We passed plates around. Leo served himself enough fruit to qualify as a fruit avalanche. Ava took a precise number of strawberries and exactly three blueberries. Eleanor poured herself coffee, inhaling the steam like it was oxygen.
I watched her without meaning to.
There was a softness to her face this morning, still tired, still carrying weight, but lighter than yesterday. The blue streaks framed her cheekbones, making her eyes look brighter. She looked like someone stepping into her real self, step by tentative step.
Leo and Ava were already deep in conversation.
“So there’s only one week left of school,” Leo announced, wiggling in excitement. “Which means SUMMER.”
Ava nodded gravely. “I would like to create a list of activities.”
“Yes!” Leo gasped. “We could do the museum! And the splash pad! And the comic book workshop! And—oh!—the big play at the outdoor theater where everyone gets too hot and eats popsicles.”
Ava tilted her head. “We could also construct a haunted house in your garage.”
Leo slapped both hands on the table. “YES.”
Their plans spiraled quickly, with building cardboard crypts, writing scripts for spooky musicals, and painting each other green at some point. I didn’t follow all of it, but they understood each other perfectly, two little worlds aligning.
I glanced at Eleanor to see if she was listening too.
She was.
And when she caught my gaze, she gave me this soft, small smile full of relief and gratitude and something warm that lodged in my throat.
It hit me hard.
It could be like this.
All the time.
Kids laughing in the background. Coffee mugs on the table. Her sitting across from me with sleep-warm eyes and blue hair. The quiet, steady sense of belonging thick in the air.
I swallowed hard and looked away before I did something stupid like say it out loud.
Instead, I reached for the coffee carafe. “Top-off?” I asked her.
She slid her mug toward me. “Yes, please.”
Her fingers brushed mine.
A spark. A jolt. Something.
And in the background, Leo and Ava debated whether bats or owls made better familiars, and I couldn’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t want this to happen again.
And again.
And again.
After brunch, the kids tore outside, Leo leading the charge with a battle cry about “summer planning,” Ava following behind him like a tiny blue-haired general taking notes. The screen door slammed, and their voices drifted into the backyard, high, happy, utterly absorbed in their own little world.
Which left the kitchen quiet again.
Eleanor stood beside the table, coffee mug in hand, sunlight catching her streaks of blue. She looked like she’d stepped into a version of herself she was still getting used to. A version I couldn’t stop looking at.
I stepped closer before my brain could talk me out of it.
“How are you feeling about tryouts?” I asked, voice softer than I intended.
