Arden stiffened. Instinct flared. The reflex to brace, to pull back, to scan for the catch.
But there was no transaction here. No performance.
And after she let out a breath she hadn’t noticed holding, she leaned in, tentative at first, then fully, like her body understood what her heart hadn’t yet.
Her walls wavered. Her eyes stung before she could stop it, tears she didn’t expect. She blinked them away quickly, but the moment had already settled.
Too warm. Too real.
“Inside, inside,” Lillian urged, her voice as easy as sunlight through an open window.
The Haverford houseunfolded like a living thing—soft, cozy, inviting. Books lined every surface—some shelved, most not. They leaned in corners, spilled off end tables, nestled under windows. A well-worn quilt draped across the back of the couch, the kind of fabric that had soaked up years of Sunday naps and late-night movies. A candle burned low on the mantel, its scent—vanilla and clove—softening the air with quiet persistence. Wax had pooled and hardened around the base like it had nowhere better to be.
The walls were covered in photographs, none of them staged, none of them neat. Pure moments. Overlapping prints and curling corners, full of smiling chaos. Beach trips. Flour-dusted kids on kitchen stools. Robert, Penny, and Mia in matching Christmas pajamas, laughing until they couldn’t breathe. Lillian and Robert dancing barefoot on a porch, a summer sunset glowing behind them.
This wasn’t perfection. This was joy.
Her chest tightened. For so long, home had meant silence. Measured tones. Unspoken rules. Control.
But here? Home was noise. Mess. Laughter that spilled without apology. A place where people took up space without asking.
It was a language she didn’t speak, but she wanted to learn it.
“Here they are!” Robert’s voice rang out from the kitchen, full of welcome. He rounded the corner in a Yankees apron dusted with flour, a tray of cookies balanced in his hands like second nature. His smile stretched wide, warm, and uncomplicated—the kind that made you feel instantly at home.
“Arden,” he said, like her name was reason enough to celebrate. “House rule—nobodyleaves hungry.”
She hesitated for a second. Then carefully, she took a cookie. The scent hit her: rich chocolate, butter a hint past golden.“Thank you. This smells incredible.”
Robert beamed, visibly pleased. Penny had already snatched two, taking a dramatic bite like she hadn’t eaten in days.
“Therapy in chocolate chip form,” she said around a mouthful.
Robert nodded solemnly. “Better than half the prescriptions out there.”
Lillian laughed, brushing flour from her sleeve. “Don’t let him fool you, Arden. He bakes to avoid my honey-do list.”
Robert’s grin widened, eyes bright. “Family tradition.”
Lillian gave him a look that could only be described as long-suffering affection. The kind built over decades. The kind that made space and kept it warm.
They moved around each other so easily, so naturally, like affection was second nature.
Arden let herself lean into—if only for amoment.
Haverford-style Charades wasunlike anything Arden had ever seen.
Rules? Optional.
Cheating? Encouraged.
Chaos? Required.
The living room had become a war zone of flailing limbs, wild guesses, and exaggerated performances. Robert, ever the showman, threw himself dramatically to the floor.
His clue?
“A whale trying to escape.”
