- SIERRAThe floorboards in the new place still had that fresh, sawn-pine bite to them, but the kitchen already smelled right. It smelled like the dark roast coffee Desmond kept buying in industrial-sized bags from the wholesale lot down by the shipping canal, mixed with the sweet, powdery scent of baby spit-up that seemed to permanently attach itself to every piece of clothing I owned now.I leaned my shoulder against the door frame of the nursery, hooking a damp dish towel through my fingers. The sun was radiating that long, slow summer drop over Harrison Avenue, bleeding this heavy, orange light right across the hardwood floor.Desmond didn't see me standing there. He had his back turned, his massive frame completely devouring the space next to the window. He’d ditched his work shirt about an hour ago, and he was just in a beat-up grey sleeveless top, his heavy, scarred shoulders looking absurdly huge against the pale blue paint of the walls. He was doing the bounce. That rhythmic
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