“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re making the face.”
“What face?”
“The one where I say something ordinary and you behave as though I handed you the moon.”
I crouched beside him.
“You say it differently every time.”
“Does that bother you?”
“No.”
I brushed his hair from his forehead.
“It makes every version belong to me.”
His expression softened.
“Come here.”
I leaned closer.
He kissed me once.
No urgency.
A quiet seal over everything we had said in the office.
“Go work,” he murmured.
“I’ll be downstairs.”
“Whistle.”
I gave the signal from the stairwell.
Noah attempted to answer.
The final note collapsed into a breathy cough.
I laughed all the way down.
Caleb and Owen had nearly finished preparing the third ferry launch. Shore-power cables crossed the north bay in orderly loops. Owen stood aboard the vessel testing the emergency-light panel while Caleb crouched beside a crate of isolation transformers.
“You look cheerful,” Caleb said.
“The appointment went well.”
“Only reason?”
“Yes.”
Owen leaned over the rail. “He’s lying.”
