Page 82 of Hometown Heart

"That's the plan."

Cody nodded, absorbing the information with unusual solemnity. "Cool. That's... cool."

I glanced down at him, catching an expression I couldn't quite interpret, flitting across his features. "Something on your mind, bud?"

He kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering across the sidewalk. "It's different now, isn't it? With you and Silas."

The question caught me off guard. We'd been careful—not hiding anything, exactly, but not making grand pronouncements either. Still, Cody had always been perceptive, particularly when it came to shifts in the emotional landscape around him.

"Yes," I admitted. "It is."

He nodded again, this time with the satisfaction of a hypothesis confirmed. "I thought so. Tyler says his mom thinks Silas looks at you like you hung the moon."

I nearly tripped over my own feet. "Tyler's mom said that?"

"Well, not to me," Cody clarified. "Tyler overheard her telling his aunt. He thought it was gross, but I told him adults are weird about that stuff."

A laugh escaped me—part amusement, part disbelief at having our relationship analyzed by the Whistleport Elementary School grapevine. "Very mature of you."

"I'm almost eleven," he reminded me.

We turned onto our street, our house visible halfway down the block. The porch light welcomed us, golden against the blue-black of the evening.

"So you're okay with it?" I asked, voicing the question that had lingered at the edges of my thoughts for weeks. "With Silas being... part of our lives?"

Cody looked up at me, his expression shifting to something startlingly adult. "He already is, Dad. Has been for ages."

We walked the rest of the way home, Cody chattering about the upcoming championship game, his words tumbling over each other in his excitement. But beneath his hockey analysis ran an undercurrent I couldn't miss—acceptance, and perhaps even approval, of the change taking shape around him.

By the time we reached our front door, something fundamental had shifted in the universe. The path ahead cleared as if the final piece of a puzzle had quietly slipped into place.

Chapter twenty-one

Silas

The harbor stretched before me, a vast silvery oval rimmed with colored lanterns that transformed our utilitarian fishing port into something from a winter fairytale. Their reflections wavered on the ice, creating kaleidoscope patterns that shifted with each passing breeze. Around the improvised rink, Whistleport families gathered in small clusters, some already gliding across the frozen surface while others huddled near portable fire pits along the shore.

I watched Jack and Cody taking in the scene, their expressions mirroring each other in a way that always made my heart twist with unexpected tenderness.

"This is incredible," Jack murmured, his eyes wide with appreciation.

I approached them, my well-worn hockey skates slung over one shoulder. "Final harbor skate of the season," I explained. "The ice never lasts much longer than this. By next week, it'll probably start breaking up."

Cody had already plopped onto a bench and was enthusiastically yanking his skates from his backpack. "Come on, Dad! I want to try that spin move Brooks showed me."

Jack knelt to help him lace up. "Take it easy out there. It's a different surface than the arena."

"I know, I know," Cody sighed with that exaggerated patience only ten-year-olds can truly master. "Harbor ice is natural and can have bumps and weak spots. Brooks already gave me the safety lecture."

"Smart man, that Brooks," Jack smiled, tugging the laces tight.

The moment his skates were secure, Cody was off, racing onto the ice with reckless abandon. He immediately spotted Tyler and his other teammates, skating toward them with delight. The boys formed a loose circle, no doubt rehashing their victory for the hundredth time.

I sat on the bench Cody had vacated and began lacing up my own skates. Jack did the same beside me, his shoulder occasionally brushing mine in a way that felt deliberate rather than accidental.

"Been a while for me," I admitted, nodding toward the ice. "Couple years at least." The truth was, I hadn't been on the harbor ice since high school, and I'd seen a couple of accidents that gave me a healthy respect for the difference from skating in the arena.

"Like riding a bike," Jack assured me, his voice carrying that quiet confidence I'd come to rely on. "It comes back."

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