My vision blurs for a second.
I blink quickly and clear my throat. “Yeah.”
Sloane freezes, too, just for a beat.
Her gaze flickers to Pops, then to me.
Something passes across her face—too fast to name, but it feels like understanding.
Like she knows Pops wasn’t just thanking me for tea.
He was claiming me.
Reminding me—and her—that this house is mine too.
Sloane looks away first, busying herself with opening the applesauce and setting it in the fridge like she needs a task to hold onto.
Pops sips his tea with a satisfied hum. “Perfect.”
I glance at Sloane, smug. “See?”
She rolls her eyes without looking at me. “Don’t get cocky.”
Pops laughs softly and starts talking about something on TV—another commentator he hates, some team that keeps disappointing him. Normal things. Familiar things.
Sloane answers him, nodding, smoothing the edges of the conversation like she always does. She keeps it light because Pops likes light.
I watch her while she talks.
The way she leans closer to Pops without thinking. The way her shoulders only relax when he’s in her line of sight. The way her smile is real with him and guarded with everyone else.
I want to reach across the kitchen and pull her into something that feels safe.
I also want to give her space because she asked for it.
I have no idea how to do both.
A vibration on the counter makes me glance down.
My phone.
Cameron: be home in 10. grabbing ice.
My stomach twists. Cameron’s coming back, which means the temperature in the house is about to change.
Sloane notices my glance. “Who is it?”
“Cameron,” I say.
Her shoulders tighten slightly. “Okay.”
She says it like it’s nothing.
But her eyes flick away, and I can see her brain doing the math—what she can say, what she can’t, how to act normal when she feels anything but.Was she jealous?
Pops pushes back his chair, tea mug half-finished. “I’m going to lie down again.”
Sloane is up instantly. “Do you need?—”
