“Baby Bird,” Agnes said, releasing Corina and lightly flicking the boy’s head. “You’re speaking to the Prince of Brighton. Show respect.”
“It’s okay,” Stephen said and slid the boy to the ground. “He’s Bird’s son all right.”
Baby Bird puffed out his chest, anchoring his fists on his waist. “I’m going to be a pilot, like him. He was the best.”
“Pilot?” Stephen peeked at Agnes. Bird was a mechanic.
She shrugged, a thin pink hue sweeping across her cheeks. “It’s what he wanted his Da to be. So I said, why not?”
“Indeed, why not?”
Something bubbled over in the kitchen and Agnes hurried off, Baby Bird running after her. “I’ll be right round with a spot of tea and cakes.”
When they were alone, Corina soothed her hand down Stephen’s back. “You all right?”
He inhaled, steeling the rise of his own cordoned off memories and emotions. “I’m glad we came.” Raising his hand to her face, he stroked her jaw, not caring about the past, the future, only this moment with her. “I’m glad you’re here.” And he realized . . . Corina had always been his rock. “Even though I’m going to have to uncorrupt Baby Bird about this football business.” His heart palpitated with a yearning to pull her into him and kiss her. He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and stepped toward her. “Corina, I—”
“I was standing at the stove when I realized . . .” Agnes had returned. “Oh, begging your pardon.”
Stephen stepped back, embarrassed, agitated. Relieved. He had no business kissing Corina. He cut her a glance. She had no business allowing him. “Not at all, not at all.”
“It’s just that I realize the Prince of Brighton is in me house.” She set the service on the center table and curtsyed again, this time, low and proper. “This is my granny’s tea set. She bought it in France on her honeymoon.”
“It’s lovely,” Corina said, taking a seat as Agnes poured, avoiding Stephen’s gaze.
The conversation moved to life after Afghanistan, how Agnes came by the cottage and her job, her supportive family, all peppered with Baby Bird’s observations about life and his mum.
“She’s bossy.”
“I wouldn’t be if you’d mind me now, would I? Hmm?” Agnes arched her brow at her son.
Baby Bird grimaced at Stephen in such a way he laughed and, mercy a-mighty, he saw a piece of himself in the lad.
Once the tea was served, Agnes raised her cup. “To Bird, the best man I’ve ever known. May he rest in peace.”
Stephen raised his cup. “To Bird.”
“To Bird and Carlos,” Corina said.
“To Carlos.”
“To Carlos.”
“Who’s Carlos?” And Baby Bird set them all to laughing.
The afternoon faded into evening in Agnes’s living room, sharing, laughing, remembering Bird, Carlos, the bond of family forged by trial.
Stephen did a spell on the back lawn with Baby Bird. Teaching him the superiority of rugby, taking care with his ankle, while Corina accepted Agnes’s request for ideas on making over a small room in the back of the house.
And that night, Stephen’s family grew by two.
On the drive home, Corina relaxed against her seat, her eyes in a sleepy daze. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“You invited me to go with you for you, but in the end you gave a great gift to me. I didn’t feel so alone anymore. While my parents never want to talk about Carlos, Agnes talked so freely about missing Bird, about their son. I got to reminisce about Carlos.”
“None of this would’ve happened without you.”
