“I like building things,” Morgan said quietly. “Fixing them.”
Mother glanced at him over Gabbi’s head. “Cole was always dismantling things as a child. Usually, to find out how they worked. Remember the TV remote?”
“That was one time,” I muttered.
“It was not one time.”
Gabbi babbled, drool soaking into cream wool. Mother didn’t flinch.
“She’s clearly very loved,” Mother said, almost to herself.
“She is,” Morgan whispered, then he stood and paced to the kitchen and back. “I love your son. I don’t want his money.”
“We know,” Father replied, and Mother nodded.
“I met Margaret at an event a week ago, she said you refused financial support from them, apart from a trust for Gabbi.She’s incredibly proud of you and her granddaughter.” She glanced from me to Morgan. “Maybe one day she could be my granddaughter as well?”
Morgan nodded, and Mother shifted Gabbi slightly higher on her shoulder. “Cole has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you,” she said quietly. “Not once.” Morgan’s breath hitched. Mother’s gaze softened. “You make him… happier,” she said. “More than I’ve ever seen.”
Morgan glanced at me, uncertain.
“He makes me happy,” I said simply.
Mother nodded once. A small, deliberate movement.
Gabbi yawned dramatically against Mother’s shoulder, and she laughed again, softer this time. “May I sit?” she asked Morgan.
“Of course,” he said, already shifting to make space.
We ended up close on the small sofa. Morgan on one side, me pressed against him, Mother holding Gabbi at the end, Father in the armchair opposite, and we talked about Guardian Hall, and Gabbi, and engineering, and Gabbi, and some more Gabbi, and by the time they left, with promises to meet up weekly, and an offer of babysitting from Mother, Morgan and I were starving.
We ordered pizza and sat on the floor with our backs against the sofa Morgan had thrifted—slightly lopsided, but comfortable.
I shifted, testing it. “You know it tilts to the left.”
“It does not,” Morgan said automatically.
I leaned harder into the armrest. The sofa gave a tiny, guilty creak. “It absolutely does. Mother slid a good six inches when she sat down.”
He eyed it, then sighed. “Okay, maybe a little. But it was fifty dollars, and it didn’t smell weird. That’s basically winning at thrift.”
“I stand corrected,” I said solemnly. “Function over aesthetics.”
“Coming from you?” He snorted. “You have a chair in your place that looks like modern art and feels like punishment.”
“That chair is iconic,” I protested. “And you didn’t complain last week when we?—”
“Not in front of Gabbi,” He fake gasped.
Gabbi chose that moment to flop sideways into the cushions, clearly unconcerned with our debate, and Morgan propped her up with cushions I’d brought down from my place. So now she sat between us on a blanket, chewing on the corner of a soft book and occasionally smacking the pages.
“Do you think they like me?” Morgan asked the question that had probably been rattling in his head since they’d left.
“They love you, because I love you, and because you’re amazing.”
He kissed me then, but I swear he was blushing.
“She’s already crawling,” Morgan said, watching Gabbi with that quiet focus he had when he was happiest. “I installed some gates, but soon she’ll be toddling.”
