Page 57 of From the Ashes
"Noah, did you know Carter likes pancakes too? Just like you," Lana adds.
"You do?" he gasps, eyes wide. I’m not sure why that detail matters so much, but it feels like a make-or-break moment.
“Yes.”
“We both like pancakes,” he mutters, looking at his plate. “Maybe we could have a pancake party next time Mom makes them?” I want to smile, I fucking do, but it doesn’t come this time. Without needing to look at her, I feel Lana’s gaze on me. As if she knew what I was trying to do too.
“Would you be okay with Carter being around a bit more, Noah?” Lana’s voice is sweet as honey, but my heart pounds in my ears. A monumental question, asked so simply, our fate resting in the hands of a little boy who means the world to the woman I’m falling for.
Thud-thud.
Thud-thud.
Thud-thud.
He smiles and shrugs. “Yep, we could play together if you like figurines.”
“I’d like that very much,” I say. My voice is cold as ice, but inside, I’m a ball of fire. Whatever I did must’ve worked. Lana grins widely, leans in to ruffle his hair, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. Then she looks at me with a spark I hadn’t seen before, like she just got the final confirmation she needed to let go and be mine. If my heart stopped beating right now, I swear I’d die fucking happy.
“Mom, I'm done. Can I go play now?”
“Go wash your face first, honey, there’s tomato sauce everywhere.” He rolls his eyes but listens, climbing onto a little wooden tower that makes him just the right height for the sink. When he’s done, he comes back and takes my hand, like it’s no big deal. Like I’m not scary at all.
“Do you like puzzles?” he asks casually, leading me to the living room table where a third of one is already done.
“We started it with Mom this morning, but it’s not finished yet. Look, there’s a truck here, and a motorcycle here, and—” He keeps going, describing the pieces with growing excitement. I take off my cut, drop it on the couch, and sit on the rug beside him. As he talks, I scan the table and spot a piece that looks like it might fit.
“Here,” I say, handing it to him. “Think it might fit around here,” I add, pointing to the top of a blue truck that’s still unfinished.
“Thank you,” he says absentmindedly, taking the piece and scanning for the right spot. He finds it and presses it in, then looks up at me with a smug little smile. “Next one?” he asks, humming a tune I assume he picked up at school, eyes locked on the puzzle. He’s completely focused, the same way I get when I drift off. In his own little world. Like me. I hand him a few morepieces without saying much, each time pointing to where I think they might fit.
“Carter?” I stare at him, waiting. “I like playing with you,” he says, flashing the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen, then goes right back to the puzzle like it’s no big deal. I mumble something unintelligible, and I wish I could tell him the feeling is mutual. Only this time, I’m not discouraged. With time, I’ll get there. I’ll find a way to smile back, to show him I’m not just some weirdo.
“Hi, Rachel,” Lana greets behind us, her tone cheerful as she opens the door to the sitter. I hear them chatting, something about Rachel’s mom and her famous biscuits at the last community meeting, then they round the couch and find us. I give the girl a quick once-over. Tall, blonde, dressed like some English scholar with a tweed skirt, navy blouse, and glasses. Yeah, we’re good. She looks serious. Disciplined. Safe. Not that I get a say, but…I’ve got a sixth sense for people who play both sides. And when it comes to Noah and Lana, well, I guess I’m a little protective now. I nod at Rachel, then hand Noah one last puzzle piece.
“Gotta go, Noah, was nice playing with you,” I say. He smiles back, and it twists something in my chest, something I don’t quite recognize.
“Bye, Carter! Next time I’ll show you my figurines!”
“Yeah, sounds good,” I tell him as Lana laces her fingers through mine. I glance at Noah instinctively, but he doesn’t even blink. He’s already focused on Rachel, who’s taken my place and is now handing him puzzle pieces while he tells her all about his day.
“It went well,” Lana whispers in my ear. “Really well.” Then she takes my hand and leads me toward the door. I pause near the entrance as she circles back to the couch, kneels by her son, and gives the sitter instructions for the night.
“Four stories, max,” she says, holding up a warning finger while Noah pouts. “Not seven like last time, okay?”
“But Mommy, it was for Teddy!” he protests, pointing dramatically at the bear seated on the couch like a proper gentleman. She tsks him, which makes me want to smile ‘cause she’s so damn attractive when she’s in mom mode.
“Four, honey, otherwise you’ll be tired tomorrow, and we have Arthur’s birthday, remember? I want you to have so much fun there, and if you’re tired, you won’t. Okay?”
Rachel smiles and winks at Lana. “I’ve got it.”
Lana scoops Noah into one last hug, and I catch him closing his eyes and sniffing her hair. Cute as hell. Once she finds her jacket, I offer her my hand again, and we leave. From the window, Noah waves at us. And because I know I can do better than being a damn wall of concrete, I wave back.
Like someone who cares.
Like a character in a movie.
Like areal person.
