Harper wakes up around five, and we bring her outside to see the finished porch. Six pumpkins arranged artfully, two jack-o'-lanterns that showcase our vastly different skill levels, and corn stalks leaning against the door that Nora insisted we needed.
"It's perfect," I say, and I mean it. Not because the decorations are particularly impressive, but because we did it together. Because this is what a home looks like—lived in, decorated, cared for.
That night, after Harper is in bed, Nora and I end up on the couch with mugs of hot cider we bought at the pumpkin patch. We're sitting closer than necessary, her legs tucked under her, with my arm stretched along the back of the couch behind her shoulders.
"Today was fun," she says quietly.
"Yeah. It was."
"Tyler." She turns to look at me, and her hazel eyes are serious. "What are we doing?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with everything we're not saying. About what we almost did in the kitchen, and the way people keep assuming we're together. How easy it is to play house when maybe we're not playing anymore.
"I don't know," I admit. "But I know I don't want to stop."
She's quiet for a long moment, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. "This is complicated."
Her eyes search mine, looking for… something. Reassurance, maybe. Or permission to not feel what she's feeling.
"I work for you. I live in your house. Harper needs stability, not—" She gestures between us. "Whatever this is."
"I know."
"Then whatdowe do?"
I could say we should maintain boundaries and agree that keeping things professional is the smart choice. I could put distance between us and pretend today didn't feel like the most right thing I've felt in months.
But, instead, I shift closer, my hand finding hers on the couch between us. "I don't know, Red. But I know that today felt like the best day I've had in a long time. And I know that every time you're not here, the house feels wrong. And I know that I'm tired of pretending I don't feel whatever this is."
Her breath catches. "Tyler."
"You feel it too. Don't tell me you don't."
"Of course I feel it." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "That's the problem. I feel it too much, and I can't—I can't do this again. I can't care about someone and lose them. I can't let myself believe in something good when everything good eventually leaves."
There’s pain in her voice. Old grief surfacing, showing me something she hasn’t before. I don’t know what’s underneath it. I just know I want to put myself between her and whatever it is.
"I'm not leaving," I say firmly. "Neither is Harper. We're not going anywhere, Nora."
"You don't know that." Her voice cracks slightly, and she takes a breath that doesn't quite steady it. "Nobody knows that. My parents didn't. We got in the car, and only one of us came back. I don't get to—I can't decide to believe people when they tell me they're staying. I learned not to a long time ago."
The words land in the space between us, and for a moment I don't know what to do with them. She just told me her parents are dead. She’s just told me something she has not, in the time she’s been living in my house, said out loud.
I don’t try to fix it. I don’t try to say the right thing because I don’t know what the right thing is, and I’d rather say nothing than say the wrong thing to her right now.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper instead. “I’msosorry, Red.”
She doesn’t reply. She just looks at me, and I can see her bracing for me to do what people do—fill the silence with something useless, ask the wrong questions, and make it about how it makesmefeel.
I don’t. Instead, I just hold her gaze.
“Look. I know that’s not how it works for you,” I say after a moment. “Not after that. I’m not asking you to believe me. I’m asking you to let me show you.”
“Show me what, Tyler? Because I can’t hear,we’re not going anywhere, and let myself believe it. I’m not built for that anymore.”
“I’m not asking you to believe it yet.” I want her to see that I mean what I’m saying. “I can’t make you believe me. Nobody can. What I can do is keep showing up and choosing this. Every day I’m here. That’s what I’ve got. That’s what I can offer you.”
She closes her eyes. When she opens, there are tears pooling in the corners.