Page 332 of Wild Card 13

“Cruel.”

She crossed the kitchen and slid her arms around my neck. I put my hands on her waist, palms settling over soft cotton and the familiar shape of her. She rose onto her toes and kissed me, slow at first, then smiling when Dottie’s squeaky toy made a dramatic sound from the living room. “We have an audience,” Lucy murmured.

“Dottie has seen worse.”

“She has absolutely not.”

“She watched Alois cry over a baby hat three days ago.”

Lucy tipped her head back and laughed, eyes closing.

I grinned because I had earned that one.

Alois had, in fact, cried over a baby hat. He had done it silently and with the terrifying dignity of a man who could still rearrange someone’s skeleton if needed, but tears were tears. Bea had pretended not to see them. Ezra had definitely seen them. Stella had probably smelled them from two floors away and was already turning the moment into a human interest piece.

Lucy settled again, her hands sliding from my neck to my chest.

“Have you talked to Bea today?” I asked.

“Briefly. She sent a picture of Lena making the angriest newborn face I have ever seen.”

“That kid has Alois’s glare.”

“And Bea’s sense of timing.”

“Dangerous combination.”

“Very.” Her smile softened. “She sounded tired. But happy.”

I brushed my thumb along her side. “You happy?”

Lucy looked up at me. Her hands stilled against my chest. Outside, thunder moved farther across the lake, lower now, like the storm was getting tired. “Yes,” she said. “I’m happy.”

We carried wine into the living room. Dottie had claimed the rug in front of the fire, her belly turned toward the heat, paws twitching in a dream. Lucy curled into the corner of the couch with her legs tucked beneath her. I sat beside her, close enough that her knee rested against my thigh.

The lake was nearly invisible beyond the windows, but I knew it was there. I knew the dock was slick with rain. I knew the water was dark, restless, alive under the storm. I knew the morning would come silver and damp, with puddles on the boards and pine needles stuck to everything.

I had bought this house because of the view. That was what I told people, anyway.

I liked the way the lake opened behind it. I liked the dock. I liked that the house sat back from the road and gave me space from the noise that followed a season, a game, a bad headline.

But the truth was, I had bought it because it felt like a place a life could happen.

I had not known what life. I had not let myself picture too much.

A couch. A kitchen. A dock. A guest room nobody used for guests. Firelight in August because the woman beside me loved it.

Lucy leaned her head on my shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

“The house.”

“What about it?”

“It’s better when you’re here,” I said.

Lucy’s fingers tightened around her glass.

I felt her take a breath. She looked toward the windows, wherethe rain had turned the glass into a moving wall. “It already feels like home to me.”