I raise a brow. "Your tummy yells a lot."
"It's because I'm growing," he says with authority.
That settles it. We all get moving.
Noah’s packed and ready when his mom picks him up. I help Jace with his shoes while he talks nonstop about pancakes. I throw on jeans and a T-shirt and tie my hair back. When I walk out, Gabe is waiting by the door, hands in his pockets, eyes steady on me like he is still trying to believe he is here.
The moment we step into the diner, half the room looks up. This town lives for gossip, and the sight of me walking in with Gabe Holt at eight thirty on a Saturday morning might as well be a parade.
A couple at the counter turns their heads. Someone nudges their friend. A woman from church follows us with her eyes like she is tracking a storm cloud.
Gabe notices, but he keeps his attention on Jace, who slides into the booth and grabs the menu like he owns the place.
"I want this," Jace says, pointing at an enormous pancake stack.
"That's the adult plate," I say. "You won't finish it."
"Yes, I will."
Gabe leans over and studies the picture. "If he doesn't finish, I will."
Jace grins like Gabe just gave him a medal. "Then I want it."
When the waitress comes over, her eyebrows lift so high, I think they might hit her hairline.
"Morning, Lena," she says. "I haven't seen you in a while."
"Yeah," I say, trying to sound normal.
Her eyes swing to Gabe. Then back to me. Then to Jace. I watch the exact moment the dots connect in her head. Her mouth tightens. She doesn't comment, but she does stare an extra beat before taking the order.
When she walks away, Gabe gives me a look. "That normal around here?"
"Welcome to small-town entertainment," I mutter.
Breakfast arrives fast. Steam rises off the plates. Jace digs in like he is in a race. His mouth gets sticky from syrup. He keeps sliding bits of pancake onto Gabe's plate "so he can help," and Gabe actually eats them. Not a polite nibble. Full bites. Like he cares.
"You eat pancakes like a grown-up," Jace tells him.
Gabe nods seriously. "Years of training."
Jace gives him a narrow look. "You trained? For pancakes?"
"It was intense."
Jace laughs so loudly, people turn to look, but I don't care. It's the happiest sound I've heard in a long time.
When breakfast is done, Gabe wipes Jace's face with a napkin, and my heart almost falls out of my chest. Jace doesn't even flinch. He leans in like he trusts it.
We leave the diner to more staring. I hear someone whisper, "That's him," behind us.
Gabe ignores it. Jace skips beside him, holding his hand.
I lock the car, and Jace looks up at me. "Can we go cycling? Please? I want to show Gabe how fast I am."
I feel Gabe look at me before he speaks. "I'd like to see that. If it's alright with you."
His voice is soft. Careful. Like he knows this part is the real test.
