“Yeah?”
“I haven’t felt this… steady in a long time.” He shrugs, almost embarrassed by the admission. “Whatever this is—even if it’s just being around you and our kids laughing—I’m grateful for it.”
I can only nod. My throat doesn’t trust my voice.
He climbs in, the engine coughs and settles, and the headlights rake long across the pumpkins as he pulls out. I watch until the taillights disappear down the road. When the dark returns, it feels bigger and also somehow kinder.
Back inside, Huck sleeps like he was poured into the couch. TJ’s got one foot kicked free of the blanket. I tuck them both in. The office hums—printer in sleep mode, mini-fridge motor cycling, the familiar buzz of the fluorescent light that never quite quits.
I sit at my desk and open my laptop because that’s what I do when my feelings scare me: spreadsheets, vendor lists, a checklist titled GREAT PUMPKIN FESTIVAL: FINAL WEEK. I answer two emails. I pretend the screen isn’t blurring a little.
Lanie, you can’t afford this.
Lanie, you can’t lead with your heart.
Lanie, you want him.
A soft knock at the door makes me jump. It’s Chase, backing in with a Tupperware the size of a small planet.
“I come in peace,” he whispers. “Katelyn sent apple-cider doughnuts. For the sleepover heroes.”
“You’re an angel,” I say, opening the lid to steam that smells like comfort. “There are only two children in here, though.”
He grins. “I have faith you and Van can eat like teenagers.”
“Van left,” I say, and the word left goes and hangs around in the corners, louder than I mean it to be. “Early shift.”
“Hmm.” He leans on the doorframe, all faux-casual. “He seems like a good guy.”
“He is.” It comes out before I can censor it.
Chase nods like that’s the confirmation he was waiting for. “Just saying—if you need me to run interference with Quinn or Dylan while you take a night off at some point, I can be persuaded to forget how to read a schedule.”
I throw a crumpled Post-it at him. “I’m not taking a night off.”
“Right.” He scoops up the Post-it, smooths it carefully, and sticks it back on my desk. “Just, you know. If you ever do, I’ve got your back.”
He taps the door twice and disappears into the quiet. I break a doughnut in half and sit on the edge of the couch between two small heads, watching the rise and fall of their chests.
I should get up. I should go finish the vendor email, update the map, make the morning to-do list that will save me thirty minutes tomorrow.
I don’t move. I sit with my boys—one mine by blood, one mine for tonight—and let the warm sugar smell do what it does to worry: soften it at the edges.
My phone buzzes with a new message from Van.
Home. thanks for trusting me with tonight.
I type and delete twice before sending:
Thanks for showing up. Sleep well, Chief.
Three dots blink.
You too, Boss.
I smile despite myself, slide the phone face down, and lean my head back. The ceiling tile over my desk has a faint water stain shaped like a heart. It figures.
I am not ready.
