didn't move.
And then she knew the answer.
Mums and daddies held their babies close. And this baby's daddy knew the rocks. It was time to teach him to listen.
When your husband was six-foot-three and pulled metal from rocks for fun, you didn't expect to see him start swaying.
And when he was as tone deaf as Moira's coffee table, you didn't expect to hear him humming.
Especially humming a note that made your baby boy vibrate.
But Sophie was a healer. And whatever was suddenly happening in her living room was pure healing magic. The kind where you held very still and didn't interrupt. Adam had gone from slightly cranky to still and calm - and Mike had pulled enough power to melt a freight train.
Sophie closed her eyes, acknowledging the only possible source. Rejoicing in the evidence in front of her - and grieving for what else it must mean. The flowers had been whispering for hours. And Aunt Moira's face had been streaked with sorrow.
Cassidy Farrell was leaving.
A woman torn had run into the rough edges of a man awakening to his life. And now the woman was stepping out on the next step in her journey. A friend in pain, leaving behind the very best gift she could.
Sophie scanned Adam, looking for any signs of distress - and felt them in Mike instead. Her giant was running out of gas. Pulling every ounce of power she could reach, Sophie stepped to his side. Whatever Cass was doing, it was damn well not going to fail because Adam's daddy needed a few more cookies.
Mike squeezed her hand, grateful for the assist, and still utterly focused on his odd monotone humming. A note Sophie heard as much with her body as with her ears. Their son listened, the same way as he did when Rosie was in the room.
And then it stopped. Her husband's magic shut off with a crunch and he toppled to the couch none too gracefully, eyes glued to Adam. The baby sat on his bright green play rug, attention back on his blocks. Happy. Content to push on the wooden cubes with his toes, child engineer in the making.
Sophie put a hand to Mike's forehead, clearing his channels almost automatically. "What was that?"
"A lesson." Her big man's words wobbled, high emotion in his eyes. "She showed me where Adam belongs."
That made little sense - and all the sense in the world.
Mike hummed three notes. "That's what we sound like. The three of us. You're the top one."
The sudden humor of it caught Sophie by surprise. "She taught you music?" Mike couldn't sing Happy Birthday without setting the village cats to wailing.
His grin was the size of Adam's head. "Yeah. She did. Adam is the lowest note in the whole village."
That hurt. Sophie looked at their son and murmured her pain. "He's always on the outside."
"No. Not like that at all." Mike kissed the top of her head, comforting and insistent. "The low notes are like the roots of a plant. The foundations." He smiled into her hair. "The next lowest note in the village is Aaron."
The quiet, steady man who was the glue of Fisher's Cove. Sophie closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed. "Hum them again. The three of us."
She felt Mike's lazy pull of power. The rumble of his chest.
And this time, when he hummed Adam's note - the baby hummed back.
Sophie soaked in the sound of treasure. And then she got to her feet, one act of limitless friendship inspiring another.
Her husband frowned. "Where are you going?"
To do the right thing. "To offer to look after Morgan for the night." Assuming Marcus was back in town - and an elderly witch hadn't gotten there first.
Her husband's eyebrows practically bounced off the ceiling. And then he connected the dots. "You think that's a good idea?"
She listened to the still-echoing vibrations of a family chord and knew the answer. "Yes. I do." Marcus and Cass deserved to hear the music they could be together.
Mike grinned. "Tell Marcus good luck. And that if he needs help making a diamond ring, I'm his guy."
Sophie rolled her eyes even as she fingered the wedding ring on her own finger.
And glancing one more time at her baby boy, took heart. Miracles were absolutely possible.
A fool's errand.
And he was definitely a fool. Marcus reached down for his daughter, her mittened hands still carefully guarding their treasure.
A little glass trinket they'd found as he'd stomped through the market in Halifax, trying to occupy his daughter and