Page 32 of Not Until I Found You

“Mind if we bless the food?” he asks.

“Sure.” I nod and bow my head, though the movement feels unfamiliar.

Growing up, praying before meals was as normal as breathing. Mom used to insist on it, even when Ashton and I complained about our food getting cold. Somewhere along the way, that habit faded.

It’s been a long time since I’ve prayed with anyone, long enough that the gesture feels awkward. It’s not because I don’t believe in God, I do. At least, I think I do. It’s the rest of it I’m not so sure about.

Beside me, Ashton bows his head without hesitation, and the ease of it catches my attention. Since moving to Covewood, Ashton’s faith has strengthened. It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask him about.

When we’re finished, the room settles into a comfortable silence—the only sounds are the scrapes of Dad’s spoon circling through his soup and the low clink of Ashton’s against the bowl as he takes bite after bite, scarfing it down like he hasn’t eaten all day. The quiet feels less like emptiness and more like something fragile waiting to grow. A nervous flutter sweeps through my stomach, and I rush to fill the silence before it can settle any deeper.

“So it’s been a rough week?”

Ashton exhales, dragging a piece of grilled cheese through his soup. “Just a lot of deadlines hitting all at once. We’re finishing up that big renovation on Sycamore Street, plus a couple of emergency repair jobs came in. Everyone’s been putting in extra hours.”

“Even Zane?” The question leaves my mouth before I realize how curious I sound.

Ashton smirks faintly. “Especially Zane. He’s been pulling doubles right alongside me. He keeps saying he doesn’t mind, but I can tell he’s running on fumes.”

I glance down at my soup, swirling it with my spoon. The thought of Zane worn out tugs at me more than I expect. Maybe it’s because I see the same exhaustion written on Ashton. The dark crescents under his eyes, the new lines at the corners, the way he chews as if he’s too tired to even taste the food. My brother carries the weight of two people these days, and I’m glad to be here, even if all I can do is a few farm chores and serve him soup and grilled cheese. I might even bring a bowl over to Zane later, to return the kindness he’s shown me.

Ashton keeps talking about job schedules, but my mind drifts, until his voice softens. “Hey.”

I look up.

“You okay?” He studies me with that big-brother gaze that always seems to cut through my defenses.

I force a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Mm.” He doesn’t buy it. He tears his grilled cheese in half and sets one piece back down, eyes trained on me. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

I shrug, spooning at the basil floating in my soup. “I’m fine, Ashton, really.”

“Hey, have you talked to Mom? She’s been blowing up my phone.”

A laugh huffs out of me. “She called me three times this morning, and I’m sure I’ll have some voicemails from her to pop through when I get service on my way to town. I don’t even have the energy to listen to her tell me about some jobs she thinks I’d enjoy there or how much fun we’re going to have when I move back in before the fall semester starts.”

“Now you understand why I like not having service out here. She means well, at least.”

“I know.” My voice softens, guilt creeping in. “I just… I didn’t tell her everything at first because I wanted to figure things out for myself. But she’s worried.”

“Yeah, she stays that way,” Ashton murmurs, dunking his sandwich into the soup. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly grateful for Mom and everything she’s done for us. But I think her constant meddling is why I moved out here. I needed a little space to live my own life.”

Before I can reply, a low, gravelly sound rises from the other side of the table.

“How…” Dad pauses, his lips working around the words, “is Sarah?”

Ashton and I both freeze, stunned because Dad hasn’t asked about Mom once since I’ve arrived. Hearing him mention her in his slow, halting voice sends a ripple of shock through the air.

I swallow hard. “She’s okay.” I turn toward him. “All she does is work, it seems, and constantly check in on Ash and me. But she’s good, though.”

His eyes linger on mine for the briefest moment before they drift back to his bowl. The corners of his mouth pull tight, and he gives a small nod. Across from me, Ashton clears his throat. The kitchen falls silent again except for the faint clink of spoons against ceramic. After a moment, Ashton sets his utensil down and glances at me.

“Thanks for dinner, Maxie. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”

“You’re both welcome,” I reply, looking at Dad. He doesn’t look up, but his jaw shifts, a small movement that lets me know he’s heard me.

Ashton’s cabin is quiet, except for the low hum of the fridge and the buzzing of cicadas outside. In need of something to keep my mind busy, I grab a book and decide to read on the porch. When I step outside, book in hand, the bright glow of a fire catches my eye.