Page 137 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
I cross the room and rest my hand on her shoulder. “You sure you’re not getting sick?”
She leans into my touch, just slightly. “I don’t think so. No fever or anything.”
I nod but make a mental note to check in again later.
It’s been a whirlwind. For both of us. I keep reminding myself that of course she’s tired. Of course she’s still winding down from everything. But I’ve started to recognize her rhythms. The way she hums softly when she’s focused. The way her brow furrows when she’s deep in thought. The little sideways glances when she’s holding something back.
And today, something seems different.
She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t open up either. So, I don’t push.
“Want me to make you something?” I ask, trying to keep it easy. “Or we can order something if you’re not up for it.”
Ava shakes her head gently. “You don’t have to do that. I can wait until dinner.”
She offers a small smile, and I let it be.
Ava straightens a little when the front door opens, followed by the unmistakable sound of sneakers pounding across the hardwood.
“Dad!” Noah barrels into the kitchen first, backpack half on, hair already a mess. “Liam said I cheated at four square but I didn’t!”
“I said youbentthe rules,” Liam clarifies, marching in right behind him, proudly holding up a crayon-streaked piece of paper.
Miss Taylor follows them in, keys still in hand. “Don’t worry. We already settled it in the car,” she says with a patient smile. “They made a truce over animal crackers.”
“Thanks for the pickup,” I tell her.
She nods. “Happy to. I’ll be in the guesthouse if you need anything.”
As the door swings closed behind her, Ava crouches to admire Liam’s drawing, her voice soft and warm as she asks questions. She’s saying all the right things, but I can still see it. The way her fingers go still for half a second before brushing his hair off his forehead. The flicker of distraction in her eyes.
I hang back, watching as she wrangles Noah’s backpack off his shoulder and listens patiently to the rest of the four-square saga.
She’s present. Kind. But her focus keeps slipping, like she’s keeping part of herself locked away.
Dinner’s easy. Miss Taylor reheated something earlier, so it’s just a matter of plating leftovers and convincing Noah to eat something green. Ava laughs softly when Liam insists his broccoli looks like a forest, but that trace of distance still lingers.
And I don’t want to push.
Because whatever’s going on, if there’s something going on, she’ll tell me when she’s ready.
After dinner, the boys race to the living room to pick out a movie. Ava stays behind to help me clear the plates.
“You really don’t have to,” I say, taking the stack from her hands.
“I don’t mind.” She shrugs, then glances at the sink like she’s already halfway gone again.
I rinse dishes while she wipes the counter. It’s companionable. Familiar. But her silence feels louder tonight.
I don’t ask how she is again because the last thing I want to do is make her feel cornered.
So I settle for this:
“If you ever need to talk about something…” I glance over my shoulder. “You know I’m here, right?”
She stills for a fraction of a second. Then nods once, softly. “I know.”
She gives me a small smile, and then disappears into the living room, calling after the boys about popcorn rules and couch cushions.
