Page 45 of By Your Side
Who says things like that?
Whomeansthings like that?
Along with Noah and my grandpa, Hunter was one of the best men I’d ever known. He meant every word he’d ever said to me. I had no doubts when it came to him. No, all the doubts were about me.
My chest squeezed, and I turned off the kitchen light before I could think about it too much more. I went to the bathroom to wash my face, then climbed into bed in my leggings and hoodie, and curled up around one of the throw pillows like it could keep me from unraveling.
I stared at the ceiling. At the shadows. At the old water stain in the corner that looked a little bit like a sea turtle. And whispered, “Shit.”
Because I wasn’t spiraling anymore, I was falling. And I didn’t know if I could stop. I didn’t know if I even wanted to.
I woke up to the smell of burnt toast and the sound of teenage bickering echoing down the hallway.
So, basically, normal.
I squinted against the morning light slanting through the curtains and reached for my phone out of habit. One new text. From him.
Hunter: Morning. Hope you slept okay. You don’t have to say anything. I was just thinking about you.
Me: I’ve been thinking about you, too. But the kids are up. I’ll talk to you later.
I didn’t even realize I was smiling until Briar yelled from the kitchen, “Lark, stop leaving your weird science experiments in the fridge! I swear it blinked at me.”
I threw back the covers and rolled out of bed. My body ached in that deep, exhausted way that wasn’t physical—just the kind of fatigue that comes from feeling too much, from knowing something big was coming.
In the kitchen, Lark was drinking out of a mason jar with a sprig of mint and what looked suspiciously like a cucumber floating in it. She gave me a sleepy smile.
“Morning, Mom,” she greeted me with a smile. “I started the coffee for you.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. You put vegetables in your water now?”
“It’s self-care.”
Briar rolled her eyes. “It’s annoying.”
“Everything’s annoying when you’re thirteen,” Lark snapped back. “Grow up.”
I raised both hands before the bickering could escalate. “No fighting before coffee. House rule.” I muttered as I made my way to the coffee maker.
Noah, home again for the night, padded in behind me, rubbing his eyes and reaching immediately for the mug I handed him. “Thanks,” he mumbled, already drinking.
I loved these kids so much it hurt. Even on mornings like this.Especiallyon mornings like this. When you were free to be yourself, warts and all, that’s when you knew you were truly at home.
We fell into our routine without speaking much—toast, cereal, coffee, repeat. Lark left early for a study group, Noah was packing up to go back to Portland, and Briar stomped back to her room to find her other ballet shoe for dance.
I poured myself another cup of coffee and sank into a kitchen chair just as a knock rattled the front door.
I cracked it open to find Piper standing on my porch with a bag of muffins and a raised eyebrow.
“You look like you’ve seen some things,” she said, brushing past me to head into the kitchen. “Good things. Suspiciously good things.”
I closed the door behind her. “Do you have some kind of sixth sense for romantic chaos?”
“No,” she said sweetly. “I haveEliza. She said you were weird at the Coffee Cabin drive-thru on Hunter’s birthday. I had no idea about the weirdness. Why didn’t you tell me? I figured I’d check in. Again. And there’s more. You were seen.”
I groaned and flopped back down in my chair at the table, trying to avoid her eyes. Someone saw us? How? “Seen?” I wanted to play it off just in case no one actually saw me kiss Hunter. “What do you mean, seen?”
She studied my face. “Parking lot. Last night. Jasper forgot his hat. He went back to grab it, but turned around when he saw you and Hunter?—”
