Page 98 of At First Flight
“So do it,” I breathe.
And he does.
Not like other nights where we’re hungry and aching and storm-driven. This kiss is slower. Still urgent, but deeper, sweeter. Like we’re writing a promise we’re not ready to say out loud yet.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“Your mom mentioned your replacement after the summer. I know you only signed up for the summer and despite every ounce of me wanting to force you to stay, I’m not going to ask. I know you have plans and dreams,” he whispers. “But I hope you do.”
My heart twists, splintering open a little more.
“I’m not going to promise I will,” I whisper back. “But I hope I can.”
Later that evening, the kids are full of post-farm energy and sugar, bouncing off the walls like two tiny tornadoes. I’ve just convinced Oliver to stop trying to catapult Evelyn off the couch when Dean reappears from the mudroom with a box in his hands.
“What’s that?” I ask as I help Evelyn into her pajamas.
Dean grins, eyes flicking down to Evelyn and then back to me. “Something I found by the barn earlier. Thought it might distract them for more than five minutes.”
He opens the box slowly. Inside, hanging from a stick, is a small, pale green chrysalis.
Evelyn gasps and reaches for it with sticky fingers.
“Gentle,” I warn automatically.
She peers in with wide eyes. “Is it another butterfly?”
“A caterpillar that’s turning into a butterfly,” I say. “It’s called metamorphosis.”
Oliver makes a face. “That’s a weird word.”
“It means change,” I say, kneeling next to them.
He eyes me suspiciously. “Like when you cry and then pretend you weren’t crying?”
I blink. “Something like that.”
Evelyn clutches the little box to her chest like it’s made of gold. “Can I name her?”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’re assuming it’s a girl?”
“She’ssparkly,” Evelyn insists. “Her name is Pancake.”
Oliver snorts and flops onto the rug. “Of course it is.”
I laugh, but it hits me somewhere deep. This little box, this quiet family moment, this man who thought to bring home another chrysalis adding to our already growing butterfly foster family, for the kids and the woman he kissed like she was a secret he’d waited years to tell…this is the kind of life I didn’t think I’d ever get to want.
And now it’s here, unfolding in front of me like wings.
We set Pancake the Chrysalis on the windowsill in the dining room with the others, and the kids insist on saying good night to her before bed.
Dean watches me the whole time like he’s memorizing my smile because it might be the last time he sees it. And that look, so intense, quiet, full of unsaid things, lingers with me as I tuck Evelyn into bed and read Oliver another chapter from his latest space book.
When they’re finally asleep, I find him in the downstairs hallway, one hand pressed against the doorframe to his room—ourroom, maybe. I don’t say anything. I just step into him, slow and sure, and wrap my arms around his waist. He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it all day.
“I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and this will all be gone,” he says into my hair.
I squeeze him tighter. “It won’t be.”
