"Hey," Josh says, grinning. "My playlists are classic."
"They're tragic," Jenna counters.
The easy rhythm between them fills the space in a way that steadies me.
Emma climbs onto a stool, swinging her legs while Jenna sets a cinnamon roll in front of her. "It smells like heaven," Emma says, already reaching for the icing.
Jenna laughs. "You're my favorite audience."
I stand there for a minute, just watching them. The sound of Emma's giggle, Jenna's warmth, Josh humming something low under his breath—it's all so normal it almost hurts.
When Josh glances at me again, his smile fades enough to show the question he isn't asking.
He knows. Or at least, he suspects. Jenna is Asher's family, and I doubt that she kept it from her husband.
"You got boxes to unpack?" he asks gently.
"Too many," I admit.
"Good," he says. "Work helps."
We start with the kitchen. Jenna organizes as if she's running a small army. Every dish finds a home, and every utensil gets a drawer. She hums under her breath while she works, little fragments of songs that keep my mind from drifting too far.
Josh carries boxes from the truck with a silent steadiness, the kind of presence that fills a room without pressing against it.
At one point, he pauses in the doorway, holding a framed photo of Emma and me from last summer. "Where do you want this?"
"Over the sink," I say. "It'll make washing the dishes easier."
He nods, hanging it carefully. The smile on Emma's face in that photo is all joy. Mine looks tired but content. That was before the job fell apart, before I learned what my bosses were doing, before Asher.
Blinking hard, I turn back to unpacking another box.
Jenna catches the movement. She doesn't say anything at first, but after a while, she comes to stand beside me. "You okay?"
I almost laugh. It comes out closer to a sigh. "I don't know. I feel like I lost everything in one week. My job. My home. Him."
Her expression softens. "Asher?"
I nod and then I proceed to tell her everything from losing my job and why I’m moving to my complicated relationship with her brother.
She leans against the counter, her voice low. "I heard what happened. Asher didn't mean to tell me, but I figured it out when Zach said he's been quiet. That man doesn't know how to be quiet unless he's hurting."
The words hit a nerve deep in my chest. "He's not the only one."
Jenna reaches out and squeezes my hand. "You did what you had to. You told the truth. Sometimes that breaks things before it fixes them."
"I don't think this can be repaired," I say. "Your brothers hate me. He lost their trust because of me."
"They don't hate you," she says. "They're scared. You shook up their world, which, as their sister, I can say they desperately needed. They'll come around. And Asher..." She smiles faintly. "That man looks at you like you're the only thing standing between him and losing the light. He'll find his way back."
Her faith is a kindness I haven't earned. "You really think so?"
"I know so," she says simply. "Men like him don't stop fighting for what matters."
I want to believe her. I want to hold on to that hope. But right now, it feels too fragile to touch.
Emma interrupts us by holding up a spoon covered in icing. "Can I help unpack, too?"