I thumb a message to Richard, just to be sure.
“It’s gotta be hard for three adults to parent together,” Noah says.
“She doesn’t—” I stop. Maybe I’ve been pretending Jessica’s temporary because it’s easier.
“I get it,” he says. “They’re not married. When my dad started dating Linda, it took me a while, too. Can’t say I see her as a stepmom even now.”
“Are your parents divorced?”
“My mom passed away. Linda was one of my mom’s friends.” He half-chuckles, then scratches his jaw.
“Was that good or bad?”
He tilts his head, thoughtful. The kitchen light catches the gold in his brown eyes. He’s leaning against the island, relaxed—one arm on the counter, hand wrapped loosely around his water glass. The sweater he’s wearing fits close enough that I notice the breadth of his shoulders. I look away.
“Weird,” he says finally, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “But I got over it. I wasn’t around much anyway.”
“Military,” I guess.
He nods. “Yeah. I enlisted right after Mom got sick. Thought she’d beat it.”
His words swirl emotions that on a normal day I’d redirect, keep things professional. But after today—finding Matthew, the interrogation, Richard—my defenses are down. I want to offer comfort.
“When we’re young,” I say softly, “it’s almost impossible to fathom death. Unless you’ve lived through it.”
He pushes up, refills his glass with water, then lifts the wine bottle without asking, and refreshes mine. The gesture’s easy and natural.
“You close with your parents?” he asks.
“My parents both passed away.”
He’s silent, giving me space. It’s strangely easy to keep going. “Car accident. I was fifteen. I don’t think I even said goodbye that night.”
He exhales, leaning back against the counter. “That’s rough. And here I was feeling sorry for myself.”
“It wasn’t all bad,” I admit, and smile faintly. “I mean, losing them was horrible, but my grandmother took me in. She saved me, really. She let me mourn but didn’t let me wallow.”
“She sounds like a force.”
“She was. Harvard was her idea. She passed away five years ago.”
He winces in sympathy. “You’re three-for-three. That’s brutal.”
“She lived a full life,” I say. “And honestly? I’m glad she didn’t have to see my divorce. That would’ve crushed her.”
“How long ago?”
“Finalized two years ago. Separated four years before that. So there was this…window.” I gesture vaguely. “When I pretended things were fine for her sake.”
He nods, eyes soft. “You were protecting her.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Maybe protecting myself too.”
He doesn’t rush to reassure me or offer platitudes. Just nods like he understands exactly what I mean.
He comes around the island and joins me. “Linda’s…fine. She makes Dad happy. That’s enough.”
“I haven’t thought of Jessica as Stella’s stepmom,” I say slowly, “but maybe I should. My instinct’s to keep her at arm’s length.”