23. Talia #2
There’s just this, something simple and steady and real.
Flynn presses the dirt in again, more carefully this time, his movements slower, more deliberate. When he leans back, there’s a smudge of soil across his cheek that he hasn’t noticed, and the sight of it pulls a quiet breath from me before I can stop it.
Declan notices.
His head lifts slightly, his attention shifting just enough that I feel it before I see it. His gaze moves past Flynn, past the small circle of kids, and fixes on me. For a second, neither of us moves.
There’s dirt on his hands, worked into the lines of his palms, caught at the edge of his wrist where he’s brushed it away without thinking.
His sleeves are pushed back, his shirt creased at the elbows, a faint streak of soil marking the fabric near his shoulder where one of the kids must have leaned into him.
He looks… grounded, not the man from the boardroom or the headlines, just here.
The recognition in his expression is immediate. “Talia.”
My name isn’t loud, doesn’t carry beyond the few feet between us, but it’s there all the same, steady enough that it feels like something I can stand on if I let it.
Flynn turns at the sound of it, his face lighting up when he sees me.
“Mom,” he says, pushing himself to his feet and crossing the short distance between us in two quick steps. He stops just in front of me, like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be leaving or staying, then leans into my side without waiting for an answer.
I rest my hand against the back of his head automatically, smoothing down hair that doesn’t stay where I put it, my attention still fixed on Declan.
Up close, the differences are harder to ignore. There’s no distance in him now. No edge of calculation. Just the same quiet steadiness I’ve been watching from a distance, directed at me.
“You made it,” he says.
It’s a simple observation, but there’s something in the way he says it that feels like more than that, like he wasn’t entirely sure I would.
“So did you,” I answer, the words quieter than I intend.
His mouth shifts slightly, not quite a smile, but close enough that I feel the echo of it anyway.
Flynn tugs lightly at my hand. “We planted two,” he says, already pulling me toward the space beside them. “I did this one.”
I let him. Because for the first time since I agreed to come here, it doesn’t feel like stepping into something I can’t control. It feels like stepping into something that might finally hold.
Flynn tugs at my hand again, more insistent this time, pulling me the last step forward until I’m standing at the edge of the small space they’ve carved out in the dirt.
Up close, the details look different. The uneven lines of the holes, the faint dampness of the soil, and the way the air carries that sharp, green scent that only comes with something newly planted.
“You can do the next one,” Flynn says, already reaching for another sapling before I can answer.
I huff out a quiet breath that might be a laugh, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder before setting it aside. “I think you’ve got it handled,” I tell him.
“I do,” he says immediately, but he looks at Declan anyway.
Declan doesn’t contradict him. He just glances between us, something unreadable flickering briefly through his expression before it relaxes again.
“There’s room for one more,” he says, his voice even, like it’s an option instead of a request.
It would be easier to stay where I was, just outside of this, where I could observe without being pulled in. That’s where I’ve been for days now; watching, waiting, trying to understand what version of him I’m dealing with before I decide what to do with it.
But Flynn is already clearing space, brushing dirt aside with quick, efficient movements that send small clouds of dust into the air.
I step forward before I can stop myself.
The ground gives slightly under my weight as I lower myself down, the fabric of my jeans brushing against the dirt. It’s unfamiliar enough that I notice it, the shift from standing back to being part of it, from distance to something closer.
Declan hands me the sapling without comment.
Our fingers don’t touch, but they come close enough that I feel the absence of it anyway, a quiet awareness that lingers longer than it should.
He pulls back easily, giving me space, his attention moving to Flynn as he starts explaining something again, his voice steady and patient in a way that doesn’t feel practiced.
“Not too deep,” he says, watching Flynn instead of me. “You want the roots to spread out.”
I follow the motion they’ve already established, lowering the sapling into the shallow space, pressing the dirt in around it with more care than it probably requires. The soil is cool against my hands, softer than I expect, giving just enough that I have to adjust my pressure to keep it in place.
Flynn leans closer, watching like he’s checking my work. “You’re doing it wrong,” he says, matter-of-fact.
“I am not,” I reply, just as easily.
Declan’s mouth shifts, something close to a smile breaking through before he smooths it away.
“She’s not,” he says, backing me without hesitation. “You just did it first.”
Flynn considers that, his brow furrowing slightly before he nods, satisfied. “Okay. But mine’s still better.”
“Obviously,” Declan agrees.
I press the last bit of dirt into place and lean back slightly, brushing my hands together out of habit even though it doesn’t make much of a difference. There’s soil under my nails and caught in the lines of my palms, in a way that feels oddly grounding.
For a moment, none of us moves.
Flynn moves first, already reaching for something else, his attention pulled forward the way it always is when something new catches his interest. It leaves a small space behind, quiet and unclaimed in a way that feels intentional even if it isn’t.
I glance up, and Declan is already looking at me.
There’s no hesitation in it this time. No flicker of something else layered over it, no sense that he’s calculating how this moment is supposed to go. He just… holds my gaze, steady in a way that makes it harder to look away.
Up close, the details are sharper, and his posture has settled, not rigid, not held in check, just… present. He doesn’t say anything right away. He doesn’t need to.
The silence stretches between us, but it doesn’t feel like distance. It feels like space being left open, like something offered without pressure.
“Stay awhile?” he says finally.
It’s quiet and simple, like it doesn’t come with anything attached, and I don’t answer immediately.
For so long, every decision with him has felt like something that needed to be measured and weighed against everything that came before it and everything it might cost after. There was always a next step to consider, a consequence to anticipate, a reason to hold back just a little longer.
There isn’t one now.
Flynn laughs somewhere to my left, the sound bright and easy as he calls for Declan to look at something he’s done. The air still smells like fresh soil and something new, something that hasn’t had the chance to take shape yet.
I look back at Declan, at the way he’s still there, not moving, not pushing, just waiting. Something in my chest cracks open, not all at once, but enough that I recognize it when it does.
“Okay,” I say.
And this time, I don’t step back.