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Gram just nods, not missing a beat. “Makes you tough, that does. Good. You’ll need it.” She looks at Declan again, and there’s something in her eyes, some secret message only grandmothers can transmit. He holds her gaze, jaw flexing, but doesn’t say a word.

She turns back to me, softer now. “You’ve got a family here now. If you want it.”

Something in my chest squeezes tight. I wasn’t expecting to be welcomed this fast, or this completely. I try to say thank you, but the words stick, so I just smile and eat a biscuit, which might actually be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

Declan squeezes my hand tightly, and I feel it all the way to my bones.

* * *

We have brunch at a little place called The Revolving Blue Door, which is exactly as homey and over-the-top as it sounds. Everyone knows Gram; the hostess greets her by name, and the server hugs her before taking our order.

We get the “Sunday Special,” which is a tower of pancakes, eggs, and at least three varieties of sausage. I try to keep up, but Gram and Declan are both Olympic-caliber eaters, demolishing plates like it’s a competitive sport.

Gram is relentless with the questions. “Natalie, where did you go to school?”

“I went to the University of Houston for my Bachelor’s and Rice for my Master’s.” Her eyebrows shoot up, and I can tell I’ve managed to impress her.

“Do you like dogs?” She jumps to the next question.

“I love them.” I give a little smile. “I’ve always promised myself I’d get a cute little fuzzball as soon as I get settled.”

“Every girl should have a fuzzball in her life,” Gram agrees before turning to Declan. “Have you told her about the summer you set fire to the neighbor’s shed?”

“It’s on my to-do list,” he teases. “Right after I tell her about that bad case of jock itch I had in ninth grade.”

Gram turns to me and rolls her eyes. ”It was a particularly bad jock itch.”

The silly expression on her face causes me to choke on my orange juice, and Declan gently pats me on my back until the coughing subsides.

He teases Gram about her reality TV obsession, and she retaliates by telling embarrassing childhood stories. There’s a rhythm to their banter, an ease I’ve never seen in him before.

Eventually, Gram leans in, voice dropping to a confidential whisper. “So, are you two serious?”

I nearly choke on my orange juice again. Declan says, “Deadly serious,” and looks at me, an eyebrow raised like he’s daring me to disagree.

I want to tell Gram the truth, that I’ve never felt like this about anyone, that Declan terrifies and excites me in equal measure, that I’d follow him into a burning building or, worse, a city council meeting. But instead, I just nod, unable to find the words.

Gram beams, satisfied. “Good. He needs someone who can keep him in line.”

Declan rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile there. For a second, I think I see what he might have been like before all the scars and discipline, before the world started needing him to be so hard.

When the bill comes, Gram refuses to let anyone else pay. “You two are young. Save your money for something stupid.” She winks at me, and I can’t help but laugh.

Outside, the sky is clear and blue, and I can smell honeysuckle on the breeze. Gram hugs us both tight, then whacks Declan on the arm. “Bring her by again. Sooner this time, or I’ll come find you.”

He promises, and I believe him.

On the drive back, Declan’s hand never leaves my thigh. The silence is warm, companionable. For the first time in my life, I feel like maybe I belong somewhere.

Maybe even here.