“Yep,” Jesse says, setting them down. “But you two have to behave.”
“We’re bein’ havin’,” Caleb insists.
Eliza nods. “We’re super havin’.”
“That’s not even close,” Jesse mutters.
I laugh, biting my lip.
We sit together on the blanket the twins dragged over—sun-faded, grass-stained, but soft. I smooth my hands over my knees, suddenly hyperaware of how close Jesse is.
He sits beside me, legs stretched out, leaning on his hands behind him, and I can feel the warmth from his body even though we’re not touching.
And the strangest thing happens.
I don’t feel anxious. Not like I usually do.
Because even though the world is noisy and the storm is coming and there are dozens of people everywhere… Jesse is easy.
Safe.
Warm.
He asks me questions.
Listens to the answers.
Laughs at the parts I meant to be funny.
And the twins snuggle up beside me like I’m someone they’ve known forever.
At one point, Eliza hands me a wildflower she picked and says, “It’s for the bees,” and I tuck it behind my ear, fighting tears at how small and kind her gesture is.
Jesse sees it. Smiles softly.
Doesn’t comment.
He doesn’t have to. Because I think I know what he’s thinking.
And maybe I’m starting to let myself think it, too.
The storm gathers overhead, the sky darkening like the valley is bracing for something big.
But for now, sitting on a soft blanket with honey stick wrappers at my feet, Jesse’s shoulder brushing mine, and two small children curled against my side…
I don’t feel alone. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
CHAPTER SIX
Jesse
Sunday
If there’s a medal for surviving a church potluck as a single parent, I should’ve won it by now.
Maybe two. One made of gold, one made of… chocolate, because everyone knows chocolate is the only currency my kids understand.
Eliza and Caleb are sticky from wrist to elbow, hyped up on honey sticks, lemonade, and probably the raw energy of madness itself. And honestly? I blame one woman:
