Page 53 of Something Like Shelter

But no Willa.

I checked the other guest room before making my way into the primary bedroom.

That’s where I found her.

Sitting on the side of the bed, staring out the windows.

She didn’t turn or start at the sound of my footsteps. I moved further in, and she still didn’t move.

“You okay?” I asked, pressing a hand to her shoulder.

She started at that, her head whipping over to look at me, her gaze a little distant for a second.

“Sorry. I was spaced out there, I guess.”

“You sure? If you need to lie down, the bed’s right here.” Even if the last thing I needed was for the bed to smell like her when I climbed in it later.

“No, no. I’m not tired. Well, not any more tired than I always am nowadays. I was just lost in my head, I guess.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” I asked, passing her her mug of coffee, then sitting down beside her with my own cup.

“It was less one single thing and more like a cyclone of thoughts.”

“Been there.”

“Really?” she asked, looking over.

“That’s a surprise?”

“You don’t strike me as someone who gets worked up over things.”

“Maybe not worked up, but my mind runs away with me sometimes.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Used to be a lot more about work, but that is stable enough for me to need to start thinking about hiring more help.”

“That’s a good problem to have, I guess. But if you’re not worrying about that, what are you worrying about? You know what, no. Sorry. That’s invasive.”

“It’s not invasive. Been thinking a lot about the future lately.”

“Just in general, or specifics?”

“Both. Really want to start taking family more seriously.”

“Your existing family, or making your own?”

“My own.”

“Kids?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

I was going to go ahead and leave off the part where seeing her with Adelaide had switched something on inside me, made it feel imperative that I start working on a family sooner rather than later. And I damn sure couldn’t tell her that sometimes—most of the time—when I pictured that family, it was her and Adelaide I was imagining.

“They’re worth it. I mean, absolutely soul-suckingly exhausting, but so worth it.”

“Yeah, seems that way.”