Page 58 of The Silence Between

“Traitor,” I muttered at Ethan, but without real heat. “I'll go clean up and help finish dinner.”

Fifteen minutes later, showered and slightly less grumpy, I found myself chopping bell peppers while Ethan stirred the sauce. The kids had retreated to finish homework before eating, leaving us awkwardly alone in the tiny kitchen.

“So...” I started, focusing on the pepper. “This is new.”

“Sophie's persistent,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

I ignored that. “You didn't have to cook.”

“Consider it payment for invading your space without warning.” He tasted the sauce, then added more oregano. “Besides, I like cooking. Marcus and his family have been great, but their spare room isn't exactly set up for culinary experiments.”

“How is that working out?” I asked, sliding the peppers into the pot.

“It's temporary,” he said, stirring the peppers in. “Marcus offered while I look for a place of my own. Their kids are... energetic.”

“That's one way to put it,” I said, remembering Marcus's three boys who seemed to function on perpetual sugar highs. “I fixed their bathroom sink last month. One of them had flushed an entire action figure collection.”

Ethan laughed. “Sounds about right. The youngest tried to convince me that midnight is an appropriate bedtime for a six-year-old.”

“Bold negotiation strategy.”

“He's got a future in politics.” Ethan adjusted the heat on the stove. “Honestly, it's nice being around a family, even with the chaos. Better than some sterile apartment by myself.”

Something about the way he said it made me look up. There was a loneliness there I hadn't expected.

“The high school hasn't changed much,” he said, changing the subject. “Same trophy case, same faded banners.”

“Same uncomfortable chairs in the English classrooms?”

“Absolutely.” He smiled. “I'm pretty sure I found gum under my desk that we put there senior year.”

That got a laugh out of me. “So your illustrious return to Riverton includes teaching in the same room where Mr. Phillips tried to make us care about Hawthorne?”

“Room 237. And yes.” He shook his head. “Though I'd like to think I'm slightly more engaging than Phillips.”

“Low bar,” I said, remembering the monotone teacher who could make even the most exciting literature sound like a weather report.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Ethan rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “How's Sophie liking my class, really?”

“She actually loves it. Keeps talking about some poetry project you assigned.” I finished chopping the last of the vegetables. “She's always been the reader in the family.”

“Like her brother,” Ethan said quietly.

I felt something tighten in my chest at that. “That was a long time ago.”

Before he could respond, Sophie and Diego burst back in, arguing about whose turn it was to set the table, and the moment passed.

The pasta was good—way better than the boxed stuff I would have made. As we ate, the conversation flowed with surprising ease, mostly centered around school and Sophie's upcoming art project.

“Mr. Webb says my watercolor technique is really advanced for my age,” Sophie announced proudly. “He thinks I should enter the district art show next month.”

“You definitely should,” I agreed, watching her face light up. “Your landscapes are amazing.”

“They remind me of your mom's work,” Ethan said, then glanced at me like he wasn't sure if he should have mentioned her.

Instead of the usual sting, I felt something warmer. “Yeah, they do. She'd be proud.”

“Are you working on anything new?” Diego asked Ethan, genuinely curious. The kid who barely spoke three words to most adults was suddenly chatty.

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