I grin. “I like it when it’s smudged.”
She swats at my chest, but the edges of her smile are unsteady.
I sit beside her on the couch. She leans into me without thinking, head against my shoulder, the book still tucked in her lap.
For a long time, we just sit like that. The chaos of tour humming outside the door, guitars and shouted instructions and the thump of boots on concrete—but none of it touches us.
Right now, it’s just the two of us. Her, me, and a goddamn 1848 edition ofJane Eyre.
And I think—if she asks, I’d do this a thousand more times.
Because nothing feels louder than her silence when she’s happy. Nothing feels better than being the one who caused it.
***
We’re parked outside the final venue of our tour in Detroit—engine off, stage crew unloading gear while the city hums just beyond the tinted windows. Inside the tour bus, it’s strangely quiet. Nora’s curled in the front lounge, knees tucked under her, hoodie sleeves bunched at her wrists. Her hair’s in a loose knot, and Melody is asleep in her lap, one tiny paw hooked into the fabric of her sweatshirt.
I lean against the kitchenette counter, sipping lukewarm coffee, watching her stroke the kitten’s ears in slow, absent patterns.
I almost don’t say it.
But then Melody lets out a soft, kitten-sized snore, and something in my chest squeezes.
“We should probably talk about her,” I say.
Nora looks up, brows knitting slightly. “Melody?”
“Yeah.” I nod, pushing off the counter and walking over. I crouch next to the couch so I’m at her level. “It’s been almost three weeks. We’ve hung flyers, posted on socials, called every shelter in a hundred-mile radius.”
“And no one’s claimed her,” Nora finishes, her voice quiet.
I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah. Not a single hit. Either no one’s looking… or she didn’t belong to anyone to begin with.”
Nora’s gaze drops back to the kitten. Melody shifts a little in her sleep, tiny chest rising and falling like she doesn’t have a clue how close she came to being forgotten.
“She always looks so surprised when we feed her,” Nora murmurs. “Like she still doesn’t believe she gets to stay.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I know the feeling.”
She glances at me, her mouth softening into a smile. “You mean the kitten or you?”
“Both,” I admit, trying to play it off with a smirk. “I mean, you let me stay. Feed me. Occasionally pet my ego. I’m basically your stray.”
Nora huffs a laugh. “Please. Your ego was feral and thriving when I met you.”
“Still is. But it purrs when you’re around.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile lingers.
I nudge her knee. “Seriously, though. She’s… ours now, right?”
Nora looks down at the tiny furball nestled in her lap. Her voice is soft, but certain when she answers.
“Yeah. I think she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.”
Just then a muffledshoutbreaks the moment.
There’s a thump against the outside of the bus. A voice—slurred, loud, unmistakably angry—follows: “Maxwell! I know you’re in there, dammit—don’t you ignore me!”
