Like something I hadn’t let myself want in a long time.
Me and Beau’s shoes were by the door. There were puzzles on the coffee table, a casserolebubbling in the oven, and baby toys tucked neatly in the corner even though Hazel wasn’t crawling yet. Somewhere in the kitchen, I could hear Willow humming. Someone laughed—Rhett, I thought. Then June said something smart and Silas chuckled.
It should’ve made me feel out of place.
But instead, it felt like I’d been here before.
Like I’dalwaysbeen here.
Delilah brushed past me, muttering something about oven mitts, and Whit followed behind her with a wink. Everything was soeasy. Everyone knew where to go, what to do, how to be.
I stood in the middle of it all, my arms still crossed, trying not to be obvious about how badly it was throwing me.
This wasn’t my life. It was never my life. But standing here, barefoot on hardwood, hearing the clink of silverware and the murmur of soft conversation, I wanted it so bad it made my throat hurt.
And that was when the unease started to rise.
Because I hadn’t done anything to earn this.
Because I hadn’t said yes to anything.
Because this felt too easy.
The Wards…they were the family everyone wanted. Willow and Rhett, the oldest ones, the midwife and the handyman; June and Silas, more unconventional, but deeply and thoroughly in love. Delilah was like an honorary sister (even if she was entirely oblivious that she had Whit on the hook), and the youngest sibling, Holden, was storybook perfect: the prodigal son returned from a long stint in the Peace Corps, wanting to spend time with his niece.
“Alright,” Delilah was saying, standing in the kitchen beside Rhett as June and Silas set the table. Willow was occupied with Hazel, while Beau stayed at my side—watching everything with a bemused smile, a beer in one hand and the other on my lower back. “Someone warnHolden that if he steals one more fucking roll before dinner, Iwillbite him.”
“I can hear you, Delilah,” Holden said, rolling his eyes.
“Someone tell Holden we won’t be on speaking terms until he stops acting like an entitled little shit,” Delilah shot back.
“Hey Holden,” Whit said. “You and Delilah won’t be on speaking terms until you stop acting like an entitled little shit.”
Holden glared at Whit before raising his hands in surrender—a half-eaten roll dangling from his fingers. “What can I say? I’ve been living off powdered soup and weird canned meat for the last year. I’m re-civilizing.”
“You’re re-feralizing the kitchen,” Rhett muttered. “Go stir the green beans.”
“But I’m the guest of honor,” he argued.
“You’re not,” Silas grunted.
“Especially when we have anactualguest in this house,” Willow chimed in. “If anyone gets the guest of honor position, it’s Noelle—isn’t that right, sweetpea?”
Hazel squealed in response, flapping her arms in Willow’s lap.
I forced a smile, nodded at Willow, and gave Hazel a little wave. “Sounds fair to me.”
“You hear that, Noelle?” Holden called over his shoulder. “Guest of honor. Give me your roll.”
“You’re not touching my roll,” I said, suddenly defensive—even though I didn’t even have a roll in my hand yet. “I don’t care how many years you were living off whatever apocalypse pantry bullshit you just described.”
Whit snorted. “She fits right in.”
Did I?
That was the problem.
Because it felt like I did.
