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“You have.”
I look back at the screen because arguing would require evidence I don’t have. “She sent some early album-cover ideas.”
That gets his attention. He comes closer, but not enough to crowd me or wake Jack. “You asked her to do the cover?”
“I asked her to see if she wanted to take a shot at it.”
“Does she do album art?”
“Not usually.”
Lachlin looks from me to the phone. “Then why her?”
I scroll back through Ruby’s sketches. “Because she pays attention to what something means before she worries about how it looks. She did it with my tattoo, and she’s doing it with the album too. She hears things in the songs I don’t always catch until she points them out.”
I turn the phone so he can see the third sketch. “This already feels more like us than anything we’ve paid someone else to make.”
Lachlin studies the screen for a second. “It’s good.”
“Yeah.”
When I look up, he’s watching me instead of the phone.
“What?”
His gaze drops to Jack, asleep against my chest, then back to me. “You know you look alarmingly domestic right now.”
I look up at him. “What are you talking about?”
His mouth twitches. “Nothing. You just look comfortable.”
He laughs under his breath and heads back toward the kitchen, satisfied he’s gotten enough entertainment out of me.
I follow more slowly, careful not to jostle Jack. “You realize holding your kid for twenty minutes doesn’t mean I’m shopping for minivans.”
“I didn’t say anything about a minivan.” Lachlin opens the fridge, probably trying to figure out where to put Mom’s casserole. “You’re home more. You’re actually around. You keep showing up here without being dragged, and now you’re talking about Ruby’s art like you’re giving a gallery tour.”
“I asked her to work on an album cover. I should probably like her work.”
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t.”
There’s no edge to it, which makes it harder to turn into an argument. Lachlin shifts a container to make room in the fridge, then looks over at me.
“You seem happy.”
I glance down at Jack, so I don’t have to answer immediately. He’s asleep now, cheek warm against my chest and one hand curled loosely near my collarbone.
“I’m always happy.”
Lachlin snorts. “Sure.”
Before I can come up with anything better, Briar walks into the kitchen wearing clean sweats, damp hair twisted over one shoulder, and the tired expression of someone thrilled to have managed an uninterrupted shower.
She stops when she sees me holding Jack. “He fell asleep for you?”
“Apparently I have a gift.”
“You walked around and hummed, didn’t you?”
