Page 100 of Six of Hearts
"No, no, the dresser should go there!" Mila directed.
"But then she can't see out the window," Hazel countered.
"Maybe she doesn't want to see out the window," Leo suggested.
"Everyone wants to see out the window," Caleb said with the authority of a nine-year-old.
I let them debate, watching with a full heart as my new family argued over furniture placement. Eventually, we got everything situated—dresser under the window (the kids won), bed against the far wall, my small desk in the corner where the light was good.
It was perfect.
"Now the closet," Julian said, carrying in an armload of my clothes. "Let's see what we're working with."
The closet in Noah's guest room was generous, but it still felt surreal to hang my clothes next to the empty space that would hold... what? More of my things as I accumulated them? Clothes I'd leave here between rotations to other houses?
"You're overthinking," Julian said, watching my face.
"How can you tell?"
"You get this little wrinkle right here." He tapped the space between my eyebrows. "It's cute, but unnecessary. This is your home now. Your closet. Your space. Stop worrying about the logistics and just... be here."
I took a breath and nodded. He was right. I was home.
By the time we finished unpacking the essentials, it was late afternoon. True to Noah's word (and the twins' demands), we ordered pizza—five large pizzas for thirteen people, which somehow wasn't quite enough.
"Growing boys," Ethan said, watching Caleb demolish his fourth slice.
"Growing everyone," Liam corrected, eyeing Mila, who was keeping pace with her older cousins.
We ate in Noah's dining room, the big table extended to its full length and still barely fitting everyone. I sat between Finn and Hazel, with the dads scattered around and the other kids filling in the gaps. It was loud and chaotic, with everyone talking over each other and reaching across the table and laughing at jokes I only half-heard.
It was perfect.
"Aria," Wyatt said, tugging on my sleeve. "You forgot to name the dog."
I looked down at the golden retriever puppy sleeping under the table, his head on my foot. We'd been calling him "the dog" or "puppy" for the past week, unable to agree on a name.
"You're right," I said. "I did forget. What should we name him?"
"Rocket!" Mason suggested.
"Mr. Fluffy-bottom!" Theo called out.
"That's not a real name," Oliver argued.
“It is!"
"How about something simple?" I said before the argument could escalate. I looked down at the puppy, at his sweet face and gentle eyes. He'd been so patient with all the kids, so calm despite the chaos. "What about Buddy?"
"Buddy," Mila repeated, testing it out. "I like it."
"Me too," Hazel agreed.
One by one, the kids nodded their approval. Even Theo, who'd been campaigning hard for Mr. Fluffybottom, seemed satisfied.
"Buddy it is," Noah declared. "Welcome to the family, Buddy."
The puppy's tail thumped against the floor, as if he understood.
