I laugh, shaking my head as I carefully scoop Milo into my arms. “One is enough for now, sweetheart. Say thank you to Henry.”
Milo nuzzles his head into my neck but looks back at Henry with a bright grin. “Tank you!” he chirps before hiding his face again. “Mama?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” I reply while he stubbornly wiggles out of my arms. Before answering me, he runs across the room to pick up one of the stray markers. My lips tilt up once I realize what he’s doing.
He runs back over to us and goes to Henry this time. He holds up his bright blue cast and points to where I signed it.
Henry looks down at him, and his eyes dance with amusement. “Oh, you want me to sign it too?”
Milo nods enthusiastically, his blond curls bouncing as he holds out the marker with both hands. “Here!”
Henry takes the marker with a grin and glances at me. “Is this okay?”
“Of course,” I nod, trying to ignore the way my heart thuds against my chest. He fit so perfectly into this moment. “Just don’t let him talk you into drawing a whole mural.”
He chuckles and crouches back down to Milo’s level. “Got it. No murals. How about something simple?”
Milo watches intently as Henry carefully sketchessomething small. His eyes are focused, and his tongue slightly darts out in deep concentration. I try to peek at what he’s drawing, but I can’t see around his head.
“All done,” Henry says, capping the marker and handing it back to Milo, who’s staring at the cast with awe. “I’m not much of an artist, but I think I got it right. What do you think,Pajarito?”
He pulls his head back so I can look at the small doodle. When I see it, something flutters deep in my stomach. He drew a hummingbird.
“A hummingbird,” I say, lifting my hand to trace the tiny tattoo behind my ear.
“Look, Mommy! We match!” Milo says, excitedly holding up his cast, his little face glowing with pride.
A smile stretches across my lips, and I’m convinced it’ll stay like that as long as Henry is nearby. “We sure do.” My voice is steady, almost bland, but inside, I’m a mess of emotions, the significance of the tiny drawing hitting me harder than I expected.
Henry stands, brushing his hands on his jeans, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I figured it’d mean something to him. And to you.”
I swallow hard and relive the emotions of finding the hummingbird feeder on the porch. It was hard to find the words to tell him how much it meant to me. I wanted to tell him he saw parts of me no one bothered to look twice at.
As I got older, I learned that hummingbirds were small but resilient, a symbol of strength and joy even in the hardest moments. Everything feels so full circle in this moment, and it numbs the pain I endured for so long.
“Thank you,” I murmur, my eyes locking with his.
He shrugs lightly, but there’s warmth in his gaze. “It’s nothing, really. Just thought he’d like it.”
For a moment, the air is thick, and I forget all of the guilt, all of the doubt. In this moment, I only see him. In thismoment, I know I’m falling for him. His presence feels like the calm after a storm, the kind of peace I never thought I’d find. And yet, with some weird twist of fate, here it is, standing right in front of me.
We break eye contact when Milo laughs at something happening on the TV. I wasn’t sure how long we stood there. When I look back at him, I notice he’s still staring and I smile, feeling the need to break up an intense yet silent moment.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” I ask. I wince when I remember the last time I asked him the same question. It was only a few weeks ago, but it feels like we’ve lived a lifetime since then.
Henry raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not,” I say quickly. “Besides, I think Milo would love it. And so would I.”
His smile deepens, and he nods. “Alright. But only if I can help.”
“Deal,” I reply, finally feeling confident enough to step closer to him. “I will warn you, the kitchen is a mess.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says with a wink.
I laugh and shake my head. I could get used to this.
After dinner, Milo’s eyelids begin to droop, and he’s nodding off in his chair before I even suggest his least favorite “b” word.
