They ateon the floor around Shane's coffee table in front of the fire, bowls of chili-and-cheese-smothered tamales, more warm tamales wrapped in corn husks waiting on a plate on the table. The fire crackled and popped, throwing dancing shadows across the walls. Outside, the storm had settled into a steady drumming rain, no longer violent but persistent—the kind that made April grateful to be inside, warm and dry and well-fed.
"This is so good," Kevin mumbled around a mouthful of tamale. "Mom, can we sell these at Riversong?"
"I'll talk to the owner," Shane said before April could answer. "See if they'd be interested in a wholesale arrangement."
April looked at him over her beer. "You don't have to do that."
"I know." Shane's smile was easy. "But why wouldn't I? Good food, good business. Everybody wins."
Kevin was already on to the next thing, his brain going in a million directions at once the way it always did when he was happy and comfortable. "Shane, how many stones did you skip when you were my age?"
"Honestly? I lost count. I was terrible at it until Waylon showed me the trick with the wrist."
Kevin grinned. “The one you showed me.”
“Yup. And picking the right stone. You want it flat and smooth, about the size of your palm." Shane demonstrated with his hand. "Too big and it sinks. Too small and it doesn't have enough momentum."
"Can we practice tomorrow?"
Shane glanced at April. “You’ve got school tomorrow, bud. But maybe after, if your mom says it's okay."
Kevin turned those big hopeful eyes on her. "Mom? Please?"
April felt her heart squeeze.
This could be every Sunday. Every weekend. Every ordinary Tuesday if we want it to be.
"We'll see," she said, which was mom-code for probably yes but I'm not committing yet.
Kevin grinned like he'd won the lottery. "Can we do this every Sunday? Come hiking and then have dinner at Shane's and practice skipping stones?"
The question landed heavy in the warm room. April's chest went tight.
Shane set down his beer, his expression careful. "Again, that's up to your mom, bud."
Kevin looked between them, picking up on something in the adult silence he couldn't quite name. "But we could, right? If Mom said yes? It’s okay with you?"
"Yeah," Shane said quietly, his eyes on April. "If your mom said yes, we could do this every Sunday. Every day, if she wanted."
April took a long sip of beer to hide the fact that her hands were shaking slightly. The weight of the moment pressed down on her—Kevin's hope, Shane's barely contained want, her own terrified longing for exactly this.
"Let's just focus on today," she said finally. "Today was pretty perfect."
Kevin seemed satisfied with that answer, or maybe he was just too full and warm to push. He settled back against the couch, Pete immediately arranging himself as a pillow. Within minutes, Kevin's eyes were drooping.
"I'm not tired," he mumbled, even as his head lolled against Pete's side.
"Of course not," April said, amused. "You're wide awake."
"Mmm-hmm." His eyes closed. "Just... resting my eyes..."
Shane caught April's gaze over Kevin's head, and smiled. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the fire, listening to Kevin's breathing even out into sleep. Pete's tail thumped once against the floor, but the dog didn't move otherwise—content to be Kevin's pillow for as long as needed.
"He's out," Shane said softly after a few more minutes.
April nodded. "He had a big day."
"I'll get him." Shane scooped Kevin up slowly, carefully, and stood. Her son barely stirred, just made a small sound and curled into Shane's chest. Pete stood, ready to accompany Kevin anywhere
