Page 51 of Something Like Shelter

I followed him to the back door, waiting until he let an excited Tuna out first, then stepping onto the back deck.

“Oh, this is nice. Do you sit out here drinking your coffee all the time? Or is it hard to choose between the front porch and this?”

“Porch for sunrise, deck for sunset,” he told me.

“That makes perfect sense. This yard feels so private.”

“That was the plan. Wanted it to be a bit of an oasis.”

It was that.

He didn’t have as much property as I did, but his felt much more cozy with its stained stockade fence, abundance of mature trees, and lush green grass.

Tuna appreciated the space too, darting around the yard with the zoomies as we watched and laughed.

“Is that the brisket I smell?” I asked, my stomach rumbling.

“It is. Been in about five and a half hours. So it’s almost ready. But it will only keep getting better as I work on the sides.”

“Do you need any help?”

“I don’t. You can just relax.” He glanced down at Adelaide, who did a big yawn, seemingly soothed by his voice. I couldn’t blame her. “There’s a crib up in one of the guest rooms if you need somewhere to put her down.”

“You have a crib?”

“It’s a family heirloom,” he told me. “And since I have siblings and friends with babies, I thought it made sense to put it in a room. Better than one of those playard things. Everything is clean. I put a fresh crib sheet on this morning.”

“That was really thoughtful. Thank you,” I said, moving over to take Adelaide. Owen was unbearably gentle as he set her in my arms. And I’m not proud to admit that a little desire stirred as his arms brushed mine. “Go ahead and take a tour while I get working on the potatoes and asparagus.”

“Permission to snoop?” I asked, shooting him a smirk. “I’ll take it.”

I turned and walked back into the house, wandering through the lower level, finding a family room off to the side of the kitchen, then a back staircase leading up.

On the second floor, there were two guest bedrooms that shared a center bath. Inside one bedroom were twin beds. And in the other was the crib, a changing table, a glider, and another twin bed.

“This is so nice,” I told Adelaide as I checked out the crib that I imagined had once been where Owen slept as a baby.

There was something about the room that made my chest ache.

Not because it was particularly beautiful. It wasn’t decorated like a nursery. There were no pastel animals on the wall or carefully coordinated blankets. It was simply a guest room that happened to be prepared for a baby if one needed it.

But that almost made it worse.

It told me something about Owen.

He thought ahead and planned accordingly.

He noticed what people might need. He had apparently looked at this room and decided that if his siblings or friends came over with a baby, they shouldn’t have to figure out where to put them. Or need to cart around a clumsy, inconvenient playard. So he kept a crib. Put on fresh sheets. Added a changing table and a glider to cover all the bases.

All of it just sat waiting for whoever might need it.

I looked down at Adelaide.

She had no idea how unusual it was to have a place waiting for her in a house that wasn’t hers. Or how much the sight of it affected me.

I could imagine her here too easily.

Not just sleeping in the crib, either. Crawling across the floor while Tuna followed behind her. Sitting on the rug with a ridiculous pile of toys. Owen carrying her downstairs when she woke from a nap, her little head tucked against his shoulder.