Page 56 of Over and Above

“Perfect. Thank you.” Magnus was gracious as ever, not all sullen. Apparently sensing that small talk wasn’t happening, he switched on some soft music using his phone. Even my speakers thought he belonged here. “Could you tackle the potatoes next?”

“Absolutely.”I like this more than cooking with Montgomery.I’d ducked similarly disloyal thoughts for months. I’d loved my husband with my whole self, and if cancer hadn’t stolen our future, I’d be happily married. And not with Magnus. I avoided comparisons because they were as pointless as they were painful.

If Magnus and I were a slow dance in the living room to a pop song, Montgomery and I had been a perfectly executed waltz. One wasn’t better than the other, but every so often, the differences pricked at my conscience, made me feel like I was cheating on someone who’d been gone nearly two years.

Wouldn’t he want you to be happy?Magnus had asked. And I’d automatically answered yes, but despite the fact that he’d given me his blessing to find someone new, guilt and doubt, slithery and slick, continued to pool in the dark corners of my soul.

“Something smells good.” Marissa wandered up from the basement as the soup base bubbled away.

“How’s Maren?” I looked up as I peeled the last potato.

“Resting.” She quirked her full lips. “I’m pretty sure this was a false alarm, or rather, prodromal labor. But the weather people are predicting a big storm tonight, and I’m reluctant to leave and be wrong. Would you mind if I hang out overnight? I don’t want to be an imposition?—”

“You’re not.” I waved away her concern. “Of course you can stay.”

“It’ll be fun,” Magnus added. “A sleepover party. Baby watch.”

“There’s plenty of room.” I said the words, already planning to sleep on the third floor and let Marissa have the primary. A weird tingle raced up my spine. The house had accommodated newlyweds, new children, growing teens, friends in need, visitors, and more. Houses and hearts alike always did manage to find room for one more.

Chapter Thirty

Magnus

I stared down at the pot of soup, grateful there was no such thing as over stirring this particular potato soup recipe. Cooking with Eric was such a joy, and right now, such a heartache. Our unfinished conversation loomed between us, thick and murky, not unlike the brew of potatoes and vegetables.

“We have returned.” Wren trod into the kitchen, followed by Rowan and John, with a gust of cold air from outside. “No baby yet?”

“No baby yet.” Eric gestured at the kids’ coats and boots. “Shake out the snow and hang up your coats so we don’t end up with a wet mess.”

“The snow is really coming down now.” Rowan hung up his black wool peacoat, revealing hisGuncle of the Yearshirt from earlier. “I don’t miss this sort of cold in LA.”

“We know.” John released a long-suffering sigh like he’d had quite enough talk about LA over the course of Rowan’s most recent visit.

“Hey, I miss all of you very much.” Rowan clapped John on the back. “Just not the weather.”

“Sorry.” Continuing to frown, John stepped away from Rowan’s embrace. “Sometimes it feels like everyone eventually leaves or moves on. Whatever.”

“I get it.” Rowan was unusually somber, an unspoken acknowledgment of all this family, and John specifically, had endured. The adoption from foster care. The loss of their other dad. Maren, then Rowan leaving. Maren back, but the upheaval of the pregnancy. And whatever the heck was going on with John and Caleb’s brother Scotty, who was away at college.

And Eric had been through all that plus more. Earlier, when I’d urged him to take a risk on us, I hadn’t truly considered the layers underneath his caution. The loss of his husband. The rejection of his bio family. And the concern for his kids, like John, who was always so serious. Maybe I was naive in assuming the kids would be fine with Eric dating or that it would be in their best interests.

Fuck. I gave the soup another hard stir as Eric approached the stove.

“Everything good with the soup? I should go change the sheets in my bedroom so Marissa can sleep there and be closer to the basement.”

“Let me.” I put the spoon on the metal spoon-rest before Eric could object. “I know where the linen closet is. You hang out with your kids. They need you more.”

I held his gaze, the truth of my words reflected back in his nod. The kids did need him more than I did. The kids and their needs had to come first. I was an outsider, at best, a family friend, a guest star in the lives of these teens. Perhaps I’d been a bit hasty in my demands.

Not liking where my thoughts were headed, I threw myself into gathering clean linens and changing the sheets in Eric’s room. Back in July, the room had been little more than storage, but he’d fully moved back into the space now. His uniform shirts hung in a neat row in the closet, sneakers and shoes beneath. An eReader and a white noise machine sat at right angles on the bedside table.

He’d come a long way on his grief journey simply in the time I’d known him. Who was I to rush him? I sighed in the empty bedroom. In an ideal world, we could talk more, and I could apologize for being strident. However, the house was overflowing with people.

Always room for one more, Eric had said. Was that all I was? Another rescue project? Another friend in need? Another problem to solve? I didn’t doubt our friendship, but perhaps I was alone in the depth of my feelings.

Task done and brain continuing to churn, I returned to the kitchen where Eric had dished up soup for the teens.

“Bedroom is done,” I told him. “I laid clean towels out in the bathroom as well.”

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