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I narrow my eyes. “Does everybody know my methods?”

“They’re very advanced.” She comes closer and brushes one finger over Jack’s back. “You can put him down if you want. He should transfer pretty easily.”

I look toward the bassinet in the living room, then back at him. “I’m fine.”

Briar smiles, but thankfully doesn’t say anything about it, and I settle into one of the kitchen chairs with Jack still asleep against me.

My phone buzzes again.

Ruby: Those are rough. Don’t get attached to anything yet.

I look at the third sketch again, then at the other two. She’s probably going to change all of them ten times before she lets me see anything she considers finished, but I already know which direction I want her to keep exploring.

I type back with one thumb.

Me: Too late.

Jack shifts against my chest with a soft sound before settling again. I lower the phone and look down at him, then around the kitchen at Mom’s casserole on the counter, the bottles beside the sink, Lachlin quietly arguing with Briar about whether she needs to sit down, and Ruby’s sketches still glowing on my screen.

I spent six months in Europe always thinking about the next city, the next stage, the next chance for the band to get bigger. I loved it. I still want more of it.

But sitting here, I realize something has changed while I wasn’t paying attention.

For the first time since coming home, the things pulling at me aren’t all somewhere else.

Some of them are right here.

Chapter seventeen

RUBY

By the time Zander pulls up in front of the duplex, I’ve already checked my camera battery twice, packed two pencils I probably won’t use, and convinced myself this is still technically work.

Then I open the passenger door and find a coffee waiting in the cup holder.

I slide into the seat and pick up the cup. It’s exactly how I order it, which shouldn’t catch me off guard anymore. Zander pays attention to little things, but somehow having my coffee sitting there still makes me smile.

I glance over my shoulder and notice a cooler in the back. “What’s that?”

“Lunch.”

“You packed lunch?”

He pulls away from the curb. “You said we might be out most of the day.”

“I did.”

“So, I prepared for the possibility that humans might need food.”

I take a sip of coffee and settle back against the seat. “Very responsible.”

We spend the first part of the morning doing what we came out here to do. I have Zander pull over twice along a stretch of road where the redwoods crowd close enough to block most of the sky, then again when I catch a section of wet pavement disappearing around a bend beneath the trees.

He waits while I take photos from different angles, never asking if I’m done or trying to direct what I’m looking for. When I crouch near a fallen branch to photograph the deep grooves in the bark, he wanders a few yards away and leans against the truck until I’m ready.

By the third stop, I notice he’s gotten good at reading me.

“You want to pull over,” he says before I ask.