Page 31 of Their Reluctant Catch

I exhale through my nose, forcing down my frustration. No point pressing him. Or her, for that matter.

I grab the pot of leftover chicken soup from the fridge and move toward the stove—something warm and easy to soothe and ground her and to raise her temperature from the inside.

The soup heats slowly, the savory scent of broth filling the air. Colton settles beside her. He keeps touching her—not like groping, but in a reassuring manner. Like he wants her to know she isn’t alone.

I slide three bowls of soup onto the table and take the seat on her other side. She’s sandwiched between us, and my chest fills with warm satisfaction.

I slide the bowl in front of her closer. “Eat.”

She picks up the spoon, dips it into the soup, and takes a bite. Then another. Mechanical, as if following a script she doesn’t remember writing. For a few moments, I watch her eat before digging in myself.

Colton follows suit, cleaning out his bowl first. He leans forward slightly, forearms on the table. “I’m so glad I found you, but I think we should stop meeting like this.” His attempt at humor falls flat.

“You scared the hell out of us, starling.”

Colton blinks. “Starling?”

I shrug and steal a glance at Savannah. She’s barely reacted to anything we’ve said. Her hand flops onto the table, her fingers uncurl, and the spoon drops. She’s hardly touched her soup. Her gaze stays down and distant.

Colton growls something and takes the spoon from her. After feeding her a few bites, he nods at me, waiting for an answer.

All right. Let’s do conversation. “She’s small but tough and stubborn as hell. Like a starling, she doesn’t belong here, but somehow, she’s making it work anyway.”

Savannah doesn’t even twitch.

Colton’s exhalation through his nose sounds like something between a huff and a snort. “She’s not making anything work right now.”

“I know.” I glance at her and reach out to brush the curtain of her blond mane behind her ear. My knuckles encounter a soft cheek that is way too cold to the touch. “Hey, starling. You’re safe. You’re home.”

No reaction.

Colton frowns, rubbing a hand over his jaw before turning back to me. “You do know starlings aren’t native to North America, right?”

“Exactly,” I say, forcing a grin, “but they came, and they survived. Thrived, even.”

He snorts. “So, you’re comparing her to an invasive species?”

I shake my head, keeping my tone light, even as I trace the apple of her cheek with my thumb—back and forth until the skin warms. “Nah. More like something unexpected but kinda perfect.”

Colton glances at Savannah, who hasn’t moved, hasn’t responded. He leans in slightly, voice softer. “Diana’s worried about you,” he murmurs. “So are we.”

Still nothing.

I sigh, pick up the spoon, and dip it into the soup. “Come on, starling,” I coax, lifting it toward her. “Just a little more.”

For a second, I think she won’t move at all, but then she blinks, once, and her lips part.

It’s something.

Colton meets my gaze across the table, his jaw tight. He nods. “Let’s try this.”

“This?”

“You, me, her.”

I’m tempted to fist pump but manage to hold back. We might have come out of the wood as a trio literally, but figuratively speaking we’re not there yet.

I shoot off a quick text to Diana.

---