The warmth hits him immediately, easing his shoulders a bit.
He glances around, taking in the sight of the house and what he left behind the day he walked out: the decorations still up from Christmas, Eli’s toys scattered all over the floor in front of the fireplace, Mom’s knitted blanket bunched up in the corner of the sofa.
His expression softens. “Missed this place.”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, moving around him briefly to shut the door and seal the warm air inside. “We’ve been…keeping busy. As you can probably tell.”
He nods, eyes landing back on me. “I can see that.”
For a second, I’m not sure what to say.
I don’t know if we’re ready to forgive each other yet, and honestly I don’t know if we can. Ifhecan.
I did a lot of damage to him when I came clean.
But seeing him here with Eli and seeing the way his eyes soften again feels like the first fragile step toward a future where this could be fixed.
Maybe this time, we’ll both try a little harder not to break it.
“Can we talk?” he asks, surprisingly.
“Kitchen,” I whisper to him.
He nods, shedding his coat and hanging it over the hook next to the door, the familiar scent of his coffee and aftershave tugging at my heartstrings.
He follows me, ruffling Eli’s hair before we round the corner.
He huffs behind us. “Hey! Where you going?”
Three pairs of eyes snap to us as soon as we enter, all of them knowing.
I nod for them to leave, Grant rounding the corner of the counter first and sweeping Eli off his feet and throwing him over his shoulder right when he appears in the doorway.
The fit of giggles fades as they head back into the living room, Callum and Dean soon joining them.
The kitchen is a mess of post-holiday chaos: flour on the counter, pie dough freshly kneaded off to the side, pin tins spread out and ready to be filled.
It feels lived-in, loved, a far cry from the sterile isolation of the days I spent hiding here alone, before Grant, Callum, and Dean rescued my heart on Christmas.
Dad leans against the counter, one of his hands coming up to rub the back of his neck in that telltale sign of unease.
His hazel eyes—mirror images of Eli’s and mine—avoid my gaze at first, flicking to the window over the sink where snow swirls in lazy patterns.
The silence stretches and my pulse thunders louder in my ears, the apology clawing up my throat desperate to escape.
But he starts first. “Noelle…I’m sorry.”
The words hang in the air for a long moment.
I swallow around the lump forming in my throat.
When he finally meets my eyes, tears are welling in his, glistening along his lash line under the overhead light.
“For the fighting, for…everything. I never wanted us at odds, pushing each other away. Since your mom died…” His voice breaks completely now, a sob hitching in his throat that has my heart tearing in two.
He swipes at his eyes quickly to clear them. “God, sweetheart, I buried myself in work at the station, shifts that never ended, anything to not feel the hole she left in me, in us. It was like…like if I stopped, the grief would swallow me whole. But it pushed you away instead. You were hurting too, and I wasn’t there. When you had Eli…”
A tremulous smile flickers, tears spilling freely now.
