Page 87 of Insidious

“I love you.”

“Mm.”

Twinkle.

Always that ridiculous, soft-eyed twinkle, like I just whispered something profound instead of … whatever that was.

On the sofa, when I was half-asleep, the baby sprawled across my chest. I think I was drooling a little.

He leaned down and brushed his lips to my temple.

“I love you.”

“Go away,” I mumbled, not even opening my eyes.

He let out a quiet huff of laughter. And when I forced one eye open, there it was again.

He looked like he’d been given a gift, not been grumbled at by a cranky crocodile.

One evening, I catch him watching me. Just … observing, the way he does now.

I am pacing the living room, trying to settle Amelie, humming something tuneless under my breath.

“I love you,” he says softly.

I stop and turn.

“Why do you say it like that?” I ask.

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve done something amazing.”

His brows pull together slightly, like the answer is obvious.

“You have.”

I stare at him.

“I grunted at you this morning.”

“You responded. You have done so well with the appointments. You have let me stay in this house, though I deserved to be chucked out. And you have given me Amelie,” he says, with that look again.

“I told you to go away five minutes ago.”

“You still let me kiss you.”

“On my forehead. That’s a low bar, Isaac.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. He just seems content to be in my orbit. I shake my head, but there’s something warm curling in my chest despite myself.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably,” he agrees. “But when I see you, my chest feels funny.”

I roll my eyes, shifting the baby onto my shoulder again.

“Probably not a heart attack. But maybe heartburn?” I can’t help but quip back. It takes me a moment to realise the Luna who always needed to have the last word is back.