“You like it?”
“I like it.” His mouth brushes my temple. “I like seeing you well.”
My chest does something complicated. No one has ever looked at my body and saidmoreinstead ofless.
The drive to Havenridge takes twenty minutes. Ethan’s truck smells like weathered leather and coffee. His hand finds mine across the console, lacing our fingers together.
Through the windshield, the landscape opens. Rolling green is cut by fences and creek beds, two ranches sharing the same valley and the same water table that a corporation wants to bleed dry. To them, it’s just land, not people’s homes.
“Henry’s the eldest,” Ethan says, his thumb running along the length of my index finger. “Ben’s son. He and Shay were the first of Marlie’s matches, and they have baby Max now.” He pauses. “Henry doesn’t talk much.”
“Runs in the family.”
My comment prompts that almost-smile again. “He’ll size you up. Don’t take it personally. His nod is a whole conversation.”
I watch the road uncoil ahead. My free hand finds the hem of my sleeve and tugs in a reflex older than any progress my skin has made. I’m about to walk into a house full of women who married into this family and became a unit. Women who belong somewhere.
I’ve never belonged anywhere.
Ethan squeezes my hand but doesn’t say anything. One touch from him is like a whole sentence.
The main house at Havenridge is warm. That’s what I notice first. Not the size or layout, but the layered warmth that envelops me when the front door opens. I catch the scent of cinnamon from the kitchen, the sweet-sour smell of baby things, and the woody undertone of a house loved into its shape. Tiny boots by the door sit next to enormous ones.
Henry Sutton fills the doorway like he was poured into it.
He’s large. Not just tall but dense. Built like the ranch, permanent and immovable. Dark hair, serious silver eyes, a jaw set in quiet assessment. He looks at Ethan first, and a glance passes between them, loaded with a cousin’s shorthand I can’t read.
Then his gaze shifts to me.
I straighten, the foster kid at the new house, standing taller so they’ll think I’m worth keeping.
Henry takes in my glasses, my bitten nails, the sleeves I’ve pulled to my wrists. I feel like a file being read.
Then Henry nods as if he’s already decided. He steps aside, and the warmth of the house swallows me whole.
“Shay’s in the kitchen,” he says in a deep voice that sounds as if it’s used sparingly, like a resource he’s careful not to waste. “Coffee’s on.”
That’s it. Two sentences. That nod at me in the doorway was the whole welcome speech. The gruffest Sutton saying, “You’re in.”
Ethan’s palm presses into my lower back. “I’m going to check in with Tom and Angus. I won’t be far.” His lips brush my temple. Then he’s gone, leaving me standing there with the faint warmth of his mouth still on my skin. He walked me in, made sure I was settled, delivered me to people who will take care of me, and stepped back.
The kitchen is chaos, and I love it immediately.
Shay has red hair and freckles, and her energy fills the room before she even speaks. She’s pulling something from the oven while talking over her shoulder to a blonde-haired woman, who’s arranging glass jars on the counter. Baby Max is in a bouncer on the floor, gnawing a wooden ring.
Henry appears behind me, lifts Max out one-handed, and disappears into the living room.
“You must be Jenna.” Shay sets the tray down and turns the full beam of her attention on me. It’s like standing in sunlight. “Sit. Eat. Ethan said you like coffee, but I made tea too because Kitty only drinks tea, and I figured more options, right?”
She puts a plate in front of me before I’ve fully sat down. Warm scones. Butter already on the side.
My hands shake as I take the plate, which is absurd. It’s food, it’s a scone, it’s a woman being kind in a kitchen. But nobody checked if I’d earned it. Shay handed me a plate as if feeding a stranger is what you do, and the simplicity of it crashes into my heart and rests there.
“Thank you. This is really kind of you.”
Shay waves a hand. “Kind, nothing. I made four dozen. Henry ate twelve before 9 a.m.”
Shay introduces the blonde-haired woman as Luna. She smiles, her expression quieter than Shay’s but just as warm.