“It’s Saturday,” I remind her. “Cereal is tradition.”
“Tradition is boring.”
“Then I guess we’re boring.”
She grins. “You’re boring. I’m awesome.”
I laugh quietly. “Can’t argue with that.”
It feels almost normal. But normal doesn’t sit right anymore. It’s like living in a house where someone keeps knocking after you barricade the door. You tell yourself it’s the wind or just a coincidence, but deep down, you know better.
After breakfast, we start our version of hide and seek. It’s like the normal version, except our version is about safety, about teaching her what to do if something ever goes wrong. It was never meant to be needed, but Silas wanted an easy way to make sure he could get Aubrey away from her mother if he ever needed to.
“Best three out of five?” she asks, eyes sparkling.
“Deal,” I say, even though she always wins.
She darts off down the hall, socked feet barely making a sound.
I count slow, just loud enough for her to hear. “One…two…three…”
The air shifts on four. A faint metallic click sounds near the door. It could be the gate or the scrape of something against the porch.
I freeze, listening.
Nothing.
“Five…six…” My pulse stutters. “Seven,” I whisper, quieter now.
It’s probably just the wind. Maybe the old latch on the porch railing is sticking again. That’s all.
“Nine…ten.” I move through the living room, calling softly, “Ready or not…”
Silence answers. Usually, she giggles. This time, nothing.
“Aubs?”
A floorboard groans in the hallway. I follow the sound, my hand brushing the wall for balance.
Then the doorbell rings once, twice.
I frown, my gut officially feeling justified in its panic. The mail already came today, and we don’t have any deliveries scheduled. I peek through the window beside the door, praying to see the neighbor’s kid selling fundraiser candy or something.
But it isn’t.
Brian Harrison stands on the other side of the door like he owns the place.
For a heartbeat, I don’t move. My brain refuses to process the shape of him here, the way the morning light cuts along his jaw, the slicked-back hair, the calm tilt of his mouth that doesn’t reach his eyes.
He smiles as he sees me through the window, slow and deliberate. “Hey, little lady.”
My throat goes dry. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“That’s not how you say hello to family.”
“You’re not family.” I keep my voice low, steady. My hand hovers over the lock, making sure it’s engaged.
“Come on now.” His tone is too sweet, like he isn’t accustomed to being civil. “Just wanted to talk since it didn’t seem like my calls were getting the point across.”
