A notebook sat open near the edge of the counter, pages filled tight, lines crowding each other, arrows connecting thoughts that didn’t want to stay separate. There was a second page half-tucked underneath it and a third waiting nearby.
I could help.
Maybe…organizea bit—stack things, finish something, close the loop.
“Hey.”
I looked up.
She was right in front of me now, closer than I’d realized she’d gotten, her hand coming up to my cheek for a second before she leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
“Archibald,” she said softly. “I know you’re grown up now, but I enjoy taking care of you.”
“But—”
“So.” She brushed her hand once over my hair before stepping back. “You’re going to have to relax.”
Rhys snorted from beside me. “Relax? What’s that? Does Archie know how to do that?”
“I relax!”
“When?” he shot back.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. The answer was obvious.
Henry.
The second I stepped into his orbit, I stopped bracing. The constant pressure in my chest finally eased off, and I didn’t have to keep everything running at once just to stay ahead of it. The world could be falling apart around me, and I wouldn’t panic.
Because he’d catch it.
Or he’d make sure it never got the chance to fall in the first place.
God.
My hands twitched with a restless energy settling into them. I could call him. IknewI could. He had a meeting with his publisher, but I also knew, with every bone in my body, that if I called, he’d answer.
“Earth to Archie,” Rhys said, nudging my shoulder.
I blinked, dragging myself back into the kitchen—into the heat, the smell, and the low clatter of dishes.
“I’m here,” I said.
Barely.
Two bowls clinked softly as she set them down, one after another, adjusting each one until she was satisfied. A row of painted daisies decorated each rim, steam curling up in the air.
Rhys groaned next to me, and my stomach growled at the scent—a blend of spices she’d never reveal.
“Careful, it’s hot.”
Rhys blew on it once, then took a full bite.“ohmygod.”
A hint of amusement flicked across Mom’s face. “From the garden.”
“Obviously. Nora Quinn would never be caught dead using a canned vegetable.”
She pointed her spoon at him. “Don’t you forget it.”