“It’s not,” he says. “Nathan can help me carry it. It’s no big deal, and they’ll be more comfortable.”
My chest warms a little.
“Thank you,” I say. “That’s really kind of you.”
He nods, easy and certain, like helping me is the obvious choice.
“I need to run to the store later,” I add, finishing another bite of toast. “But before I go — seriously — how can I help you today?”
“I’m sure you have a lot…” he starts.
“No, not really,” I interrupt. “You’re doing so much, and I can help. Just tell me what you need.”
He thinks for a second.
“Are you up to making some peach jam?”
I grin.
“I cannot wait.”
Chapter 26
The heat from the oven rolls across my face as I pull the loaf out and set it on the counter. A moment later, the crust starts to crackle as it cools in the open air. The sound is small but familiar, one of those quiet things I’ve learned to notice after years of baking. I set it aside and reach for the next loaf, dusting rice flour over the surface before scoring it, the blade sliding through the dough in practiced lines.
The kitchen smells like jam and warm bread, like sugar and citrus and flour. Like her.
May left a little while ago to run to the store, but her presence lingers everywhere. She spent the entire morning with me — asking questions, watching everything I did like it mattered, filling the space with a joy that feels easy and real. More than once, she laughed out loud, and every time it happened, something pulled tight inside my chest.
I hadn’t realized how quiet my house usually is until she started filling it.
Even Uncle Mike noticed. Last night, right before heading to bed, he looked at me and said, “She is perfect,mijo.”
I wasn’t planning on feeling anything when she moved in next door. I wasn’t looking for anything. From the moment I met her, being around her has felt natural. Something I didn’t know I’d been missing.
I slide a new loaf into the Dutch oven and place the lid on top, setting the timer for forty-five minutes. My hands move automatically, but my mind keeps drifting back to yesterday — the way she talked about her mom, the way she listened when I talked about mine.
I haven’t done that in years. I don’t usually talk about her. Not because I don’t want to remember, but because it always feels heavy, like opening something that takes too long to close again.
With May, it didn’t feel heavy at all.
Since she’s been around, I’ve been talking about my mom more, and it feels so good, because I’m finally able to remember her with joy instead of grief.
I’m busy cleaning the kitchen counter when the doorbell rings.
Neptune lifts his head immediately, alert.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I tell him. “It’s probably Nathan.”
I wipe my hands on a towel and head to the door, convinced it’s Nathan coming to help me move the bed.
I pull it open and stop short.
Because it isn’t Nathan standing there.
It’s Finn O’Donoghue.
Chapter 27
