Penny laughs, hugging her back, but her eyes lift to mine. There’s an understanding there, now. She’s looking for stability, and that’s what we need too.
Inviting someone into our life this quickly is a risk I’d normally avoid, because I don’t rush things. I don’t gamble with Elle.
But I sit here, watching my daughter press a shiny pebble into Penny’s palm, entrusting her with something much more valuable than a simple stone. Watching them quietly murmur to each other with excited, matching blue eyes.
This should feel reckless, but it doesn’t.
Penny doesn’t.
Chapter eight
Welcome to Maplewood, Penny
Penny
Salt and gravel crunch lightly under my feet as I walk up the short path beside the house, and the first thing I notice when I look up is that Evan’s already outside.
Arms folded loosely across his chest, leaning back against the side of the house in a dark long-sleeved thermal pushed up at the forearms. He straightens when he sees me and steps forward before I can get a word out.
“I’ve got it,” he says, reaching for the duffel bag slung over my shoulder.
“Oh. Thanks.” His hand brushes over my arm as he unhooks the strap, and I pretend not to notice.
I notice.
Gus suddenly appears at the porch steps and barrels down toward me before I can say anything, his tail windmilling hard enough to throw off his balance. I laugh and drop my hand to give him some quick pats, grateful for the interruption and something easy to focus on that doesn’t come with a hundred layers underneath it.
“Hey, mister,” I murmur as he leans into my hand, whining softly. “Miss me?”
“He’s dramatic,” Evan says, shaking his head.
“Good. I like dramatic.”
His mouth twitches, and it does something small and inconvenient in my chest. I stay crouched with Gus for a second longer before I straighten, brushing my hands off against my jeans as I look over at Evan.
“You didn’t bring much.”
I shrug. “Didn’t really feel like there was much worth bringing.”
The words sit there heavier than I meant them to be, and I feel the instinct to soften them, to dress them up into something easier—but I don’t.
Evan nods and doesn’t ask what that means. It should feel like respect, and it probably is, but something familiar in me twists anyway. Because maybe it’s just easier not to look close enough to care. Easier to take what I offer at face value and leave the rest alone.
My eyes drop to the skin of his forearm below his hitched up sleeve, the movement pulling muscle tight as he adjusts the grip on my bag. It’s unfair, honestly, how my brain immediately stops being useful. I clear my throat, dragging my focus back where it belongs.
“So, Elle’s at a playdate?” I ask as we move toward the side gate.
“Yup,” he replies. “With a friend she made at school end of last year. She’ll be there another couple hours—gives you time to settle in.”
“Into my glamorous new life in your backyard?”
Hazel eyes meet mine over his shoulder. “You haven’t seen it yet.”
I pause for half a second before he pushes the gate open for me, and gestures for me to go first.
The backyard is tidy enough for winter. The lawn is flat and pale with frost, and the flowerbeds along the fence are cut back to dark stems and frozen soil. A small vegetable patch sits off to one side, covered for the season, and a swing hangs from the bare branches of an old oak near the fence.
At the far end, tucked neatly between a row of evergreens, is a small standalone building.
