"Good morning, Kinsley," Wendy says.
"Good morning," Kinsley replies, her voice bright now. "Dad's making oatmeal."
"Smells good."
I dish out three bowls and bring them to the table, setting one in front of each of them before taking my own seat. Wendy picks up her spoon and takes a bite, then smiles.
"This is really good," she says.
"It's just oatmeal."
"It's good oatmeal."
Kinsley giggles, and Wendy grins at her, and I feel that tightness in my chest again.
We eat in comfortable silence, the only sounds are the clink of spoons against bowls and the crackle of the fire. Bolt wanders over and sits at Wendy's feet. She reaches down absently and scratches behind his ears, and he sighs contentedly.
When we're finished, Kinsley carries her bowl to the counter and looks at Wendy. "Do you want to see more of my books?"
Wendy smiles. "I'd love to."
Kinsley takes her hand and leads her toward her room, and I'm left alone at the table, staring at my empty bowl.
I hear their voices drift down the hallway, Kinsley's excited chatter and Wendy's warm, patient replies.
And then I realize how much I've already gotten used to the sound.
I stand and clear the table, washing the bowls and setting them aside to dry. Then I move to the window again, looking out at the mountains.
The snow is deep, but the roads will be clear soon. Someone from town will come through with a plow, or I can dig her car out myself if I need to. Either way, she can leave.
But I don't want her to.
The thought loops in my mind, insistent and undeniable.
I turn away from the window and walk down the hallway, stopping at Kinsley's door. It's open, and I can see Wendy sitting on the floor, Kinsley beside her, both of them bent over a book.
Wendy glances up and sees me standing there. She smiles, and something in my chest loosens.
I step into the room. "Kinsley, can you give us a minute?"
Kinsley looks between us, then nods and stands, carefully closing the lid of her box. "Okay, Dad."
She slips past me and disappears down the hallway, leaving Wendy and me alone.
Wendy stands slowly, brushing off her hands, and looks at me with a question in her eyes.
"The storm's passed," I say.
"I know."
"Road'll be clear soon. I can walk you back to your car."
She nods, her expression carefully neutral. "Okay."
I take a breath, then another, and step closer.
"Or," I say, my voice low, "you could stay."
