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He pours seed into a feeder before strolling over to me. “And I said we aren’t. Guess we’re at an impasse.” He kisses me—long enough to make me feel like melted wax but fast enough I forget to slap him.

“This is trespassing,” I argue.

“No,” he says. “This is me not letting you look away.”

I glare at him; Wren walks onto the porch.

“Hey, Dad.”

He grins. “Wrenny.” A gust of wind slices the air and he shivers, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “Cold out here.”

“We should get a fire going in the woodstove,” Wren says, hugging herself. “Scotty hasn’t used it.”

“No thank you,” I say flatly.

“Let’s do it.” Ford cups his hands around his mouth and blows into them, a cloud from his breath floating around his face. “Get some sticks. Archie kept firewood behind the shed.”

“Hello!” I shout. “This is my house. I don’t want a damn fire. Or guests.”

They ignore me, marching around like fire-building ants collecting flammable debris.

“I don’t want a fire,” I repeat, softer, unmoving as I watch them.

Ford’s already inside with the door to the woodstove open, stacking sticks and balled-up newspaper before striking a match. Wren stacks logs on the floor and Molly sprawls out at their feet.

Traitor.

When a fire is glowing and dancing through the glass, they give each other a high five. In the middle of my house. Without my permission. And, damn them both, I love the sight of it. The butterflies it sends fluttering through me and how perfect they look here in this ridiculously shaped house. The fact that even though I had a public display of apeshit, here they are. Writing me poems, building me fires, and feeding my birds.

The Sellecks made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, but I told them I wanted to think about it. Wanted to make sure I could really live in a life doing something different. Now, standing here, I see there’s nothing to think about. I don’t want the crematorium. I don’t want the past. I might not even want to leave.

And yet, I say nothing. The words are not in my lexicon to tell them that if they’re willing to take a chance on me, I might be okay with staying with them.

“I have to get going,” Ford says, giving Wren a peck on the forehead. “Scotty, can you bring Wren to the gym?”

I frown.

“He’s introducing me to his minions after class today,” she fills in.

I stand there, legs like concrete, unable to process what he’s doing or the shift that’s happening in me as he does it.

He strolls over to me, tilts my chin. “Thanks. Love you.” There’s a smug smirk on his face when he pecks me on the lips.

Then he walks out the door, leaving my house and heart warmer than I’ll ever admit.

Damn him.

“You coming in?” Wren asks, as I follow her out of the Bronco.

“Your dad’s launching some kind of psychological warfare on me. Of course I’m coming in.”

The truth: I’m going in because I love him and looking at him even though I don’t know how to tell him.

The gravel crunches beneath our feet until we stop at the propped door.

“I’m proud of you for doing this.”

“Secret’s out now.” She shrugs. “No point in not talking about it with other kids it might help.”