I set Savannah’s carrier down on the small table near the window and straighten. Claudia steps in slowly, cautiously.
“You’re good here,” I say again. “You and Savannah can take over.”
She brushes a hand over her arm. “I just do not want you to feel like we’re crowding your space. I do not want to repeat the pattern.”
That hits deeper than she means it to. My stomach draws tight. “There is no one I have ever met in my entire life I’d rather share a space with.” I make sure our eyes are locked when I say. “Trust me.”
She stiffens a bit and clears her throat. I may not be able to see it, but fuck if I don’t feel her wall going up. “I know I’m too emotional right now. Those costumes, the confessional. I’m stronger than this.”
“I do know that. I see it. I get having to be strong.” I pause. “That first night I messaged you.” I pause for a minute and contemplate how to say the rest, so I just let it roll out. “I opened up to you because there was an old soul in you. I saw it in your eyes. I have never spoken about it again, and honestly, I didn’t need to. You gave it to me straight.”
“You thought you loved her and felt responsible for some reason. I’ve been in those shoes, just not in the same way. But grief is grief. It all burns the same, as long as you hold a match to it.”
“You tired?” I ask after several minutes of silence.
She nods.
“Have a seat, the remotes are right there,” I point toward the coffee table as I head over and grab the menu for room service. “I know you haven’t eaten yet, and neither have I. Look it over while I take yours and Savannah’s things to your room.”
“I can help,” she says, taking a step toward me.
“Not tonight, you can’t, I insist.”
“Deacon, I?—”
“You took care of me when I was at my low point. I need to do this.”
She looks at my chest, where my hand is gripping my shirt, right above that ache in my heart, and nods, “Okay. Thank you.”
I walk outand see her holding Savannah, who is still sleeping. “You want to check it out?”
She nods as she stands. “I would.”
Claudia steps into the room, Savannah bundled against her chest. Her gaze drifts past the bed, past the bassinet, straight to the chair where I set everything up.
On the chair sits the pile I put together earlier.
For Savannah:
The first thing she sees is the onesie. Softivory cotton,embroidered across the chest in warmspice orangethread, Savannah’s First Little Halloween. Beneath it is the sleeper. Not neon. Not loud. The bottom starts in a richpumpkin orangeatthe feet. The middle fades into a warmbutternut squash yellow. The top shifts to a softcreamnear the shoulders.
The hood is trimmed inleaf green, and the slippers match: tinypumpkin-orangebooties withleaf-greenvines stitched along the ankle seams.
Claudia smiles. “She is going to look like she belongs in a pumpkin patch.”
“She will,” I say. “Cutest pumpkin there.”
She touches the onesie again, tracing the spice orange. Her cheeks warm, and something soft flickers across her expression. Then she notices the third bundle on the chair.
“Oh,” she murmurs. “What is this one?”
“Daycare costume,” I say.
She unties the satin bow gently. The fabric unfolds.
A pumpkin romper inpumpkin orange. Ribbed cotton. Stretchy and soft for all-day wearing.
Across the chest is a small, embroidered pumpkin outlined ingolden yellow, with a tiny stem.
