Chapter 163 Syrup and Crayons

Chapter 163 Syrup and Crayons
Mila’s POV

Grace flung the door open before I could knock.

“Mila!” she shouted, launching herself at me like a missile.

I caught her, stumbling back a step as her arms wrapped around my neck. She smelled like syrup and crayons — the unofficial perfume of nine‑year‑olds.

“You’re early,” she said, even though I wasn’t.

Zoe hovered behind her, clutching a stuffed unicorn with one eye missing. She didn’t jump on me, but she pressed her cheek against my hip in her quiet way.

“Hi, Zo,” I said, smoothing her hair.

She nodded once, solemn.

The Jones house was warm and loud and lived‑in — the opposite of the penthouse. I stepped inside, letting the door close behind me. Grace immediately grabbed my hand like she was afraid I’d disappear again.

“Are you staying for breakfast?” she asked, tugging me toward the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I said. “For a little bit.”

“Good,” she said, already planning. “We’re making pancakes. You have to flip them. Eliza burns them.”

“I do not burn them,” Eliza called from the living room.

Grace ignored her, dragging me farther inside.

Zoe followed, clutching her unicorn, humming under her breath. She didn’t say anything, but she stayed close — close enough that her shoulder brushed mine every few steps.

Eliza was on the couch, legs tucked under her, hair in a messy bun, wearing an oversized hoodie that had definitely been stolen from her dad. She looked up when she heard us.

Her face softened for a heartbeat.

Then it tightened again.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” I sat beside her, Grace immediately climbing onto my lap like she’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment. Zoe settled on the rug with her unicorn, humming quietly.

Eliza closed her textbook, sliding it onto the coffee table. “You didn’t have to come this early.”

“I wanted to,” I said. “Nate had to run an errand, so he dropped me off.”

She nodded, but her eyes flicked over me in that way she had — checking for cracks.

“You look tired,” she said.

I shrugged. “Long night.”

She didn’t push. She never pushed me. She pushed everyone else, but not me.

Grace tugged on my sleeve. “Can we play the card game later? After pancakes?”

“Of course,” I said.

She grinned and ran toward the kitchen, already narrating her pancake strategy to no one in particular.

Zoe stayed where she was, quietly brushing the unicorn’s tangled mane.

Eliza watched my sisters for a moment, her expression softening in a way that made my chest ache. She’d taken them in without hesitation. Her parents had too. They’d made space in their home, in their routines, in their lives — because I couldn’t be everywhere at once.

Because I couldn’t give Grace and Zoe a stable home at the moment.

Because Alverstone wasn’t built for girls like us.

Eliza looked back at me, and the softness faded.

“How are you?” she asked.

The question was simple. The weight behind it wasn’t.

“I’m okay,” I said. “You?”

She let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “I’m… managing.”

I nodded. “I know it’s a lot.”

She shrugged. “They’re good kids. They listen. They help. It’s not them.”

I swallowed. “It’s everything else.”

“Yeah,” Eliza said quietly. “Everything else.”

She picked at a loose thread on her hoodie, jaw tightening.

“My mom answered the door yesterday,” she said. “There were flowers.”

My stomach dropped. “From who?”

She gave me a look. “Who do you think?”

I exhaled. “Eliza…”

“They weren’t even nice flowers,” she said, voice cracking. “Just some overpriced bouquet he probably grabbed on his way out of the firm. No note. No explanation. Just… here.”

She shook her head, blinking hard.

“That’s what he does now. He sends things instead of showing up. He hides behind gestures. He hides behind silence. He hides behind everything except the truth.”

She swallowed, voice low and tired.

“I don’t need a hero who hides, Mila. I just wanted a guy who showed up.”

My throat tightened. “Eliza…”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t defend him. I know you love him. I know you see the good parts. But I can’t keep pretending he didn’t hurt me.”

“I’m not defending him,” I whispered. “I just… I don’t know what’s going on with him.”

“That’s the problem,” she said. “He doesn’t let anyone know.”

Zoe climbed onto the couch beside her, leaning against her shoulder. Eliza wrapped an arm around her automatically, eyes still fixed on me.

“I didn’t need some tortured Hollis heir,” she said. “I didn’t need a guy with a legacy or a reputation or whatever. I just needed someone who showed up when he said he would.”

Her voice cracked.

I felt useless.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She nodded, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “I know.”

Grace ran back into the room with a handful of crayons. “Mila, come make pancakes with me! You flip them the best.”

Eliza blinked, startled out of her spiral. “Yeah. Yeah, we can.”

She stood, brushing Zoe’s hair back gently. “Come on.”

“I’ll help,” I said, rising too quickly.

Grace grabbed my hand again, pulling me toward the kitchen like she was afraid I’d change my mind.

We moved into the kitchen, the girls trailing behind us. I cracked eggs into a bowl while Grace narrated every step as if she were hosting a cooking show. Zoe lined up the measuring cups in size order, humming.

Eliza measured flour, her movements automatic.

For a moment, it felt like we were back in middle school, making breakfast before walking to class, laughing about nothing.

But the moment didn’t last.

It never did anymore.

Eliza poured the batter into the pan, staring at the sizzling circle like it held answers.

“I don’t want to hate him,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want to feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” I said. “You loved him.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. That’s the stupid part.”

I didn’t argue.

I didn’t know how.

She flipped the pancake, eyes still downcast. “I just… I don’t want to lose you, too.”

My chest tightened. “You won’t.”

She nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.

Grace tugged on my sleeve again. “Mila, look! I made a pancake that looks like a heart.”

It didn’t.

But I smiled anyway.

And just like that, the gap between Eliza and me widened — not because she pushed me away, but because she was hurting, and I didn’t know how to bridge the distance without breaking something else.