’s something vulnerable about the photo. The child in it doesn’t know how the world will shape him yet. Doesn’t know about heartbreak or responsibility or the careful walls grown men build around themselves.
I hesitate.
Then, because I’m weak and curious and maybe a little too invested already, I slide open the next drawer.
More photos. Not framed. Not displayed. Just…kept in a safe place. These must be the ones his sister sent. Tuck is older. Awkward limbs. A hockey jersey too big for his small frame. A girl stands beside him in several shots—bright smile, same eyes. His sister, I assume. There’s a family photo too. Parents. Christmas morning, maybe.
They’re scattered, not organized. Which isn’t really like him, at all. But they’re not forgotten. Just tucked away for another day. Maybe keeping them out, displaying them on the walls where he’d see them every day pains him. Maybe being away from family and everything he grew up with reminds him of what he’s missing.
Maybe he should think about starting new memories…a new family, here in Boston.
But maybe—probably—none of this is my damn business.
The doorbell rings downstairs, loud in the quiet house. I quickly return everything to exactly where I found it, closing the drawer gently. These are his memories. His stories. His life.
Not mine to unfold.
Voices boom as soon as the door swings open, and I pause at the bedroom door, just listening.
“Tuck, your house is so big,” Josh’s excitement carries easily up the staircase. “Marbles is going to love it here.” I realize he’s never been inside but he’s no doubt driven by it numerous times when visiting his half-sister Zoe, who lives just down the street.
Lucas’s voice follows. “Ari loves Marbles. She didn’t want me to leave. That’s what took us so long to get here.”
“It’s all good. You’re not late for anything, and Ari can visit Marbles here,” Tuck says easily.
My heart tightens. For a guy who doesn’t want kids, he’s awfully good to mine. Sure, I see him not wanting to get close, not wanting them to think he’s any kind of father figure, but when push comes to shove, he took in the kitten.
“Really? That’s awesome, dude.”
Dude.
I don’t know why but that makes me laugh. I step into the hall and move toward the top of the stairs, peering down. Tuck stands near the entryway, and my boys hover around him, practically vibrating. God, they truly adore him which it makes me question this whole set-up. But I guess it’s too late to change things now.
