#nyyankees

⸻

You like him more than you meant to.

That's the problem.

Cody doesn't know how to sit still. He'll stretch out on your couch, swearing he's fine with a lazy day. Twenty minutes later, he's tapping his foot, reaching for his phone. Then comes, "You hungry?" even though you just ate. Followed by, "We should go somewhere."

And you always end up going.

Coffee. A walk. A bookstore where he pretends he's not following you around. A grocery run where he buys every snack you so much as glance at.

The relationship is new enough that you still notice everything. How he opens doors without thinking. How his hand finds the small of your back in crowds. How he texts in short bursts that somehow say exactly enough.

You home?

Bring a jacket, it's freezing.

Saw this and thought of you.

You eating real food today or pretending coffee counts?

You didn't plan on this happening so fast.

It started casual. A friend of a friend. A dinner you almost canceled. Cody showed up in a dark shirt leaned back like he had nowhere better to be, watching you with this lazy amusement that should've annoyed you more than it did.

He made you laugh, not politely actually laugh. The kind that made you look down after because you felt too seen.

After that, he kept finding reasons to talk to you. 

Then see you. Then close the distance until one night you were standing in his kitchen in mismatched socks, watching him burn toast because he was too busy looking at you.

"You're bad at this," you told him.

"At toast?"

"At pretending you know what you're doing."

He grinned, scraping at the burnt edge. "I know what I'm doing."

"You set off your smoke alarm."

"It was being dramatic."

You laughed, and he turned toward you, his expression softening before he seemed to catch himself.

"What?" you asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

But then he crossed the kitchen and kissed you anyway, one hand at your waist, the other still holding the ruined toast out to the side.

That was Cody, funny when things got too real, gentle when he thought you weren't looking. Easy in a way that made you want to trust him before you were sure you should.

And then there were the parts that didn't feel easy at all.

Early on, Cody mentioned his two daughters not as a warning, but not casually either. His voice shifted when he talked about them, enough for you to understand that part of his heart wasn't something anyone got to touch carelessly. Then came Chase, his ex-wife, their mother.

"She's good," he'd said over takeout. "We're good. Not like—" He made a face. "Not together good. Just... we figured out how to be decent for the girls."

You nodded. "That's good."

"It matters."

"I know."

All of that appealed to you the way he talked about Chase without bitterness, how his daughters had parents who could still communicate, how he remained steady where others became messy.

Knowing all that was one thing, living inside it was something else.

At first, Chase was mostly a name on his phone. Sometimes his screen would light up while you were watching a movie.

Chase

He'd glance at it. "Probably about the girls." Then he'd step into the kitchen to answer.

You never minded. Or you told yourself you didn't.

The calls were practical, school pickups, weekend schedules, dance class, a lost jacket. One daughter refusing to wear shoes because they were "too squeaky."

"Cy's right," he said once. "They are kind of squeaky."

"You tested them?"

He shrugged. "Had to verify the complaint."

You laughed, and he smiled like that had been the whole point.

It was fine. Chase wasn't a threat. She wasn't rude or trying to pull him back. She was simply there because she had to be, because there were two little girls between them who needed schedules and snacks and two parents who remembered which one hated peas and which one only pretended not to be scared of thunderstorms.

Which was why it felt so stupid when understanding didn't stop the sting.

⸻

The first time Cody asked you to be there when the girls came over, you were in your bathroom, phone balanced against the mirror.

His name appeared.

"Hi."

"Hey." His voice was warm, a little distracted. You could hear movement in the background. "You busy this week?"

You paused. "Depends."

"On?"

"Whether this is you asking me to help you move furniture."

He laughed. "No furniture."

"Then maybe."

A brief silence. Not awkward, just enough for your hand to still.

"The girls are coming over," he said. "Chase is dropping them off around six."

"Oh."

"You can say no. Seriously. No pressure. I was just thinking maybe you could come by earlier and stay for dinner."

You stared at your reflection.

Earlier. Stay for dinner. The girls. Chase. Cody's actual life.

"With them?" you asked.

"Yeah." His voice softened. "Only if you want to."

Wanting to wasn't the issue. Wanting to was the terrifying part.

"I'd like that," you said.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

His relief was audible. "Good."

That word stayed with you. Good. Like he'd been hoping you'd say yes.

You changed your shirt three times and talked yourself out of bringing anything four times before showing up with cookies anyway.

Cody opened the door before you could knock twice. 

Barefoot, gray sweatpants, faded sweatshirt, hair slightly messy in that annoyingly perfect way. His gaze dropped to the container in your hands.

"You brought something."

"I panicked."

He grinned. "You panic-baked?"

"Let's not oversell my abilities."

He stepped aside, still smiling. "Noted."

His house felt different. You'd been there before, plenty of times. Enough to know where he kept the glasses and which blanket was softest and that the bathroom door stuck unless you pushed it with your hip.

But tonight, he'd prepared the house for them.

Two small pairs of shoes by the door. A purple backpack leaning against the wall. Coloring books stacked on the coffee table. A half built lego structure in the corner, surrounded by tiny pieces he'd clearly been careful not to disturb.

On the kitchen counter, two plastic cups sat beside the plates. One pink. One blue.

Something in your chest went soft, then tight.

Cody set the cookies down. "You okay?"

Your gaze darted up too quickly. "Yeah." His eyes narrowed not suspicious, just reading you.

"Too much?"

"No. It's sweet."

He glanced around, gave a small, almost shy smile. 

"It gets less sweet when there are crayons in places crayons should not be."

"That sounds like a personal problem."

"It's a serious household crisis."

⸻

You laughed, and he seemed to relax. For a while, it was okay, more than okay. You helped him finish dinner because Cody insisted he had it under control, then immediately asked where the measuring cups were. He stood too close behind you when you chopped vegetables, his chin almost brushing your shoulder.

"You're in my way," you said.

"I live here."

"I'm holding a knife."

He kissed the side of your head and stepped back, hands raised. "Fair."

The nerves loosened a little. You were still you. He was still Cody. The kitchen smelled like garlic and warm bread, and the music made everything feel softer.

Then you heard the key.

Not fumbling or searching. Just the smooth slide of metal into metal, the door swinging open with practiced ease.

Cody looked up. "Hey, come in."

It was such a small thing. So small you hated yourself for noticing.

But Chase walked into his house with the kind of comfort that didn't ask permission because it had never needed to. She came in carrying a tote bag and two jackets, moving with the tired efficiency of someone who'd already handled six tiny emergencies before dinner. Behind her, two little girls tumbled inside, talking over each other.

"Dad!"

"Daddy, look!"

"No, I was gonna tell him first—"

Cody was already moving. He dropped the spoon and crouched just in time for both girls to crash into him. His arms went around them automatically, his face transforming into something softer, completely open.

You stood near the island and felt your heart do something painful.

Because he was beautiful like this and this part of him had nothing to do with you.

Chase smiled at you. "Hi. It's good to see you again."

"You too," you said. And meant it.

She was pretty in a natural, effortless way hair pulled back, minimal makeup, warm but busy. She didn't look like someone trying to intimidate you. She looked like a mom trying to remember if she'd packed the math worksheet.

That somehow made it worse.

"There's a folder in Caiden's backpack," Chase told Cody as he stood, Cy still clinging to his leg. 

"Permission slip. And Cy needs her medicine after dinner, but only if she starts coughing again."

Cody nodded. "Purple bag?"

"Front pocket."

"Got it."

"And the birthday party invite is in the folder because I know if I text it, you'll lose it."

Cody gave her a look. "I don't lose texts. Not important ones."

"Cody."

You laughed before you could stop yourself. His eyes 

flicked to you, pleased with himself.

Cy peeked around Cody's leg. "Are those cookies?"

You looked down. "They are."

"Did you make them?"

Cody answered before you could. "She did."

"Yes," you admitted.

Cody smiled at you like he couldn't help it.

For a few minutes, you felt okay again.

Caiden needed help with her jacket zipper while Cy decided you liked cats and would be getting a drawing regardless of your actual feelings on the matter. Cody moved between the girls and the stove and Chase's updates with surprising ease.

Then Chase set one of the plastic cups beside Cy's place and paused.

"Oh, Caiden's blue cup should still be in the same cabinet, right?"

Cody didn't even look up. "Yeah. Same spot."

Same spot.

The words landed quietly, no one else noticed. Why would they? Chase opened the cabinet, found the blue cup exactly where she expected it, and filled it at the sink.

You stood there holding napkins and felt suddenly ridiculous.

Because of course she knew where the cup was. 

She'd probably bought the cup, washed it a hundred times, packed it in moving boxes, found it wedged under the couch. She knew where it belonged because she had belonged here once too. Not in the vague, painful way you kept trying not to think about.

The napkins found their place on the counter as you smiled, settling into the seat Caiden had saved for you.

Dinner was loud, but not unpleasantly, just full. The full you weren't used to sharing with Cody. Usually, his house with you was quiet music, low conversations, his knee bumping yours, a movie neither of you finished. Tonight, the room belonged to everyone else.

Cy dropped her fork twice during dinner. Caiden told a rambling story about a girl at school who lied about owning a horse. Chase stayed a few extra minutes because Cy wanted to show her the cat drawing she'd made. Cody got up three times before he actually took a bite of anything.

Everyone was nice. That was the worst part.

Chase thanked you for helping with the dishes. Caiden asked if you wanted to see her room later. Cy offered you half a cookie she hadn't touched.

Cody kept glancing at you. Not constantly, not enough for anyone else to notice but you noticed. A brush of his fingers against your chair when he passed. A soft, "You good?" when you both reached for the sink at the same time. His eyes finding yours after Cy announced she hated broccoli "except not always, just emotionally."

Your smiles landed at the right moments, your nods perfectly timed, your laughter obedient.

You were fine.

Then Caiden pointed at the chair beside Cody. 

"Mommy used to sit there."

The table went quiet for half a second.

Chase said, "Caiden," softly. Not scolding, just careful.

Cody's eyes went straight to you.

And something about that made your face burn.

You stood halfway before you could think better of it. "Oh, I can move—"

"No," Cody said. "You're okay."

You're okay.

He meant it kindly, you knew he did. But something in your chest went soft, then tight, because you realized what he was really saying that you were allowed to feel this way. That sitting in a chair that once belonged to someone else didn't make you wrong for being here.

Back in the chair, you forced a smile. "It's fine."

Chase's look held sympathy, which only tightened your chest because pity from Cody's ex-wife, offered in Cody's kitchen while you sat among his daughters, felt like proof that you didn't belong.

You wanted normalcy, maturity, to be the kind of woman who understood that people had pasts without feeling swallowed by them.

Your fingers found the seam of your sleeve under the table and rubbed back and forth. You caught yourself and folded your hands in your lap. They started again almost immediately.

Don't make him regret inviting you here.

Across the table, Cody was listening to Caiden explain something about her project, his head tilted, mouth curved into a patient smile. He looked natural here, of course he did. This was his life his table, his daughters, his ex-wife by the counter, his kitchen.

And you were sitting there trying to figure out what parts of him you were allowed to touch without leaving fingerprints on something that didn't belong to you.

Chase finally left. She hugged both girls, told Cody she'd text about the weekend, smiled once more at you. "It was nice seeing you."

"You too," you said. You meant it. That was what twisted your stomach.

She hadn't done anything wrong, nobody had.

⸻

After dinner, the girls ran upstairs, Caiden dragging her backpack, Cy yelling that she needed pajamas "immediately, but not the itchy ones."

Cody stood at the bottom of the stairs. "Two minutes. Brush teeth first."

"No!"

"Yes."

"Dad!"

"You heard me."

You smiled faintly despite yourself, then turned to the sink because standing still felt dangerous.

The dishes weren't even that bad, but you needed something to do with your hands. You rinsed plates one by one, focusing too hard on water, soap, the clink of silverware. The water ran too hot-scalding, actually but you didn't adjust it. Your hands turned pink, then red, the heat spreading until your fingers went numb. You kept them there anyway.

You pulled out your phone at the sink, your hands shaking.

You dried your hands and pulled out your phone, your heart pounding for reasons you couldn't explain.

You stared down at your phone until the screen blurred.

The urge to flee warred with the need to stay, leaving you paralyzed terrified of proving you couldn't handle this life, equally terrified of standing there any longer, your chest tight and your mind cycling through the same fear, you didn't belong here.

Upstairs, Cody laughed at something. Cy shrieked. Caiden said, "Dad, no, you're doing it wrong."

You looked down at your phone again. Your thumb opened his contact before you could talk yourself out of it.

please please can you come here

You stared at it, horrified. Too needy. Too dramatic. 

You deleted it, then typed again.

i'm trying so hard not to be weird

You almost deleted that too. Instead, because some part of you was still clinging to humor as a life raft.

also please don't make me talk yet

You sent it before you could change your mind.

Immediately, your stomach dropped. "Oh my god," you whispered.

Upstairs, Cody's voice paused mid-sentence.

A few seconds later, you heard his footsteps coming down. Not rushed, not enough to alarm the girls but purposeful.

He entered like he'd simply remembered something, his expression calm and neutral except for his eyes which found you immediately. No questions, no expressions of concern, no glances at phones. He just crossed to the sink, picked up the dish towel, and reached for the plate you were holding.

"Hey," he said quietly.

That was all. One word, and your eyes burned.

You looked down. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." The word came fast but soft.

You let out a breath that almost shook. "I'm being weird."

"You're not."

"Cody."

He dried the plate like that was the only reason he'd come down. Like this was normal. "You asked me to come here. I'm here."

Your fingers tightened on the counter. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you."

You laughed once, quiet and embarrassed. "You don't even know what I'm thinking."

"I know enough."

Upstairs, one of the girls called, "Dad?"

Cody looked toward the stairs, then back at you.

You immediately straightened. "Go. It's fine."

He didn't move.

"Seriously. Go."

His gaze dropped to your hands, where your fingers were gripping the dish towel. Of course he saw it.

"I'll be right back," he said.

"I know."

He hesitated.

"Cody," you said, lighter this time. "She needs you."

That did it. Not because he wanted to leave, but because he was a dad and one of his daughters was calling.

He stepped closer before he went, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

"You're not leaving while I'm upstairs," he said quietly.

You blinked. It wasn't an order, it was too soft to be an order. It sounded almost like fear.

"Please," he added.

Your chest ached.

You nodded once. He studied your face for another second, then went upstairs. The kitchen felt different without him. You stood there and tried to breathe normally.

⸻

The house carried sound in layers a faucet running upstairs, Cody's low voice, Cy insisting something was itchy, Caiden asking where her folder went, the hum of the refrigerator, your own pulse in your ears.

You looked at the counter. His phone lay faceup near the sink. Your message was still open on the screen.

please please can you come here

i'm trying so hard not to be weird

also please don't make me talk yet

You covered your face with both hands. Humiliation washed through you, hot and immediate.

You were too much. That was the fear underneath everything. Not Chase. Not the blue cup. Not the chair. You.

You were new in Cody's life and already sending desperate little SOS texts from his kitchen because you couldn't handle a normal co-parenting night. You were supposed to be easy, understanding, cool about all of this.

Instead, you were standing beside his sink trying not to cry because his ex-wife knew which cabinet held a cup.

By the time Cody came back downstairs, you'd finished the dishes and wiped the counter even though it hadn't needed wiping.

He stopped at the edge of the kitchen. You felt him before you looked up.

"They asleep?" you asked.

"Almost. Caiden's pretending she isn't tired."

You nodded. "Sounds serious."

"Very."

Silence settled between you, not cold but waiting.

You put the towel down carefully. "I think I should go."

Cody's expression shifted. "What?"

"Not in a dramatic way." You hated how quickly you said it. "I just think maybe this was too much too soon, and I don't want to make it a whole thing."

He stepped farther into the kitchen. "Did Chase say something?"

"No. She was nice. Everyone was nice. That's why I 

feel stupid."

"You don't have to feel stupid."

"I know. That doesn't really help."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, gently, "Talk to me."

You pressed your lips together. The words were right there. You just didn't want to hand them over. Because once you said them out loud, you wouldn't be able to pretend this was just a weird little moment you could shake off in the car.

"I don't know how to be here yet," you said finally.

Cody went very still.

You swallowed and kept your eyes on the counter. 

"And I know that's not your fault. I know Chase is their mom. I know she's going to be around. I know she knows things—routines and cabinets and cups and all these pieces of your life that I don't."

Your voice cracked slightly. You hated it.

"I'm not mad about it."

"I know," he said softly.

"No, I need you to understand. This isn't about jealousy or wanting her erased from your life—not her, not the girls talking about her, none of it. I know what I signed up for."

Cody's jaw tightened not with anger, but with attention.

You laughed once, small and miserable. "I just didn't realize knowing it would feel different from standing in the middle of it."

His face changed, and you looked away before you could read too much into it.

"She knows where everything is. She knows the cups. She knows the medicine and the schedule and the little things that make this house work when they're here. And the girls talk about memories because of course they do—that's their life. And then Caiden said her mom used to sit there, and I felt like—"

You stopped.

Cody stepped closer. "Like what?"

You blinked hard. "Like I was sitting in a place that wasn't mine."

The kitchen went quiet. Cody didn't answer right away, and for one terrible second, you thought maybe you'd finally said the thing that was too much.

Then he exhaled slowly and ran one hand over his mouth.

"I should've checked in before tonight."

You shook your head. "You did. You asked if I was okay."

"That's not what I mean."

He leaned back against the opposite counter, giving you space even though everything about him looked like he wanted to come closer.

"I should've talked to you about what tonight might feel like. Not just asked if you wanted to come over and hoped it would work itself out."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"I invited you into a complicated part of my life and acted like because I'm used to it, you should just know how to be, too."

Your eyes lifted to his. He looked tired suddenly, emotionally stripped down in a way you hadn't seen from him before.

"I know this house has history in it. Chase is always gonna be part of the girls' lives, and because of that, part of mine in some way. I can't change that, and I wouldn't want to for them."

"I'm not asking you to."

"I know." His voice softened. "But that doesn't mean there isn't room for you."

Your throat tightened.

He took a careful step closer. "And I don't want you sitting in my kitchen feeling like you have to earn your place here."

You looked down quickly. "It felt like she already knew how to be here."

"She does," Cody said, and the honesty hurt more than you expected. Then he continued, "In one way."

You looked back up, and his gaze held yours.

"But she doesn't know how to be here with me now." He swallowed, like the words mattered enough to make him careful. "You do."

Your chest ached.

"Cody..."

"I mean it." He came closer, slow enough that you could move away if you needed to. You didn't. "Chase knows the girls' routines. She knows where their cups are. She knows the history because she lived it. I'm not going to pretend that isn't true."

You nodded, your eyes burning.

"But I'm not asking you to fill her space or slide into her old spot. I don't want that."

You let out a shaky breath. "I don't even know what my spot is."

His expression softened so much it nearly undid you. "Then we'll figure it out together."

You pressed your lips together as he reached for your hand, slow and gentle, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn't. His thumb brushed once over your knuckles.

"You think I asked you here because it was convenient?" he asked.

"I don't know." The words came out small.

Cody's face fell a little, and you hated that, too.

"I don't know," you repeated, more honestly this time. "I think part of me is scared that I'm just... around. Like I'm here because it works right now. Because it's offseason and things are calm and you have time. And when real life shows up, I don't know where I fit."

"You fit with me."

You looked at him. He said it so simply, like it wasn't complicated. Like the answer had been there all along and he was sorry he hadn't said it loud enough for you to hear.

"You fit with me," he repeated. "Not because the girls like you, even though they do. Not because you helped with dinner. Not because you're easy to have around. With me."

Your eyes filled before you could stop them.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to manage me around your own life."

Cody's brows pulled together. "Paying attention to you isn't managing you."

The words landed too directly.

You looked away, but he squeezed your hand gently.

"You're new to something that's not easy. That doesn't make you difficult."

Something close to a sob escaped before you could stop it. "I'm trying really hard not to be."

"I know." His thumb moved over your hand again. "I saw."

That made it worse and better at the same time. He saw. He'd seen you smiling too quickly, holding yourself too carefully, trying to disappear without leaving.

"I was nervous too," he admitted.

You blinked. "You were?"

He gave a small laugh. "Yeah. I wanted tonight to go well. I wanted them to like having you here. I wanted you to see this part of my life and not run for the door."

You gave a wet little laugh. "I almost did."

"I know." His mouth curved faintly. "But you texted me instead."

You covered your face with your free hand. "Oh my god."

"There it is."

"Please don't."

"The 'please please' was very persuasive."

"I was in distress."

"I could tell."

"That makes it worse."

"It makes it honest."

You lowered your hand and looked at him. The teasing had softened the moment, but his face was serious again.

"Next time, you don't have to sit there trying to be okay until you can't breathe."

"I wasn't that bad."

His look said he didn't believe you.

You sighed. "Fine. I was maybe a little that bad."

"Text me. Look at me. Pull me aside. Whatever you need."

"And if Chase is there?"

"Then Chase can wait two minutes."

You looked at him carefully. "Cody."

"I'm serious. The girls come first. Always. You know that. But that doesn't mean you come nowhere."

Your throat closed.

He seemed to catch the exact second those words landed.

"You're not nowhere," he said quietly.

You nodded, but the tears slipped anyway.

Cody's face softened. "Come here."

This time, you did. He pulled you into him carefully at first, like he was afraid you might break if he held too tightly. Then your arms went around his waist, your cheek pressed against his sweatshirt, and his hand settled at the back of your head. Your breathing shook against his chest.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

His hand stilled. Then he sighed, almost like the 

apology hurt him. "No."

You let out a small laugh into his sweatshirt. "You don't even know what I'm apologizing for."

"I do."

"You can't just no all my apologies."

"I can when they're bad."

You pulled back enough to look at him. "Bad?"

"Unnecessary," he corrected, brushing his thumb near your cheek. "You don't owe me an apology for having feelings in a situation I should've helped you through better."

"You did help."

"After you had to ask."

"But I did ask."

His mouth softened. "Yeah. You did."

For a while, neither of you moved. Then your stomach made a small, deeply humiliating sound.

Cody looked down at you, and you closed your eyes. "I'm leaving the country."

He laughed, quiet and warm, the sound rumbling through you. "Did you actually eat dinner?"

"Yes."

He stared at you.

"I had some," you amended.

"How much?"

"A respectable emotional amount."

"That means no."

"Not no."

"Barely yes."

You sighed. "Fine. Barely yes."

He nodded like this confirmed a serious suspicion. "Sit."

"Cody—"

"Sit. I'm making you something."

"The girls are asleep."

"Which is why I'm not using the blender."

Despite yourself, you laughed.

He glanced over his shoulder, pleased. "There's the laugh."

"Don't start."

"I'm just saying. Big improvement from crying over cabinet geography."

Your mouth fell open. "I was not crying over cabinet geography."

"You were cabinet-adjacent emotional."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't," you admitted, and his smile softened 

before he turned back to the fridge.

You sat at the island while Cody moved around the kitchen in low light, quiet for the sake of the sleeping girls. He pulled out bread, cheese, butter, then paused and looked back at you.

"Grilled cheese?"

You blinked. "That's your big plan?"

"It's a strong plan."

"It's an elite athlete dinner?"

"It's offseason."

You laughed again, and he looked pleased with himself.

The room felt different now. Not magically fixed, but smaller. Manageable.

The house still held everything it held before Chase's familiar footsteps, the girls' laughter, the blue cup in the cabinet, the chair Caiden remembered her mother sitting in. None of it had disappeared. But Cody was standing at the stove in sweatpants making you grilled cheese because he'd noticed you hadn't eaten enough, and you'd been trying not to fall apart in his kitchen.

And somehow, that helped.

By the time he slid the plate toward you, the sandwich cut diagonally because "that's objectively better," you'd tucked yourself onto the stool with one knee pulled up, his hoodie sleeves covering half your hands. He leaned against the counter opposite you while you ate.

"This is better," you admitted quietly.

His eyes lifted to yours. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Much."

His expression softened. "Good."

You ate in comfortable silence. Cody reached over and stole the corner of your sandwich despite having made it for you.

You stared at him.

"What?" he whispered.

"That was mine."

"I made it. For you, so obviously I have final tasting authority."

He grinned and slid the plate closer to you like he was being magnanimous.

There it was. That little bit of normal. The part of the night you'd thought you lost.

After a while, your gaze drifted toward the cabinet. 

You didn't mean for it to.

Cody saw anyway. Of course he did.

He set his glass down.

"You know, the blue cup thing got me too for a while."

You looked at him. "What?"

He shrugged, but his face was serious. "After the divorce. First few times the girls came here, I'd open a cabinet and see their stuff and just..." He exhaled. "I don't know. It messed with me. Like I was supposed to know how to make a home feel normal when everything about it had changed."

Your chest tightened.

"You never said that."

His mouth lifted faintly. "You didn't know me then."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know." He leaned his forearms on the counter. "I'm not as good at this as it probably looked tonight. The routines, the schedules, all of it—I mess stuff up. Chase remembers things I forget. I overthink everything. The girls ask questions I don't always know how to answer."

You watched him quietly.

"I just know how to look calmer than I feel."

The words landed gently. You thought of him earlier, moving through the chaos with ease answering Chase, catching the girls, remembering medicine and folders and cups. You'd looked at him and seen someone perfectly at home in a life that made you feel outside of it. But maybe he was still learning too.

"The difference is," Cody said, voice softer, "I want you in the messy parts. Not just the easy ones."

Your throat tightened. "You say that now."

His eyes stayed on yours. "I said it tonight."

"When?"

"When I asked you to stay."

You looked down, he came around the island slowly and stood beside you.

"I'm going to keep saying it. As many times as you need."

You gave a weak smile. "That sounds exhausting."

"You've met my kids. I can handle repetitive questions."

That pulled a laugh out of you. He smiled, but his gaze stayed tender.

"You don't have to embrace every part of this right now, or be okay with everything at once, or pretend it all feels natural."

Your eyes burned again, but softer this time. "I just don't want to make things harder."

"You're not."

"It feels like I am."

He shook his head. "Tonight was hard because it matters. Not because you made it hard."

You looked at him then, at the tiredness in his face, the concern, the affection he wasn't trying to hide anymore. He reached up and brushed your hair back from your cheek.

"You can go if you need to. I'll understand." Your heart dropped before he continued. "But I want you to stay."

The words came out quiet, without pressure or expectation.

You swallowed hard. "Even after tonight?"

His expression softened. "Especially after tonight."

That undid something inside you.

Cody leaned closer, his hand resting lightly on your knee. "I don't want you here because you're perfect at this. I want you here because you're you. Even when you're overthinking my cabinets."

A watery laugh escaped. "You're never letting that go."

"Probably not."

His smile was gentle. "But I mean it. Next time, you don't have to sit there feeling like you're borrowing someone else's spot."

Your breath caught. "No?"

"No." His thumb brushed over your knee. "We'll find yours."

You nodded, unable to find the words.

"Okay," you whispered.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lifted back to your eyes asking permission.

You leaned in first.

The kiss was soft and slower than the others you'd shared. There was no teasing in it, no rush. Just his hand at your cheek, your fingers curling into the front of his sweatshirt, and the quiet relief of being wanted in the middle of something complicated.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "You staying?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

His smile was small, almost relieved. "Good."

⸻

After the kitchen was cleaned and the lights were turned low, Cody gave you one of his shirts and pointed you toward the bathroom like he was trying not to make staying feel like a big deal.

It was a big deal. You both knew that. But he let it be quiet.

When you came back out, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, brow furrowed slightly as he stared at his phone.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

He looked up. "Nothing."

"That is obviously a lie."

"Barely."

You walked closer, suspicious. "Cody."

He turned the phone toward you. Your text was still there.

please please can you come here

i'm trying so hard not to be weird

also please don't make me talk yet

Under it, he'd typed.

Always.

Your vision blurred before you could stop it.

Cody watched your face carefully.

"I know it's not the same as fixing everything."

You shook your head. "It's not supposed to fix everything."

"No?"

You looked at the screen again. Always. Your heart squeezed.

"No," you whispered. "It helps."

He reached for your hand and pulled you gently between his knees.

You stood there, looking down at him, and for the first time all night, you didn't feel like you were standing in the wrong place. His hands settled at your waist.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to be quiet to stay."

Your throat tightened. "I don't know how to do this yet."

"Me neither."

You laughed softly. "That's comforting."

"Honesty usually is."

"Debatable."

He smiled and pulled you closer until your knees brushed his.

"We'll figure it out. The Chase stuff. The girls. The routines. All of it."

"You make it sound simple."

"It's not." He squeezed your waist gently. "But I still want to."

That was the part that mattered. Not that it would be easy. Not that you'd never feel strange again. Just that Cody wanted to figure it out with you.

You bent and kissed him once. Then again.

When you pulled back, he smiled against your mouth. "You done trying to flee my house?"

"For tonight."

"I'll take it."

You laughed, and he pulled you down beside him. 

The house was quiet except for the occasional sound from upstairs when one of the girls shifted in sleep. Cody turned off the lamp and drew you into him under the blankets, his arm heavy around your waist, his breathing warm against the back of your neck. You stared into the dark, listening. To the house. To Cody. To the strange, full, complicated life around you. 

Eventually, Cody's thumb moved once against your stomach.

"You awake?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

You thought about lying, then you didn't.

"Getting there."

His arm tightened slightly. "Okay."

No fixing. No pressing. Just okay.

You closed your eyes and that helped too.

⸻

The next morning started with a crash. Not a dangerous crash, a child crash. Something plastic hit the floor downstairs, followed by a very loud whisper.

"Cy, you did it too loud."

"No, I didn't."

"That was so loud."

"You're so loud."

Cody groaned into the pillow. "I'm asleep."

You smiled before opening your eyes. "Convincing."

"I'm not here."

Another crash.

Cody exhaled slowly. "They've found the cereal."

"You should probably go."

"They respect independence."

"They're children, Cody."

"Small independent people."

You laughed, and he turned toward you, eyes still half closed but mouth curving. For a second, it felt almost normal. Then you remembered where you were. His house. His bed. His daughters downstairs. Everything that had happened. Your body tensed before you could stop it. Cody noticed immediately, his eyes opening fully.

"Hey. You good?"

You nodded, then corrected yourself. "Nervous."

His expression softened. "Okay."

He didn't offer false comfort, just sat up with messy hair and held out his hand.

"Come on."

⸻

Downstairs, the kitchen was bright with winter light. Caiden sat at the table with a cereal box in front of her. Cy stood on a stool at the counter, very seriously inspecting the toaster.

Cody stopped short. "Why are you near my toaster?"

Cy looked offended. "I was supervising."

"Absolutely not."

Caiden looked at you and smiled. "Hi."

"Hi," you said, suddenly shy.

Cy turned too, her expression brightening. "You stayed."

The sentence hit you somewhere tender.

Cody glanced at you. You smiled carefully. "I did."

"Good," Cy said, as if that settled something.

Then she opened the cabinet, and your breath caught. She reached for the blue cup.

For half a second, your chest tightened in the same place it had the night before.

Then Cy held it out to you.

"Do you want this one? It's the best one."

The room went very still inside you.

Outside, everything kept moving. Cody poured coffee. Caiden dug through the cereal box. Cy waited impatiently for your answer.

But inside, something paused.

The cup that had made you feel like an intruder was being offered to you by a little girl who didn't know anything except that she liked you enough to give you the best one. From beside the coffee maker, Cody watched you with quiet understanding not rescuing the moment or explaining it away, just seeing you completely.

You turned back to Cy and smiled. "Sure. Thank you."

Cy handed it over proudly. "It has a scratch on the bottom. But it's still good."

You looked down at the cup in your hand. "Still good works for me."

Cody's mouth curved faintly. Breakfast was messy. Cody burned the first piece of toast because apparently that was a recurring theme in his life. Caiden told you about her school project in extreme detail. Cy asked if you knew how to braid hair, then decided you looked like someone who probably did but maybe needed practice.

Chase texted. Cody glanced at his phone, then showed you the screen without making it weird. Just a schedule reminder. Nothing secret. He answered while standing beside you, his shoulder brushing yours, then set the phone down and went back to helping Caiden open the jam.

A small thing. But you felt it.

When the girls were arguing cheerfully in the living room over what movie to watch, Cody came up beside you at the sink.

"You okay?" he asked.

You looked toward the living room, then at the blue cup beside your hand, then at him.

This time, you didn't say fine just because it was easier.

You said, "Yeah. I think I am."

His shoulders loosened. "Good."

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. "You say that a lot."

"When I mean it."

You smiled despite yourself.

He leaned down, voice low enough that only you could hear. "You know, technically, you're in the way of the cabinet."

You looked up at him. "Are you asking me to move?"

"No." His hand brushed your lower back, warm and sure. "Just saying I'm aware of the geography."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. Cody's smile softened. Then he kissed the side of your head, quick and quiet, before stepping around you to grab another plate.

From the living room, Cy's voice rose in mock outrage over something Caiden had said. Cody glanced that direction with the kind of smile that belonged only to them.

His hand was still warm on your back.

You didn't know if this would last, if six months from now you'd still be standing in this kitchen or if the careful balance everyone was trying to maintain would eventually tip in a direction you couldn't predict. But right now, his daughters were arguing over a movie in the next room, and his hand was warm and steady against your spine. That was enough to stay for.

⸻

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