Page 27 of When Love Comes Home

She looks disappointed, so I quickly add, "Isn't that what you want?"

"I want you to keep calling me Katie," she murmurs.

"But you hate it," I point out.

"I can’t imagine you calling me anything else," she says, her gaze steady on mine.

"This isn’t a side of you I’m used to," I confess.

"Are you complaining?" she asks, stepping closer—close enough for me to see the vibrant shade of green in her eyes.

"No. I’m just wondering when the Katie I’m used to will reappear and remind me I’m the unwanted brother she never asked for."

"You're not my brother," she says, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, there she is," I say, a hint of amusement in my voice.

"Adam," she begins softly. "Do you really see me as a little sister?"

"No," I say honestly. "I tried for so many years to be like a brother to you. To have with you what I was so easily able to build with your sisters, but you never let me in."

"My sisters love you," she says. "I'm sorry I never gave you a chance. To be honest, watching you with them last night made me a little jealous. It's obvious you all love each other like siblings—I felt left out."

I set the cup of coffee on the counter beside her, letting my gaze sweep over her beautiful face. "Where does that leave us?" I ask.

"I guess it leaves us at square one," she says. "A clean slate to build on."

She extends her hand toward me. "Hi, I'm Katherine."

"Nice to meet you, Katherine," I respond, taking her hand in mine. "Can I call you Katie?"

"No one calls me Katie," she teases. "You'll be the one and only."

***

Katie and I have been living under the same roof for five weeks now. We're together constantly—at home, in the office, at her parents' place, and even at church. It feels almost like time has rewound. Like I’m that teenager again, fumbling to find my place in a family that doesn’t belong to me. Only this time, Katie is different. And things between us? They're different.

I’ve lost track of how many times I've glanced at her, only to find her already looking at me. When she meets my eyes, she doesn’t look away; she smiles. Her laugh—soft and genuine—is a sound I could listen to on repeat, especially when it's a reaction to something I’ve said. It’s as if her joy is tied to my humor, and I can’t help but feel good about that.

When we’re with her family, I’m not the outsider anymore. Katie doesn’t scold me for intruding on their conversations; instead, she pulls me in, her voice joining the mix effortlessly. She even makes sure to sit next to me during the sports games, her focus shifting between the screen and me, as if both are equally captivating.

In the evenings, we slip into an easy rhythm. We cook dinner together—sometimes she perches on the counter, reading off the recipe, guiding me through the steps as if it's second nature. There’s a dishwasher, sure, but we always end up washing the dishes by hand, side by side. And on Thursdays, we have a standing date to watch Survivor together—something I never imagined myself watching. But with Katie beside me, everything’s enjoyable. I could sit through anything, even paint drying, as long as she’s sitting next to me.

Tonight, after dinner at Jon’s, I’m pouring hot chocolate into two mugs when Katie’s phone rings.

"Katie!" I call out. "Your phone is ringing!"

She rushes into the room, pulling on her favorite sweater—a yellow cardigan with a missing button that has definitely seen better days. She’s had it for years, and judging by the frayed and tattered sleeves, it might have even doubled as Tater’s chew toy at some point.

I grab her phone and hand it to her along with the mug of hot chocolate.

"Thanks," she says, flashing me a warm smile. Then, answering the call, she adds, "Hi, Sheri. Uh-huh. Hmm. Give me a sec."

She excuses herself, and I watch as she disappears into her bedroom.

Taking my hot chocolate, I step outside to sit on the swing and wait.

"Is everything okay?" I ask when she joins me outside a few minutes later.

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