Page 34 of Hometown Heart

"But you have friends here now, right? Like Silas?"

Something in his tone made me glance back again. His face was carefully neutral—too solemn for a ten-year-old discussing his favorite barista.

I pulled into our driveway and killed the engine. "Yeah, Silas is a friend."

"Then how come he never comes over? He helped us pick out my new stick, and he knows all about hockey, and he makes the best hot chocolate, and—"

"Cody." I turned in my seat to face him properly. "What's really on your mind?"

He chewed his lip, a habit he'd picked up recently when thinking hard about something. "It's just... in New York, after you and Papa split up, you never wanted to do anything except stuff with me. That was cool, but sometimes you looked sad when you thought I wasn't looking."

My throat tightened. I hadn't realized he'd noticed that.

"And now we're here, and you smile more. Especially at Tidal Grounds." Our eyes met. "I just think... maybe Silas should come over sometime. If you want."

For a moment, I sat there, studying my son's face. When had he gotten so perceptive? So grown up? It seemed like yesterday he was learning to skate, his small hands gripping mine for balance. Now here he was, reading situations I thought I'd kept carefully hidden.

"You're right," I said finally. "I did focus mostly on you after the split. It felt safer that way."

"Safer than what?"

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, searching for the right words. "Safer than trying to figure out who I was besides being your dad. Does that make sense?"

Cody unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned forward between the seats. "Kind of. Like how I was scared to try out for the team here because I didn't know anybody? But then I did it anyway, and now Tyler's my best friend."

A surprised laugh escaped me. "Yeah, that's pretty close. Something like that."

"So..." He drew out the word, reminding me suddenly of how he negotiated for extra ice cream. "Maybe you should try, too? I mean, Silas already likes us. He makes my hot chocolate exactly right, and he always asks about my games and other stuff."

"Oh, tell me what he thinks about stuff?"

"Dad." He fixed me with a look that was pure Edward—the one that said he wasn't falling for any deflection. "I'm just saying. Our house is nice. And we have that big kitchen. And Silas probably gets tired of only eating scones."

I reached back and ruffled his hair, earning an indignant squawk. "When did you get so smart about this?"

"I watch a lot of movies." He grabbed his bag and pushed the car door open. He shouldered his hockey stick. "Can we have pancakes? I'm starving."

It only took a rumbling stomach for Cody to switch gears, bounding toward the house while detailing exactly how many chocolate chips belonged in proper chocolate chip pancakes.

I watched him dump his bag in the hallway, already pulling out ingredients for pancakes with the confidence only a ten-year-old could manage.

The house was suddenly full of potential—not only as a home for us but also as a space where new stories could unfold.

Maybe it was time to write one of those stories myself.

After I dropped Cody off for hockey practice, I headed to Tidal Grounds. The morning rush was starting to dissipate when I pushed through the door. Sarah operated the register while Silas worked the espresso machine with practiced efficiency, his movements quick but never hurried. Steam hissed, and milk frothed as he crafted each drink.

I claimed a spot at the end of the counter, content to wait out the crowd. Silas caught my eye between drinks, offering a quick nod. Something warm unfurled in my gut at the simple acknowledgment.

"The usual?" Sarah asked, already reaching for a cup.

"Yes, and thank you, but no rush."

She grinned. "Good, because Mr. Perfect over there gets grumpy if anyone rushes his pour-overs."

Silas called over his shoulder. "I heard that, and it's not rushing, it's called ignoring the proper extraction time."

"Sure, boss. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

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