She leans forward slightly, her hair slipping across one shoulder.
Eyes bright. Happy.
The sight hits harder than it should because lately I've started collecting moments.
Little ones.
The way she hums while decorating cookies.
The way she always gives Jillie the last cinnamon roll.
The way she pretends not to smile when she's amused.
The way she laughs.
Especially the way she laughs.
And suddenly a realization lands with uncomfortable precision.
I know too many things about her. Not because I've been trying. Because I've been paying attention.
A lot. More than I should. More than someone in a fake relationship probably ought to.
Across the couch, Sadie glances over.
Catches me looking.
For a second neither of us looks away.
Something shifts. Not dramatically. Just enough. Just enough to make the room feel smaller. Just enough to make my pulse notice.
Then Jillie climbs directly across both of us to retrieve popcorn.
The moment shatters instantly.
I almost laugh.
Almost.
Because somehow that little girl has become remarkably talented at interrupting dangerous thoughts.
And unfortunately, I'm starting to have a lot of them.
***
The fort survives approximately twelve minutes before becoming headquarters for board games.
Jillie insists this is a natural evolution. Neither Sadie nor I understand the logic, but that doesn't stop it from happening.
Soon we're all sitting cross-legged inside a fortress of blankets and pillows while a board game occupies the center of the floor.
The fireplace crackles nearby. Snow taps softly against the windows.
The entire cabin feels insulated from the rest of the world.
It feels like we've somehow slipped outside of normal life for a few hours.
Jillie cheats.
