“Do you want a tour?” I asked, immediately wishing I’d phrased it differently. There wasn’t much to tour.
“I’d like that,” he said.
So, I showed him.
The kitchen first—small but functional, open shelves with neatly stacked plates, jars of flour and sugar from the bakery downstairs that the owner let me buy cheap. The living area. The tiny dining nook.
“And this,” I said, gesturing toward the far end of the condo, “is also my bedroom. Multifunctional.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Efficient.”
“That’s one word for it.”
I pushed open the door anyway. The room was soft—linen curtains, a low bed with a quilt my momma had made, framed photos on the walls. My family. The farm. Sunny the dog with his tongue hanging out.
He stopped just inside the doorway.
“This is nice,” he said.
I shrugged, suddenly shy. “It’s enough.”
That seemed to land somewhere deep in him. His jaw tightened, just slightly.
We drifted back into the living room, the air between us charged in a way that felt new and fragile and dangerous all at once. I crossed to the kitchen and reached for the kettle, grateful for something to do with my hands.
“Coffee?” I asked. “I don’t have anything fancy.”
“Coffee’s perfect.”
I filled the kettle and set it on the stove, then leaned back against the counter, watching him without meaning to. He stood by the window now, looking out at the street below like he was trying to memorize it.
Silence stretched.
It wasn’t awkward.
It was … thick.
“I wanted to explain something,” I said suddenly.
He turned, brows knitting slightly. “Okay.”
“When I said I was adopted,” I continued, my voice softer now, “I didn’t plan to say that.”
“I figured,” he said gently.
“I wasn’t trying to make it about me,” I added quickly. “I just—when you mentioned your mom, the way you did, I thought … maybe it would help. To know that families can still matter even when they aren’t what you expect.”
His expression shifted—something vulnerable flickering across his face before he locked it down again.
“My mom’s dead,” he said.
The words were flat. Controlled.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
He shrugged one shoulder. “Long time ago.”
“That doesn’t make it smaller,” I said. “It just makes it older.”
