Page 86 of Smoke Signals

He watches me for another second like he’s making sure I mean it, then his grip loosens and his hand slides down to rest against my hip instead.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“I was about to make some.”

“Good,” he says, closing his eyes again. “Bring it back.”

I shake my head and pull on a pair of sweatpants from the floor.

“You are unbelievable.”

He smiles without opening his eyes.

“You like me anyway.”

The hallway floor creaks when I step out of the bedroom. Alaska meets me in the hall, stepping out of her bedroom, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She looks up the second she hears me and smiles.

“Morning, sweet girl. Wanna help me make coffee?”

She nods and follows me toward the kitchen, but when we make it to the living room, she diverts. Instead, she sits cross-legged on the rug with her dolls and starts playing.

I crouch next to her and brush a piece of hair away from her forehead. She holds up one of the dolls and moves it toward the others like she’s introducing a new character into whatever story she has going.

She turns the television on, and it plays softly in the background.

Not the news, just a quiet cartoon.

The kitchen still smells faintly like the tacos from yesterday and the lingering hint of smoke that followed Stellan home. I start the coffee maker and lean against the counter while it works, watching Alaska.

She moves the dolls across the table with careful focus, making small humming noises to herself that she probably doesn’t realize she is making.

My phone rests on the counter beside me and I wake the screen. The text messages from last night still sits on the screen above Stellan’s name.

Me: You okay?

Me: Please answer.

The tight feeling in my chest tries to come back when I see them.

I look toward the bedroom instead.

The door stands slightly open.

A minute later, Stellan appears in the hallway wearing the same sweatpants he found in my drawer weeks ago and never gave back. His hair sticks up worse than before and he rubs the back of his neck while he walks into the kitchen.

“Smells good,” he says.

I pour two mugs and slide one across the counter toward him. He takes a drink and sighs.

“The fire yesterday,” I say. “They said two firefighters were taken to the hospital.”

“Yeah.”

“Were they⁠—”

“Not us,” he says gently. “Different company. They got caught when part of the roof of the second house gave out.”

I let out a breath. “They’re gonna be okay?”