Page 41 of Smoke Signals

“Yeah,” I reply softly. “I can tell.”

I reach out before I think too hard about it and rest my hand lightly over the front of his shoulder, not pressing, just feeling the warmth of his skin.

He doesn’t flinch or even freeze; just lets me touch him. My pulse picks up because it feels different touching him now. It’s not accidental or clinical, it’s…intentional.

“You didn’t leave,” I say before I can stop myself.

His brows pull together slightly. “Leave?”

“Yeah,” I admit, heat creeping up my neck. “You could’ve left after. I don’t know. I half expected to wake up and find the other side of the bed cold.”

Something in his expression shifts, not hurt exactly, but serious.

“I told you I wouldn’t disappear,” he says quietly.

The words land deeper than they should.

I nod, swallowing hard. “I know.”

From down the hall, there’s a faint creak and my entire body goes alert.

Alaska.

Stellan hears it too. I see the way his eyes flick toward the door instinctively.

“She usually sleeps in on weekends,” I whisper.

Kids don’t follow schedules when it would be convenient.

He nods slowly.

“You want me to head out before she’s up?”

The question is careful, not defensive. Part of me wants to say no, but I'm terrified of what explaining this would look like at seven in the morning to a four-year-old.

“I don’t want her confused,” I admit quietly.

“I get that,” he says.

God. I don't know what to do with a man who just gets it.

We lie there for another minute, neither of us rushing to move even though we both know the moment is ending. The room is starting to lighten, turning a pale gold through the blinds.

Reality is coming, whether I’m ready or not.

Stellan shifts carefully and sits up, the mattress dipping under his weight. I push myself upright too, the blanket sliding down to my waist.

The air is cool against my skin, and I resist the urge to pull it back up.

He runs a hand through his hair, still messy from sleep, and lets out a slow breath like he’s mentally switching gears.

“This doesn’t have to change how we handle Alaska,” he says.

I look at him. “You mean that?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “She comes first. Always.”

“Okay,” I say softly. “Yeah.”