“What if I get you one that’s yours?”
My mouth goes dry. I can’t tell if he’s serious, and while that’s high on my want list, it’s exactly that. Awant. And I rarely let myself have those things, especially when I can’t justify them as a business expense. Like new lenses, or one more newborn romper when I already have dozens.
He ducks his head. “Let’s get your bags to our—your—room,” Aiden offers, blushing as he disappears down a short hall. “You can unpack while Phoebe plays.”
I glance up toward the second floor, hesitating. Part of me wants to see Phoebe’s new space, and see what else is up there. But curiosity about my own space wins out.
I follow him and step into a bedroom I never pictured living in: a stone fireplace, log walls, thick curtains, and a wood chandelier.
“Is this original?” I ask, brushing the rough stone.
“Yes. So are the logs,” he says. “And yes—the fireplace works.”
“I can have a fire in my bedroom,” I whisper with awe. Phoebe isn’t the only one who feels like a princess in this house.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he adds, a smile in his voice. “Reminding me what this house has to offer. It was hard moving into this room. But I can feel our family’s history in the wood. It grounds me.”
“I’d never leave it,” I admit, dreamily.
“If you want to be that antisocial, fine by me,” he teases. “This is your room. I’ll take a guest room.”
I straighten. I hadn’t given much thought to this part. Everything happened so fast, I never really processed our sleeping arrangements.
It’s enough that Phoebe and I are coming into his space and rearranging his life.
I can’t take his room, too.
“I am not kicking you out of your own room, Aiden.”
“You don’t have a choice. It’s settled,” he says roughly.
I shake my head, warmed by the stubborn sweetness.
“Do we need to prep Thanksgiving food? Do you have a list?”
He blinks. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t possibly cook it all in one day,” I say, eyes narrowing. “Should I start on pies? Last-minute grocery runs before the store is unbearable?”
“We just buy it all. Premade.” A flush stains his cheeks. “I told you. We don’t really have time for it with everything we’ve got to do for Opening Day.”
“Oh. Well then, what can I do? How do I help?”
His eyes go soft. “You can curl up in a chair and read. Or I can set up your computer in the office so you can work. You don’t need to add my workload to yours, Chloe.”
I square my shoulders. “I know I don’tneedto, but this isn’t a free ride for me.”
“Nobody here thinks that about you.”
“I need to pitch in. I need to feel useful.”
He reaches up and rubs his eyebrow with his thumb. A decade apart, and it’s still so easy to tell when he’s chewing on what he wants to say.
“You don’t need to be productive to have value,” he says in a low voice. “Yes, we work around here. A lot. But…you can’t take it with you. All that’s left behind are memories, and whether you did the things that made you happy. So settle in. Make this room yours.”
I don’t want to address the things he’s not saying.
“What if I want a tree in here?” I ask, a smile twitching around my mouth.
