Edward, built like a solid oak tree with his sleeves rolled up to show off those farmer's arms and a wry smile that said he'd seen it all, let out a soft chuckle that rumbled from his chest. "Aye, love, but the proof's in the pudding. Let's see if the lad can charm his way out of the doghouse he's dug himself into." He raised his voice, waving them over with a hearty gesture. "Oi, you two! Don't just stand there like statues in the garden—tea's on the boil inside. Come warm your bones!"
Isabella glanced over her shoulder at her folks, a tiny smile sneaking onto her lips despite the emotional tornado swirling in her chest—like, how could she not? Her parents were basically the human equivalent of a cozy blanket. "C'mon," she murmured to Henry, slipping her hand into his with a squeeze that felt both tentative and electric. It was like threading a lifeline through the chaos.
