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“She sees you.”

Ani folds the towel with more care than needed. “She doesn’t like me.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“Same thing.”

I lean against the counter and wait until she looks at me. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Her eyes are glassy. “Then why does it feel like I’m failing?”

“She’s learning how to trust again. That takes time. You know that.”

Ani nods, but I can see the way her shoulders curl inward.

“I’ve seen kids over the years who’ve lost less than Mae and shut down twice as hard,” I add.

She glances at me, eyes narrowing just slightly, trying to decide whether she wants to ask what that means. We haven’t told her Mae’s story yet. Not the whole of it. It’s not exactly something you discuss over breakfast.

Her parents died in a fire that she barely survived nearly a year ago now. There was no other family fit to take her in, and I was the only one left who could do it. We’re not related by blood; her father was my stepbrother. But she had always known me as Uncle Jonah—the man who fixed the swing set and always brought tasty snacks. So I stepped in.

I was granted temporary emergency custody, and we’ve been fighting for a permanent placement ever since.

“This isn’t about you.”

“I know,” Ani says, but the words lack conviction.

“Keep trying,” I say gently. “She’ll come around.”

Ani sets the towel down and leans into the counter beside me. Her shoulder brushes mine and I savor her touch. We don’t speak again for a while, but it’s the kind of silence I don’t mind.

She stays close until Finn calls her into the living room to help with some new project. She hesitates—just a second—then slips away.

Mae peeks in from the hallway once Ani’s gone.

“She’s trying hard,” I tell her. “Don’t shut her out, little fox, okay?”

Mae stares for a moment longer, then turns and walks away.

Chapter 11

Boone

She’s been here a few days now. Long enough to learn where the dishes go, which light switches turn on certain lights, and how Mae likes her cereal. You’d think that last one would be simple, right? But, no. Mae is super particular about her cereal. Milk must go first. Then onlyhalfher cereal may be poured, the other half waiting in a separate bowl to be added when she’s ready. And heaven forbid you give that girl the wrong spoon.

Ani’s been here long enough for Jonah and Finn to settle down, too. But they haven’t yet.

Ani blends herself into the background. Says thank you too often and says sorry when she doesn’t need to. She moves through this house as though she’s waiting for someone to tell her to leave.

Finn’s the only one who can make her laugh out loud. Jonah doesn’t get the laughs, but she talks to him more now, lingers when he hands her a mug, sometimes even bumps her shoulder against his.

She doesn’t do any of that with me.

Not that I care. I don’t.

I see the way they are with her, too. It’s not hard to miss no matter how much I pretend not to notice. Jonah checks in with those long, quiet looks that tell you more than a conversation would. Finn buzzes around her with that easy charm of his. She responds to both. Not always with words, but with her posture, her focus, her softness.

But I walk into a room and she goes still.