Joyous Hunting

The house has gone soft and still. In the hallway, Hunter turns from Joy's closed door toward Nora, the lamplight warming the scar on his face and catching the steam rising from the kitchen.

Her shoulders ease as she says it, but she keeps her voice low, like she does not want to wake the quiet back up. The woodstove pops once, then settles again.

Nora glances toward the bedroom door, then back to Hunter, a small, hopeful smile tugging at her mouth as the hallway holds between them.

Hunter crosses the narrow gap and takes Nora's hand with a careful, practical touch. She lets him, then steps with him toward the kitchen like the choice has already settled in her bones.

At the table, the warm light catches the copied pages stacked beside the mugs. Nora's fingers curl around Hunter's for a moment longer before she eases into the chair he guides her toward.

The block tower stands untouched near the lamp, and Joy's wooden wedge rests by the bench leg like a tiny sign that the house has been held together by small acts all evening.

Hunter gathers Nora into both arms and pulls her close, steady and certain. The chair legs scrape softly as she leans into him, and the copied pages rustle under her hand.

Her shoulders loosen against his chest. The lamp light warms the side of her face, and the block tower stays upright beside them, patient and bright.

Across the room, Joy stays quiet in the doorway, watching with the wooden wedge in her lap. She looks from Hunter to Nora, then back to the tower as if deciding it belongs to her too.