Page 95 of At First Flight
He holds up a bag of tools. “Tractor’s acting up. Mom and Dad are gone this morning. Thought I’d rope you into fixing it since you claim to know how to fix boats. I have it on the trailer out front.”
Lila appears beside me, wearing nothing but my T-shirt and her bare legs. Rowan’s eyes flick from her to me and back, and a slow measured smile spreads across his face. I can’t tell if he’s happy or angry. I’m shooting for the former.
“Morning,” he says, all innocent. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“You are,” I say flatly.
Lila elbows me in the ribs. “We were just finishing pancakes.”
She disappears back inside, insisting I go help out her brother, and Rowan lets out a low growl. “So that’s new.”
“Don’t,” I mutter, grabbing my boots.
“I’m just saying, I hope you’re being good to her. That’s my sister. She’s one of the good ones.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s what scares me.” After begrudgingly leaving Lila and the kids, I follow Rowan out to the driveway.
We work in comfortable silence for a while, tinkering under the hood while the sun rises higher and the scent of coffee wafts from the open kitchen window.
Finally, Rowan speaks again, voice quiet this time. “You in deep?”
I nod once. “Deeper than I planned.”
“Does she know?”
“I think so.”
He glances toward the house. “Then stop waiting for the next bad thing to happen. Everyone deserves some kind of happiness, even asshole billionaires hooking up with my sister.”
I sit with that for a second.
Because happiness—real, bone-deep happiness—feels like a foreign language. One I’ve never been fluent in.
But Lila?
She makes me want to learn.
When we finish, I head back to the deck and find her sitting on the steps, watching the kids chase butterflies in the yard. Oliver yells something about being a butterfly hunter while Evelyn shrieks with laughter.
And Lila’s holding a small clear container in her lap.
“What’s that?” I ask as I get closer.
“Another chrysalis,” she says, smiling. “Found it on the side of the porch railing yesterday. Figured the kids could watch it hatch.”
I lower myself beside her, eyes on the tiny shell hanging from a stick inside the container. It’s still. Motionless. Waiting.
“Looks dead,” I murmur.
She grins. “Just looks that way. Inside, everything’s changing.”
That sits heavy in my chest. The weight of it. Thetruthof it.
“Like us?” I ask, voice quiet.
She doesn’t look at me. Just watches the kids run wild through the grass. “Yeah. Like us.”
I slide my arm around her and pull her close. She leans into me, warm and steady andreal.
