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“’Tis the season. You know this is my busiest time.”

“Griffin.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll come next time.”

I don’t promise because I can’t. Next Sunday, Fox will still be hiding out in my apartment, and aside from wanting to savor every moment I can with him, it doesn’t feel right to leave him alone while I enjoy my parents’ home-cooked food.

She sighs. “Okay, sweetheart. Take care of yourself. You sound tired.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Come next Sunday, or I’m sending Bastian to your apartment.”

“Understood.”

She hangs up.

The heat in the car suddenly feels stifling as I count how many people I have now lied to in the last twenty-four hours. Taylen, my mother, and Bastian by extension because had I spoken to him at any point in the last twenty-four hours, I’d have lied to him too.

I pocket the phone and drive to the grocery store on the outskirts of town where the odds of running into anyone are marginally lower than at the general store.

I do the regular shop. Coffee, bread, eggs, the usual.

Then I add the pasta with the ridges because I know Fox likes that shape better. A wedge of the cheese I don’t like, but he does.

I stand in the tea aisle longer than I should, wondering if he’ll read too much into me buying a brand he once mentioned he drinks because it’s his mom’s favorite. I put it in the cart and go to the meat aisle.

By the time I reach the checkout, my cart looks like one of a man shopping for a family of six, who has no clue what his kids’ names are or what they like to eat.

I load the bags into the car, drive home, and park in my usual spot. I take the stairs balancing three bags on each arm. I drop them by the front door and go back to the car to grab the last two bags.

I open the front door. “I got the cheese you like, and I want you to know I resent it⁠—”

I stop.

Fox is on the couch. He’s got his acoustic bass across his lap. I didn’t know he’d brought it with him, or maybe I didn’t notice between running out yesterday morning and jumping his bones as soon as I got in last night.

He’s playing something low and quiet. He looks up when he sees me but doesn’t stop playing right away. Just lets the last few notes trail off and then sets the bass carefully on the couch beside him, smiling at me like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be here.

Like he’s been waiting for me to come home.

I stand in my doorway, holding groceries and feel the ground shift slightly beneath me.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“Need a hand with those bags?”

“Yeah. Sure. Yeah.”

He gets up, crosses to me, and takes the bags out of my arms like it’s a thing he does all the time. I let him because I don’t know what else to do.

CHAPTER SIX