Page 79 of Ransom

"Mom watches those shows about rich people. And she told Aunt Blair that you're richer than them." He leans forward, dropping his voice. "Do you really have a helicopter?"

"Maxwell, let the poor man in." Maggie gently nudges him aside. "Sorry, he's been watching reality TV again."

"No, it's..." I step inside, trying not to stare at how thin Maggie looks in her oversized sweater, how it hangs off her shoulders like a blanket. My chest tightens at the sight. "It's fine. And yeah, I have a helicopter, buddy. Use it for business mostly."

"Can I come see it?" Max bounces on his toes, leaving chocolate handprints on his tutu. The sparkly fabric is covered in what looks like a mix of glitter and crumbs. "I promise I won't break anything. Well, probably won't. Like ninety percent sure."

Gotta appreciate his honesty. He sounds a lot like my brothers.

"Max, go wash up for dinner." Maggie points toward what I assume is the bathroom, and I catch the slight tremor in her hand before she quickly drops it. "And change out of that... whatever that outfit is. You're getting crumbs everywhere."

"I'm a chocolate ninja ballerina astronaut." He rolls his eyes like this should be obvious, throwing his hands up dramatically. "Duh. It's a very important job. Someone has to do space ballet missions."

It's the 'duh' that gets me. I cover my mouth and cough to cover the laugh. Maggie shoots me a glare, but I get it. Laughing at shit like that is a guarantee you're going to get more of the attitude, and I don't want to make her life harder. If it was Mia, though? I wouldn't bother hiding it. And if her attitude gets worse, oh well. That's Colton's job. "That's actually pretty creative. The world definitely needs more ninja ballerina astronauts. Especially ones who like chocolate."

"See? He gets it." Max shoots his mom a look of pure six-year-old vindication before racing off down the hall, leaving atrail of glitter in his wake. The sparkles catch the light like tiny stars on the hardwood floor.

"He is something else." I follow Maggie into the kitchen, where amazing smells are coming from the oven.

"That he is." She sinks into a chair at the kitchen table. "Blair should be home soon. She got caught up at the garage."

My stomach does that flip thing again at Blair's name, but I shove it aside. "What can I help with? Are you sure I can't take you guys to the diner instead?"

She shakes her head. "Everything's done. All I did was turn the oven on. Our neighbors have kept the freezer filled with casseroles for the last six months. So I don't have to worry about cooking if…"

"If you're having a bad day."

"Exactly. Blair cooks too sometimes. She makes a mean Shepherd's Pie."

"Just like Robert."

"Yep. Anything she knows how to cook, she learned from him. Comforting, filling, and in a casserole dish."

"I remember." And I do. Robert had the same ten recipes on rotation. If we wanted to change things up, he'd throw a new vegetable in or do chicken instead of beef. But that was it.

Honestly, I didn't mind the predictability of it. The year before I moved in with Robert and Blair was full of chaos, and knowing exactly what was coming was a comfort.

"Robert was always predictable. Same wake-up time, same choices for breakfast. Home from the garage by 5:30 and dinner on the table by 6:30."

Maggie's smile is soft and a little sad. "Blair's the same. They lived together for so long, his habits became hers."

"It's strange," I say, tracing a pattern on Maggie's wooden table. "I always pictured her... different. Living somewhere else, maybe. With a family of her own."

"You mean not following in Robert's footsteps?"

"Yeah. I guess." I rub my jaw, the words coming slow. "Sometimes I wonder if she stays because it's all she knows. If she's just... stuck here."

Maggie's laugh catches me off guard. "Oh, Ransom. That's not Blair at all."

"But the routine, the garage, everything exactly like Robert?—"

"Stop underestimating her." Maggie leans forward, her eyes bright despite the dark circles under them. "Blair went to college, you know. Is still going, actually. She's got degrees in science and engineering. She did most of it at night online, after working a full day at the garage."

A weird mix of pride and frustration wells up. "I didn't know that."

"She's here because this is where she wanted to be. The routine? That's not her being stuck—it's her being Blair. She loves the predictability, yes. But she's also a devourer of information. She's always tinkering, building, and creating something in the garage. And she mentors a few kids every week, teaching them about cars."

My chest feels tight. "I didn't know any of that."

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