It’s already nine. I slept deeper and longer last night than I have in almost two weeks. She has that effect on me. Everything is easier when she’s here.

I jog down the stairs and scowl at my phone, willing her to respond so I know she’s okay. But about halfway down, my ears pick up on something. I slow my pace and strain to make out what they’re saying, smiling to myself as their voices carry down the hall.

They’re blasting some pop song I don’t know. Fielding belts out the chorus as Maddie heckles him. I can hear dishes being discarded in the sink and the rattle of the silverware drawer opening and closing.

“Okay, but if I remember dancing to this in middle school, you were probably in college when it first came out. I stand by my claim: it’s embarrassing you know the words to this song.”

“How dare you judge me, Little Wheeler? Miley Cyrus is an American institution. Her godmother is Dolly Parton. They’re both national treasures!”

They haven’t noticed me yet. They’re too busy bickering while Maddie fries what smells like bacon on the stove and my brother mans the waffle iron.

I clear my throat when I reach the island. “Good morning.”

Her eyes light up and she skips over to me the second she sees me, and damn, if that doesn’t make me feel good.

“Good morning,” she croons as she rises up on tiptoes and wraps her arms around my neck. Her hair’s piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she’s fresh faced so I can see the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did. I always sleep well when you’re next to me.” I kiss the tip of her nose and close my eyes, determined to commit this moment to memory.

She’s here. I’m happy. And right now, our only concern is what toppings we want on our waffles. I need more of these moments with her. I can’t stop the words that tumble out of my mouth without thought.

“Will you stay?” I whisper in her ear, my voice thin and more desperate than I intended. I can’t imagine spending a single second away from her between now and when she goes back to California.

Her eyes are wide and questioning when I meet her gaze, and it takes a few seconds of awkward silence to realize she needs context for my question.

“Until you have to go back to California,” I clarify. “Will you stay here at the house with us?”

Her expression softens, and she nods. “I’ll stay,” she vows, rising back up on her tiptoes to reach my lips and kiss me again.