Page 245 of What We Bury

“Sage can corroborate,” Eli protests. “Right, Sage?”

Sage, who has just appeared in the doorway wearing Holden’s T-shirt, takes in the scene, registers what’s going on and says, “He grows.”

Eli closes his eyes.

“Thank you,little savage.”

“I’m not finished. He growssubstantially.Milo’s pancake is, in fairness, a severe under-representation.” She locks her eyes on me. “And you damn well know it. I saw you all looking at each other last night.”

The kitchen explodes.

Micah folds over, laughing helplessly. Holden actually has to put his mug down before he spills it. Amy makes a noise that is half horrified, half delighted. Knox keeps chewing like none of this concerns him, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

I press a hand to my chest. “Thank you, kitten. Finally—truth.”

“You are not helping,” Eli mutters.

“I’m helping preserve history,” I say. “Future generations deserve accuracy.”

Sage drifts further into the kitchen, sleep-soft and gloriously unbothered, bare legs under Holden’s shirt, hair braided from last night and mussed around her face. She looks thoroughlyfucked and thoroughly pleased about it. It does unholy things to my breakfast appetite.

Holden’s gaze drops to her legs, then lower, then he schools his face into something neutral that would maybe fool a less observant audience. “You should be in bed.”

She blinks at him. “You should be less bossy before I’ve had coffee.”

“That’s not how I work.”

“Unfortunately,” she says, sliding onto the seat between him and Knox.

Holden’s hand goes to the small of her back the moment she’s in the chair, automatic. Knox slides his coffee across to her without being asked. She takes it. She drinks. She closes her eyes for a moment over the cup. Then she opens them and looks at the pancake I’ve just slid in front of her.

It is the largest one. It isgenerouslyproportioned. It has, if you look carefully, a small heart piped onto the tip in red food coloring.

“Milo . . .”

“Eat your pancake, my Queen.”

She eats her pancake. I plate up a stack for myself and pull the tray of bacon from the oven, setting it in the center of the table before I squeeze into the corner. I look at the people gathered.

This. This is what we built. The unit at breakfast. The woman in the middle. The friend at the edges starting to see what we are and not freaking out over it. Seven people and a stack of inappropriate carbohydrates and the kind of morning that the version of me from six months ago would have laughed at if you’d shown him a postcard.

It’s the first time I’ve truly felt as though I belong.

My phone buzzes on the counter.

I glance at it, and see the lock screen lights up with a news alert.

LOCAL BUSINESSMAN FOUND DEAD AT COUNTRY CLUB FITNESS CENTER—APPARENT SUICIDE.

I look at Eli. His phone is face-up on the table next to his coffee, and the alert is sitting on his screen too. He meets my eyes for a fraction of a second. His face doesn’t change.

Holden’s phone buzzes a half-second later. He nods.

I refill Amy’s coffee and plate up another round of pancakes. I keep the morning going for as long as I can. Reality will intrude soon enough.

SIXTY-SEVEN

SAGE