The expression on Stellan's face is priceless—pure panic mixed with something that might be longing. "I don't know how."
"I'll show you." I move closer, adjusting Maeve in my arms. "It's not complicated. Just don't drop her."
"Very reassuring." But he's already reaching out, letting me transfer Maeve into his arms.
He holds her like she's made of glass, arms stiff and awkward. Maeve seems unbothered by his obvious terror—she just grabs onto his shirt with sticky fingers and studies his face with intense concentration.
"Hi." Stellan sounds uncertain, which might be the first time I've ever heard that particular tone from him. "I'm your uncle. I'm... supposed to help take care of you or something."
Maeve babbles something enthusiastic, then reaches for his face. He catches her hand before she can grab his nose, which makes her laugh.
"She likes you." Zola's definitely smiling now. "That's a good sign. She usually cries at strangers."
"I'm not a stranger." Stellan's found his footing again, that natural confidence sliding back into place. "I'm family."
And there it is—the shift I was hoping for. He's not just doing this because I asked. He's actually connecting with her, actually seeing Maeve as someone worth protecting.
I catch Zola's eye and she mouthswhat are you doing?I just shake my head slightly—I'll explain later.
For now I just watch my brother figure out how to hold a baby without looking like he's defusing a bomb, and I let myself imagine what it'll be like when this is our normal. When Stellan's a regular part of Maeve's life, when Zola's walls finally come down completely, when we're an actual family instead of people tiptoeing around what we could be.
Over the next week,Stellan shows up at the bookstore almost as often as I do. Sometimes it's just for an hour in the morning before we head to work. Other times it's in the afternoon, sandwiched between meetings that require us to remind people why crossing the Wolfes is a bad idea.
He's getting better with Maeve. Less stiff, more natural. She's taken to him faster than I expected—reaches for him when he walks in, fusses when he tries to leave until she remembers I'm her favorite person and clings to me. He pretends to be annoyed by her sticky hands and constant demands for attention, but I can see it in his face. He's gone for her.
"She threw up on me." He's standing in Zola's bathroom, trying to clean spit-up off his shirt. "Why does she do that?"
"Because she's a baby." I'm changing Maeve on the floor, wiping her mouth. "Happens sometimes. You'll live."
"I had a meeting in an hour." He strips off the shirt, tosses it in the hamper. "Now I have to go home and change."
"Or you could borrow one." Zola appears in the doorway, holding out a black t-shirt that's definitely too big for her. "Declan left this here last week."
Stellan takes it, studies the fabric like he's checking for poison. "This is yours?"
"Was mine." I finish with Maeve's diaper, snap her onesie back into place. "Not anymore apparently."
"She steals your clothes?" Stellan pulls on the shirt. It fits him better than it fits her, which makes sense since we're close to the same build.
"Only the comfortable ones." Zola leans against the doorframe. "I gave back everything that smelled too much like cologne."
"But kept the stuff that smells like him." Stellan looks between us. "That's disgustingly domestic."
"You'rewearing his shirt right now." Zola points out.
"That's different. Mine has baby vomit on it."
I scoop up Maeve, carry her back to the living room. They follow, still bickering about clothing theft and what counts as domestic behavior. It feels normal in a way I didn't realize I'd been craving—not just me and Zola trying to figure out how to be together again, but actual family. The three of us plus Maeve, building something that feels solid and real.
"So when's this meeting?" Zola settles onto the couch, reaching for her coffee.
"Two hours." Stellan checks his watch. "Supposed to be simple. Guy borrowed money, needs reminding that interest doesn't stop accumulating just because he's avoiding us."
"You want me to come?" I'm bouncing Maeve, trying to wear her out before naptime.
"Nah. Jamie and I can handle it." He looks at Maeve. "You staying here?"
"For a bit. Then I've got that thing at the docks."
