Beth tried to protest. "You and the twins barely have room for yourselves."
I looked around at the disaster of the wall of boxes. "What's a few more?" I asked. "Seriously. You're always welcome. It'll help me get unpacked."
Gerty snorted. "See? That's why we love you, Tash."
Beth managed a real laugh this time. "You guys are the best."
"We try," I answered. "We're also very persistent. Just say the word."
She went quiet, then said, "Thank you. Really. I'll keep you posted."
There wasn't much more to say after that. The conversation drifted back to kid stuff until we said our goodbyes and hung up.
I was left staring at another of the twins' baby photos, thumb pressed over Fifi's wild curls, and the house was so quiet I could hear a branch tapping on one of the windows.
Once the photos were safe in several frames, I drifted downstairs.
That's when I saw her.
Fifi was curled up sideways on the couch, one bare foot hanging off, hair smashed into a pillow. Next toher, Huey sprawled the way only dogs can, his whole body pressed against her side. He was acting as a fuzzy thunder blanket, nose tucked tight to her ribs, a low snore vibrating through his belly. They looked fused, almost, like he'd grown out of her instead of just being her best comfort.
I stopped on the threshold, every muscle in my chest going soft. Fifi breathed steadily. Sometimes she twitched. Maybe chasing something in her dreams, maybe just working out old anxiety, but she didn't wake. Her shoulders rose and fell, perfectly even, and the lines in her forehead had finally gone smooth. No nightmares. No voices. Just honest rest. Thank goodness.
It made my heart ache, seeing her this peaceful. With everything she carried, sometimes I forgot what she looked like when nothing was wrong.
I didn't dare move closer. Even the sound of my socks on the hardwood seemed loud, so I just stood there and watched.
Huey snuffled and flopped a paw on top of her arm, like he was telling the world to stay back. I grinned at the sight.
All the stress and worry about Beth, about every dumb box I hadn't unpacked got pushed to thebackground. The only thing I wanted was to freeze this moment. Bottle it, if I could.
I reached for my phone and snapped a picture. The lighting was terrible, and Fifi would be mortified if she saw it, but I didn't care.
Everything else could wait. This was enough.
Chance
There aredays when ticking off a mindless errand is the only thing that soothes an upset dragon. The bread run to Morning Bean Café was exactly that. Maeve had boxed up rye loaves and her orange-cardamom breakfast rolls before sunrise, stacked them near the door with a sticky note.
"Don't forget the scones!"
I'd loaded everything into the truck while my brain was still running yesterday's arguments on a loop. If I kept my hands busy, maybe Caden would stop brawling in my skull for fivedamn minutes.
No.
I snorted. Who said dragons didn't have a sense of humor?
The drive over felt like autopilot. Laurel Gap's old main drag was quiet at this hour. Just me, a couple of sleepy delivery vans, and the smell of burned coffee drifting out from the gas station. I parked behind the café, hefted the bread crates inside, and dropped them on the counter for Ellie, the manager.
"Bright and early, Meyer," she croaked, scrawling her initials on the delivery sheet. She looked half-awake, hair bundled in a net and eyes half lidded. "You want a coffee? We got a new dark roast."
"Nah, I'm good," I said, mostly because I wanted to get back in the truck before the argument started again. "Catch you tomorrow."
She waved me off, already back to checking inventory. I didn't mind. I liked the routine. There was zero drama in a bread delivery, and I'd take that over a blow-up with Caden any day.
The return leg was just as uneventful. I cranked the window to let in the cool, damp air. Downshifted on the slope where the old orchard used to be. Let the world stay boring for one more hour, let Caden decide to nap.
No such luck.
