“Oh, honey. That boy cannot handle a crying woman.”
That tracks.
“He disappeared upstairs for twenty minutes,” she continues, “then came back out with paperwork and offered me a full-time position.”
I stare at her. “He did?”
She nods.
“Paid me enough to save my house.” Her expression turns softer. “Checks my tires every October before the roads ice over. Replaced my brakes last winter because he said they sounded wrong.”
Emotion catches unexpectedly in my throat.
“He acts grumpy,” Thelma says knowingly. “But that boy notices everything.”
Yeah. He does.
The realization settles heavily in my chest.
Suddenly, all the little things replay through my mind.
Daltyn notices when I get overwhelmed. He automatically touches my lower back in crowds. Makes coffee for me without asking. Wraps blankets around me on the couch.
“You make this place louder,” Thelma says suddenly.
I blink. “What?”
She smiles.
“In a good way.” Her eyes soften warmly. “It finally feels lived in again.”
Emotion swells painfully in my chest.
Because the terrifying part? I think she’s right.
But even worse? I know this is only temporary.
One day, I’ll have to go back to my life.
Why does that make me feel so damn sad?
53
DALTYN
I regret agreeing to this charity event.
There are balloons everywhere.
Children are running in every direction like tiny caffeinated tornadoes while Blizzard—the Avalanche mascot—dances near a bounce house in a way that honestly feels medically concerning.
And Connor somehow has a microphone. Which should probably violate several laws.
“WELCOME,” he shouts dramatically across the crowded community center parking lot, “TO THE FIRST ANNUAL AVALANCHE FAMILY FUN DAY!”
Jake snorts beside me. “We had one last year.”
Connor points at him. “NEGATIVITY.”
