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“Thanks for cooking,” I murmured, my voice little more than a whisper in the comfortable silence that had settled between us. I meant it more deeply than perhaps he realized. My life had been a whirlwind since Charlie had come into it, a storm of chaos and worry leaving me at a loss for what to do next. Having Arlo here, in my space, was exactly what I needed. Charlie babbled something, but his eyelids were heavy and kept closing. Sleep wasn’t far off for him. I gently moved the banana chunks out of the way and propped him up and that way at least if he did fall asleep he wouldn’t faceplant. I didn’t want to put him to bed because he needed his last feeding and a diaper change and, anyway, I kinda loved watching the way his head bobbed with tiredness, and the babbling he threw our way as if he was trying to have a chat with us.
“It's nothing,” he replied. “I like cooking. I miss it with my brothers gone.” I caught the flare of sadness in his expression as he went to pick up his glass of water.
I reached over and took his free hand, and he curled his fingers in mine, then we had this whole unspoken conversation where I told him that I was there for him, and he told me that he was happy to be here for me.
At least, I thought that was what was happening.
We mostly ate in silence, save for the clinking of cutlery against plates. It was a comfortable quiet, filled with the unsaid words and unexplored emotions I couldn’t put a name to. Every so often, our knees brushed beneath the table, a spark shooting through me each time. It was accidental, but with each gentle touch, something in me leaned more toward the warmth that was Arlo Marshall.
Charlie had succumbed and was peacefully asleep in his high chair, his little chest rising and falling. I felt a surge of affection for my nephew, and it hit me that Zach was out there somewhere, missing out on all these moments.
“I wonder where Zach is?” I blurted, the end result of my internal thought process that should have made no sense to Arlo.
He shrugged and seemed to understand. “One day we’ll find out.”
“And then he’ll take Charlie.” As he should. After all, Charlie was his son, not mine. “It makes me think about what it would be like to have a child of my own, y’know, adopting or surrogacy.” I focused back on my dinner, knowing I’d overstepped by talking about kids when what Arlo and I had was the teasing flirting, first of everything, stage.
“Would you want more kids?” he asked after a pause.
I rested my fork on my plate—I’d been eating one-handed since taking Arlo’s hand, neither of us letting go. “Sure, one day.”
“Me too.”
“Even though you’ve done it before with Sutton and Trace?”
He smiled at me. “Trace was eleven, Sutton eight, and they’re my brothers. It’s a different dynamic, but I loved caring for them, and… yeah… being a dad one day is on my list, but then, I have a lot of things on my list.”
“Such as?”
“Maybe going back to college?”
“How long were you there before…?”
“Nearly a year.”
I realized I’d never asked him about studying. I just assumed he’d chosen the same route as me, to work with his hands. I’d never even read his application for the job, not when he’d handled the supplier so well, in fact I didn’t even remember seeing it. “What did you want to study?”
He huffed a laugh. “Pipe dreams, about being an architect.”
“Wow, for real? That explains a lot.”
He glanced at me. “It does?”
“Well, your carpentry for one, and the way you can judge a structure and make it better. Why didn’t I know you wanted to be an architect?” I asked.
“It was never important,” Arlo murmured.
“Of course it’s important. You’re important. You put …your brothers first, then working with me, and all this time, you were giving up what you really wanted to do.”
Arlo winced and stopped eating.Giving upwere emotive words to throw at him, and I felt immediate guilt. Of course, he’d sacrificed for other people, but that was all about love, and nothing to do with giving up.
“I didn’t give up,” he said, and the guilt grew.
“No, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I just meant… don’t you want to go back?”
He hummed under his breath, then squeezed my hand.
“My passion for architecture wasn’t only about designing buildings; it was about creating spaces that told stories, that held memories, and that could impact people’s lives. And that is exactly what I’m doing with you.”
