It hangs off her in a way that makes my chest ache. It’s familiar and brand new at the same time: her in clothes that smell of home, in a room that’s held every version of my life, laughing with my kid.
A smile starts at the corner of her mouth, small and tentative, then grows. Not the social one she used to put on at school dances when somebody else’s parents were watching. The real one. The one I remember from summers at the lake, from late nights in this very room while we argued about movies and terrible country songs.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I manage, because apparently that’s all I’ve got.
“Y’all coming in or just gonna stand there dripping on my rug?” Mom calls from the kitchen.
The spell snaps. The room comes rushing back: sound, light, the smell of soup, the sting of heat on frozen cheeks.
Boone huffs and steps fully into the room, clapping a hand on my shoulder on his way past. He knows damn well I’m stuck in place. Nash follows his nose to the stove. Clay veers toward Wyatt’s swing and gives it a gentle push, the baby grunting in his sleep and clutching tighter at his stuffed cow.
I finally make myself move.
Lila twists around, her whole face brightening when she spots me. “Daddy! You’re back. We made a rodeo.”
“Yeah?” I cross to them, my knees cracking as I crouch near the blanket. “Looks like y’all have been busy.”
She thrusts the paper toward me. Crayon arena, bleachers, a lopsided Christmas tree, two dramatically scribbled horses inthe center. A big stick figure in a cowboy hat. Two smaller ones: one with braids, one with… a really big smile, if I’m guessing right.
“Star was scared,” Lila says. “But she did it anyway ’cause she’s brave. And Miss Faith said we can make a sequel.”
“A whole series,” Faith says. “Star at the Summer Rodeo. Star and the Pumpkin Festival. Star Saves Christmas.”
Ellie gasps. “And a prequel. Star as a baby.”
“Star: Origins,” Nash calls from the kitchen around a mouthful of bread.
“Chew before you talk,” Mom snaps.
I ruffle Lila’s hair.
“This is pretty great, Beanpole,” I say honestly. “I’m proud of you.”
She beams, then leans back into Faith’s side like it’s the most natural thing in the world, turning her attention back to the next page.
Something hot and soft and dangerous flares behind my ribs. I straighten too fast, my knees protesting.
“Soup,” Mom says firmly. “Before you pass out on my floor.”
The kitchen’s all steam and heat and the low-grade carnage that comes with too many grown men and not enough counter space.
Boone’s already halfway through his first bowl. Nash is trying to decide if he can sneak a second sandwich without earning a smack. Clay is pretending he doesn’t want seconds while hovering strategically near the stove.
I slide into my usual spot at the table. My shoulders ache as they finally relax another notch. Mom sets a bowl in front of me, soup hot enough to fog my glasses if I wore any.
“Eat,” she orders. “All of it. You’re not too old for me to start counting bites.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, automatically obedient.
Nash tips his chair back on two legs, balancing with a death wish.
“Looks like the girls have adopted Faith,” he says, nodding toward the living room. “Ellie’s already planning matching outfits.”
“She’s good with them,” Mom says without turning. “Not many people look a child in the eye when they’re talking. She does.”
“She really didn’t know about Lila?” Nash asks me, dropping the front legs of his chair with a thump.
