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“I’m in the middle of a conversation!” she said, her hand waving between the kid and me.

“Then bring it inside, I don’t want you getting sick.” She frowned before turning back to our…new friend.

“I know he looks scary, but it’s just because he cares. Eliot, this is Noah.” She waved between us.

“Come inside. We’ll talk while you eat,” Lilah told him, turning on her heel without giving him an option. I held the door open, watching as Noah looked between us in confusion.

“Better do what she says. Don’t want to get on her bad side.” The kid looked surprised . He shrugged, but his shoulders stayed tight as he stepped toward the door. Head down, he stepped forward, giving me a wide berth as he walked into the bar. Lilah was already pulling the food out at one of the tables, setting everything out like it was a regular family meal.

“Honey, can you grab some silverware from behind the bar? And a Diet Coke for me? What do you want to drink, Noah?” She asked. The kid looked frozen by the question.

“I don’t care. Water is fine. Thanks for all this, miss…”

“Lilah is fine. Mrs. Finch is his mom,” Lilah replied with a cheeky grin.

“Wait? You two…are married? Like…to each other?” he asked, looking between us with wide eyes. I smirked, used to the surprise when people saw us together. My blue jay bristled, she was always ready to go to war on my behalf.

“Three years and counting. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” she replied without hesitation. At that point, Lilah had gotten the food served onto dishes, and the three of us sat down and ate. We had skipped dinner, so both Lilah and I joined in. The intensity in which Noah wolfed down his meals did not go unnoticed by either of us.

When all the food was gone, the air heavy with unspoken words, I looked at the kid.

“Come home with us.” Lilah spoke before I could.

“I don’t think that’s legal.” He made it sound like a joke, but the sadness in his gaze spoke volumes.

“We can work around that,” I replied, Lilah watching me expectantly.

We found out Noah’s mom had died, and he never knew his dad. Sent to live with his aunt and uncle, it quickly became clear they hadn’t taken him in out of love, but for the check that came with him. I saw it the moment I walked through their front door. The indifference. The resentment. The way they looked at him like he was a burden instead of a child. It only took one conversation to convince them to sign away their rights.

They never asked where he was going, just begged me not to come back. Noah came home with us that night and never left.

After a year, things settled. We had made sure to include Noah in every aspect of our lives, club meetings and all. He was hesitant at first, wary. He kept his door locked and barely slept the first few nights. I could tell from the bags under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders.

Time was the only cure, and once he knew that no one could legally force him back to his uncle’s, a part of him finally seemed to breathe. It wasn’t easy, by any means. He acted out, pulled stupid stunts, and tested every boundary he could find. Lilah and I handled each incident one at a time together.

Then, on his seventeenth birthday, we sat around the table eating pancakes for dinner—his favorite.

“I’ve been looking at apartments,” Noah said as silence settled over the table.

“Why?” I asked, waiting for his answer.

“Because…that’s what happens. I’ll be an adult, not a kid. So it’s time for me to leave.” He shrugged, trying for casual, but the nerves beneath his words were impossible to miss.

“Who said you had to leave?” I leaned back in my chair, keeping my tone as relaxed as I could.

“You guys have already done so much for me…” He stared down at his plate. “Why would you…I mean…what else would happen?”

“We’d talk about college or trade school. Figure out what comes next. Together. As a family.” He looked up, confused.

“Families aren’t what you’re born into. They’re what you make of them. Whatever you decide to do, we’ll support you,” I told him.

“But it’s because we love you,” Lilah added softly, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.

“Not because we’re waiting to get rid of you. You’ll always have a home here. Today, tomorrow…twenty years from now. No matter how old you get, there will always be a place for you.” Noah didn’t answer right away. He blinked hard, his fingers tightening around his fork before he finally looked at us.

“You mean that?”

“Every word,” I said.