Jillie takes our laughter as encouragement.
Which turns out to be a mistake.
Eventually she wins.
Suspiciously. Very suspiciously.
But neither of us has the heart to challenge the verdict, especially when she celebrates like she just won the Stanley Cup.
Later, while Jillie builds a pillow throne for herself inside the fort, Sadie wanders into the kitchen.
I follow, mostly because somebody has to carry the empty mugs. At least that's the excuse I use.
The kitchen is warm.
Quiet.
Comfortable.
The sort of comfortable that's becoming increasingly dangerous.
Sadie reaches for a stack of dishes.
I take them first.
She pauses.
"You don't have to do that."
"I know."
"You are aware you're the guest-host in this situation."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means you're supposed to let me help."
I hand her a dish towel.
"You're helping."
She rolls her eyes. The smile that follows makes my chest do something stupid.
We work in companionable silence for a minute.
No awkwardness.
No effort.
Just...easy.
That's what keeps catching me off guard.
How easy everything feels around her.
The quiet. The conversation. The pauses.
Nothing feels forced. Nothing feels fake.
