Again, I liked seeing the rhythm of it, seeing the love between them, the smiles, the jokes, the thoughtful gifts.

I didn’t expect a gift, not even from Rowan. I’d gotten him a gift. But not one I felt comfortable giving him with an audience, even this audience.

My spot tucked into his side on the large, cozy armchair was pretty much the best place to be. Despite the ever present dull, throbbing pain of grief inside of me—the pain I suspected would always be there, although it might vary in size—I had never felt happier. More comfortable. More… part of something.

I loved everything about the house. I loved the smells, the good quality furniture that was worn… but in the best way. The photos on all surfaces, documenting the life that seemed so full of love.

I envied it, but I also ached to replicate it. To start that kind of life with Rowan.

“Nora?”

I blinked at Jill who was standing in front of me with a wrapped box.

“This is for you, honey.”

I stared at the box, wrapped expertly, with a bright red bow.

“Me?”

She nodded, smiling warmly.

I took it from her, holding it in my lap awkwardly.

“Rip it open,” Calliope called from across the room.

Rowan’s hand found the back of my neck and gave it a squeeze.

“But it’s wrapped so beautifully.” I ran my hand across the smooth paper.

“Which only makes it more fun to rip open, don’t you think?” Jill’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

I tore the paper to reveal a silver box, one that looked antique with intricate designs carved into it.

It was heavy, solid and seemed one of a kind.

“It’s lovely,” I told Jill sincerely.

“Oh, the box is nice, but it’s what’s inside that counts.”

Inside the box were tabs of paper with recipes written in a sloping script.

“My grandmother was a baker,” Jill explained as I leafed through the sections. “Neither of these two are interested in baking.” She nodded to her daughters.

“We’re interested in baking,” Calliope argued.

“Eating it doesn’t count,” Jill returned.

Calliope shrugged and returned to the cookies she was eating.

Me, I only half heard this. There was a staticky ringing in my ears.

“I know it may be a bit old fashioned,” Jill said to me.

I shook my head quickly, both to respond and to try to shake away my tears. “It’s the most special gift I’ve ever gotten,” I whispered, unable to speak louder.

I cleared my throat and looked up at her. “I don’t come from a family where precious things are passed down.”

“Now you do,” she countered with a warm smile.

Now I did.

As if it were that simple.

And maybe it was.

* * *

Conversation resumed easily once we sat down for dessert, everyone singing my praises over the variety of things I’d made. I might’ve gone just a little overboard.