Page 101 of Till Orc Do Us Part
I close the book, mark our place with a battered bookmark Jamie made—a green giant cut from construction paper. “He’s better with me than I deserve.”
Her gaze lingers a beat longer, unreadable, then she rises with a small shake of her head. “Come to bed soon?” she murmurs.
“I will.”
She brushes her fingers through Jamie’s curls, then disappears upstairs, leaving the faint scent of lavender and sea air in her wake.
I sit a while longer, listening to Jamie’s slow, even breaths, to the house alive around us.
Eventually, I lift him—careful, steady—and carry him up to his room. It smells of driftwood and crayons, the air tinged with some indefinable boyish magic. I tuck him beneath his sea-creature quilt, place his plush shark in the crook of his arm.
He stirs once, mumbles something about pirates and stars, then settles.
I lean against the doorway for a long moment, watching.
Later, Rowan finds me in the kitchen, barefoot in one of my oversized shirts, hair falling loose. She grins at the sight of me pouring tea with a frown of deep concentration.
“You’re hopeless with steep times,” she teases.
“You’re hopeless at leaving invoices alone after midnight.”
She snorts but slides onto the counter, legs swinging, and watches me prepare two mugs.
We sit on the porch swing beneath starlight, mugs warm in our hands, silence easy between us. The porch smells of cedar and sea, the night air cool on our skin.
She leans against me. “You know,” she murmurs, voice rough with tired affection, “I still can’t believe you built this life.”
“I didn’t,” I say softly. “Wedid.”
She exhales slowly, head dropping to my shoulder.
Later still, when Jamie pads downstairs in his pajamas—eyes wide, holding his shark by one arm—we make room for him on the swing.
Rowan pulls a thick blanket around all three of us, Jamie curled between us like he belongs here.
Because he does.
Because we all do.
We watch the stars blink awake one by one, the sea whispering below.
When Jamie’s eyes drift closed again, Rowan presses her face to my chest, fingers curling in the worn fabric of my shirt. Her voice is a sigh, thick with something more than sleep.
“We built this.”
I tighten my arm around her, around them both.
“Yes,” I breathe. “We did.”
And this time, there is no doubt.
Later,after Jamie is sound asleep again—this time tucked in beneath his quilt with the plush shark standing sentry—I find Rowan back on the porch.
She’s leaning against the swing’s worn wooden arm, legs curled beneath her, mug cradled in both hands. The stars above are sharp and endless, stitched across the ink-black sky. The sea murmurs in the distance, each wave a slow exhale.
I step out quietly, barefoot now, the planks cool beneath my feet. The air smells of salt and cedar and her.
Without a word, I sit beside her.
