Yearning, if I was brave enough to name it.
“Thanks,” she said, wrapping both hands around the cup like it was a precious thing.
“You’re welcome.”
My voice came out softer than I meant it to.
“So,” I said, “how’s Ava doing school? I know it’s a big adjustment.”
She exhaled, but it wasn’t the stressed kind, more the kind where you finally let yourself hope. “Honestly? She’s doing better than I expected. She still has rough days, but . . . she’s making friends. Or at least acquaintances. And shelovesthe Penguin Project.”
I grinned. “That’s huge.”
“It really is,” she said, brushing a crumb from her lap. “I think the mentor system helps her feel safe. And she said Leo sat with her at music yesterday.”
“I know,” I said, chuckling. “He came home talking about how she likes the ‘good creepy stuff,’ whatever that means.”
Her smile went radiant. “She probably told him about her monster drawings.”
“Oh, she definitely did,” I said. “He came home and asked me if we could build a haunted house in the backyard. In April.”
She laughed.
It wasn’t a polite laugh. It wasn’t a little chuckle. It was full, bright, musical, from the belly. It made her eyes crinkle, and her shoulders relax, and she tilted her head back just enough that her hair fell over her shoulder in a perfect golden wave. And I swear to god, her laugh might have been the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
I felt it in my chest.
“So what did you tell him?” she asked, still smiling.
I shrugged, leaning closer without meaning to. “I told him we could draw out plans. He’s been working on a cave made out of cardboard boxes.”
She laughed again, softer this time, but still warm. “You know you’re in trouble, right? If you encourage him, he’ll drag you straight to the ends of the earth.”
“I know,” I said. “Honestly? I kind of like going there with him.”
Something flickered in her eyes, admiration, maybe. Or affection. Or something I shouldn’t think about too hard yet.
We kept talking about the kids, about the Penguin Project, about the weirdness of small-town life. It felt easy. Natural. Like we’d fallen into the middle of a conversation we’d been having for years.
Before I knew it, rehearsal was nearly over.
She gathered her sketchbook while I tossed our cups, and we walked side by side toward the rehearsal room, our shoulders brushing once, soft and electric.
“I should get her,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Me too.”
For a moment, we stood there, not quite touching, not quite ready to say goodbye.
She smiled at me.
And something tender and dangerous pulled tight in my chest.
Her laugh,I thought,might be my new favorite sound.
16
ELEANOR
