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He has the nerve to look calm.
I sit up straighter, clutching the blanket to me. “Leon.”
He takes the notebook back before I can spiral too far and writes again. I asked her if it would upset her if I pursued you.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He asked Poppy. For permission. Because he respected her. Because he understood she mattered in this too. “What did she say?”
Leon’s mouth twitches. He writes slower this time, like he’s enjoying himself. She said if I hurt you, she would put an arrow in my chest.
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. It fills the truck, too loud and too bright for the early morning, but I don’t care.
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth, still laughing. “I think Joanie has been rubbing off on her.”
Leon nods solemnly, then adds beneath it, I believed her. I kind of regret getting her that bow now.
He winks, and that only makes me laugh harder. He watches me, eyes warm, and the laughter fades into something softer.
He didn’t dismiss her because she was a child. Didn’t laugh at her fear. Didn’t make her feel silly for protecting me. No wonder she looks at him like she’s waiting for the catch.
Part of me still is too.
Leon’s expression gentles, like he can hear the thought even though I don’t say it. He turns the page and writes again. This time, his hand moves slower.
He passes it to me. My mom would have loved you both.
“Yeah?”
He nods.
I trace my thumb along the edge of the page and bite my bottom lip. “Can you tell me about her?”
Something moves across his face. Grief, old but not gone. The kind that lives quietly until someone opens the wrong door. He looks out the window, toward the gray morning and the trees beyond the glass, then takes the notebook back. My heartbeat speeds up with each word he writes, honored that he wants to share this piece of his heart with me.
She was loud. Warm. Always feeding people. Even when we barely had enough, she made sure everyone felt welcome.
I picture it too easily. A woman with Leon’s stubborn jaw and kind eyes, filling a house with noise, food, and love. “She sounds wonderful.”
He swallows, then writes again. She would have taken one look at Poppy and started teaching her how to bake something. Then she would have told me not to be an idiot with you.
A laugh slips out of me, watery this time. “Smart woman.”
He nods like that’s obvious.
“What about your dad?”
Leon’s face changes again, soft in a different way. He writes after a moment. Quiet. Patient. Good with his hands. Fixed everything. Cars, cabinets, broken toys. Me, sometimes.
I press my lips together.
He keeps writing. He didn’t talk much unless it mattered. When he loved someone, he showed it. Every day. In little things.
My eyes burn. “That sounds like someone else I know.”
Leon looks at me then, really looks at me, and the air in the truck shifts. Not heated this time. Tender. A little painful. His fingers brush mine over the notebook.
His parents should still be here. Instead, they were taken from him, and no one paid for it. No justice. No consequence. Just two good people gone and a thirteen-year-old boy left to carry the wreckage. “I wish I could’ve met them.”
His jaw tightens, but he nods, writing again. But I have a wonderful mom now and a pain in the ass brother.
