Michael was quiet for a moment, watching me work. “You called me to help calm down a scared wolf.”
“I called you because you're good with people. And because Rafe needs to see that not everyone in this town is a potential threat.”
“And because you wanted an excuse to see me?”
I glanced at him over my shoulder. He was smiling, teasing, but there was something underneath it. Something hopeful.
“Maybe that too.”
His smile widened. “Good answer.”
Footsteps on the stairs announced Rafe’s arrival.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway a moment later, dressed in borrowed sweatpants and a pack hoodie that hung a little too loose on his frame. He looked younger like this. Softer. More like whoever he’d been before everything went wrong.
Michael glanced up from the counter and lifted his chin in greeting, like they’d done this a dozen times already. “Hey.”
Rafe hesitated—just a beat—then stepped in fully. “Hey.”
I pointed at the chair across from me even though it was obvious where he was meant to sit. Routine mattered. It made the room feel less like a hospital and more like a home.
“Cards,” I said. “Michael brought cards. And pie.”
“Martha’s apple crumble,” Michael confirmed, already pulling plates from the cabinet like he owned the place. Which he basically did, at this point. “Fair warning, I’m terrible at poker but I refuse to acknowledge it. Daniel thinks I cheat.”
“I know you cheat,” I said. “I just can’t prove it.”
Michael shot me an offended look over his shoulder. “Innocent until proven guilty. That’s the American way.”
Rafe’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
That little twitch mattered more than it should’ve.
We settled at the kitchen table—pie distributed, coffee poured, cards shuffled and dealt with the easy efficiency of people who’d done this before. Rafe stayed quiet at first, watching more than playing, eyes tracking hands and expressions like he was cataloging the room for threats even though there weren’t any.
Michael didn’t push. He was good at that. At treating silence like something normal instead of something to fix.
He just slid Rafe his portion of pie without comment and asked, casual, “You right-handed or left-handed when you deal?”
Rafe blinked like the question caught him off guard. “Right.”
“Okay. Good. That means when you crush Daniel, it’ll be with your dominant hand.”
“I’m not going to crush him,” Rafe muttered, staring down at his cards.
“You are,” Michael said with absolute confidence. “Daniel’s got a terrible poker face.”
“I do not,” I said.
Michael snorted and tossed in a chip. “You absolutely do.”
Rafe glanced up, cautious. “He’s messing with you.”
“I’m not,” Michael said, delighted. “I’m informing you.”
I leaned back in my chair. “He’s trying to recruit you.”
“Recruit me for what?” Rafe asked.
