Page 35 of Scout
By the time we head to the grocery store, the sun’s got that golden-hour glow that makes everything look a little too perfect.
Scout grabs a cart and immediately starts pushing it like he owns the place. Kendrix pulls out a folded list—because of course he made one—and starts giving orders like we’re prepping for surgery.
We pick up chicken, pasta, garlic bread, fresh herbs, salad stuff, and wine. Scout adds whipped cream and a pack of gummy bears to the cart and refuses to explain. I don’t ask.
Back at the condo, it’s organized chaos.
Scout stirs the sauce like he’s on Food Network. Kendrix works the stove like it owes him money. I chop salad and try not to laugh when Scout puts music on and starts dancing like there isn’t tension in the room thick enough to eat with a spoon.
Dinner is easy but perfect: creamy chicken alfredo, fresh salad, warm bread, and more wine than we probably need.
Scout pours and raises his glass to cheer first. “To not being booked,” he says with a small smile. “To just… being here. Together.”
We clink then drink.
Halfway through the meal, Scout picks up his wineglass, takes a slow sip, then sets it down and leans back in his chair.
Kendrix tilts his head and asks, “You said you have a little sister, right? Juniper?”
Scout nods, fingers tracing the stem of his glass.
“Where is she? You two live together?”
Scout gives a small smile. “She lives with me some weekends and school breaks. Otherwise, she’s technically with her mom, but that’s more of a legal detail than a reality.”
Kendrix leans his elbows on the table, still watching him carefully. “So where’s the mom?”
Scout shrugs, but it’s heavy. “Around. Sort of. She checks in just enough to keep up appearances but not enough to do any real parenting.”
I feel something pull in my chest.
Kendrix keeps going, gentle. “What about your parents? Are they nearby? I’m assuming since you saidhermom. You guys share a dad, then?”
Scout laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “My mom’s in Florida. Moved last year with her fiancé. Said she needed a fresh start. Mine and Juniper’s dad’s… dead.”
We go still.
“Sorry,” Kendrix says quietly.
Scout shakes his head. “Don’t be. He was never reallyinthe picture. Just dropped in long enough to mess things up and then disappeared again. Rinse, repeat. He and Juniper’s mom were a perfect match that way.”
He lifts his glass again but doesn’t drink yet.
“She’s twelve,” he says, voice softer now. “Just made the middle school cheer team. And yeah, she knows what I do. Not all the details, but enough. I’m all she’s got, and I do what I do, so she never has to feel like I did growing up—unwanted, unsure, unsteady.”
He finally looks up at us.
There’s a flicker in his expression—something between fear and pride. Like he’s bracing himself for judgment.
But there’s none.
“She’s lucky,” Kendrix says, voice low. Steady. “To have you.”
Scout shrugs. “I’m lucky to have her.”
We sit there for a moment. Letting it settle. The weight of it. The shape of his honesty.
Then we clean up. Scout washes, humming under his breath. I dry. Kendrix arranges the leftovers with surgeon-level neatness that makes me roll my eyes.
