“Disappointed,” he finishes. “Again.”
There’s a pattern forming. A familiar one that tugs at old scars, threatening to reopen wounds barely healed.
“Do you think it was really just the PTA meeting running over?” I ask, the question breaking free after circling my mind all evening.
Jared’s warm breath brushes my temple. “I’m not sure.”
He doesn’t offer false reassurance or false hope. He doesn’t know any more than I do, and the not-knowing is half the problem.
“Come on,” Jared says after a long silence, his hands sliding from my waist. “The rest can wait till morning.”
“Okay.”
He takes my hand and leads me away from the sink full of dishes, away from the evidence of a dinner planned for three but eaten by two. Away from unanswered questions about a man who keeps disappearing when he claims to want to be here.
The living room greets us with the gentle glow of the reading lamp I left on earlier. Shadows ripple across the exposed beams as Jared stokes the embers, adding a split log that catches with a soft whoosh. Heat rolls from the hearth, fighting back the December chill seeping through the cottage windows despite the heavy curtains I hung last week.
Jared settles beside me, his weight on the cushion dipping me into his side. The crocheted throw draped over the armrest ends up around our shoulders, Jared’s hands tucking it close with quiet care.
“The donation center called earlier,” Jared says, rubbing the tension from my shoulder. “They’ve sorted everything we dropped off. Said your handmade toys were the first items claimed.”
My lips curve upward despite the sadness. “Those wooden puzzles took forever.”
“Worth every splinter,” Jared agrees, hand moving to the back of my neck. “And the patchwork bears went to the younger kids.”
I picture tiny fingers clutching the bear I’d sewn from fabric scraps, each piece selected for softness. That was a good thing I did.
Jared’s fingers find my hair, combing through the loose strands at the nape of my neck, and the gentle pressure on my scalp uncoils a fraction of the tension gathering there.
“And Mrs. Hernandez said the jackets I found at Secondhand Treasures will go to the angel program at the public school,” he continues. “Five kids won’t be cold at recess come January.”
A laugh escapes me, small but real. “You’re amazing.”
“Twenty dollars can stretch a long way when you have enough patience to keep searching the racks every week for new arrivals,” Jared replies, his thumb now tracing slow circles on my shoulder blade.
I lean into him, my body seeking his warmth.
“What if he doesn’t come back?” I whisper, the fear slipping out before I can catch it.
Jared’s hand pauses on my back. “He will.”
“You can’t know that.”
“No,” he admits, resuming the gentle circles. “But I’ve seen how he looks at you. How he fits with us.”
The fire crackles and spits as the log catches, casting our shadows across the far wall. Mixie emerges from wherever she’s been hiding, stretching before leaping onto the coffee table. She blinks at us, tail swishing in silent judgment.
“He fits when he’s here,” I say, watching the cat knead the table runner with her front paws. “But he’s here less and less.”
Jared doesn’t argue the point. His hand slides down my arm to find my wrist, his thumb tracing slow patterns. The gentle touch sends tingles up my nerve endings, familiar and comforting.
The muscles in my shoulders loosen, and my pulse slows from the anxious rhythm it’s maintained all evening, settling into a calmer beat that matches the slow circle of Jared’s thumb on my skin.
We sit in silence for a while, connected by touch and proximity, while my breathing deepens with each pass of his fingers. The disappointment remains, but it recedes to a manageable ache rather than the sharp pain of earlier.
I turn my head to find Jared watching me, his sea-glass eyes reflecting the dancing firelight, and the concern there warms me more than the flames.
“Better?” he asks, searching my face.