She considers. “I miss knowing where the threat is.”
“That tracks.”
She sets the scissors down for a second and rests her hands on my shoulders. Warm. Steady.
“I don’t miss being afraid all the time,” she adds.
I reach up and cover her hand with mine. “Neither do I.”
Behind us, Roxy climbs down from the chair and toddles over, tail swishing dangerously close to the outlet she absolutely should not be near.
“Daddy,” she says. “Cat broken.”
“He’s hiding,” I correct. “Strategic retreat.”
She nods like that makes perfect sense.
Sable finishes the last snip and steps back, assessing her work with a critical eye.
“Don’t say it,” I warn.
She tilts her head. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were going to say something.”
“I was going to say you’re still handsome.”
I blink. “Oh.”
She smiles. “Idiot.”
I stand, turning carefully so I don’t knock Roxy over, and pull Sable into me. Hair clippings crunch under my boots. The kitchen is a disaster. The fridge hums with residual energy. The cat hisses from somewhere unseen.
Perfect.
I kiss her.
It’s not urgent. It’s not desperate. It’s familiar and warm and full of years we earned the hard way. She kisses me back like she always does—like she’s home.
Roxy makes a loud gagging noise. “EW.”
We break apart, laughing.
“You did this,” Sable tells her.
Roxy grins, sharp little teeth gleaming. “Family.”
I scoop Roxy up before she can throw anything else and sling her onto my shoulder. She squeals with delight and immediately starts tugging my hair.
“Hey,” I say. “Fresh cut.”
“BOOM CUT,” she declares.
Sable shakes her head, smiling soft and tired and real. “We are still idiots.”
“Absolutely,” I agree. “But we’re older.”
“And wiser,” she adds.
