The screen doorcreaked open behind me just as I slid the finished pie onto the cooling rack.
“I think I see Brody’s truck,” Austin called from the porch. “Winnie! Go make sure your kingdom is ready!”
“Already did!” she shouted back, scampering past in a blur of bare feet and braids flying. “The fairy throne is sparkly and OFF LIMITS.”
I grinned and turned back toward the sink, rinsing the last of the crumbs from my hands. Outside, the warm summer air drifted in through the open windows, carrying with it the sound of distant laughter, birdsong, and the buzz of cicadas tucked in the tall grass.
Music played low on the record player—something old and easy, a song that made you want to swing your feet and drink something cold. The kitchen smelled like sugar and lemon zest. The porch swing groaned contentedly as it rocked back and forth, a lazy rhythm to the hum of our little corner of the world.
A knock came at the front door, followed by a familiar voice.
“Don’t make me use my key,” Brody said with a laugh.
“You don’t have a key,” Austin replied, opening the door.
Brody gave him a playful shove. “Not yet.”
I wiped my hands and stepped out to greet them.
Kit was behind Brody, holding a casserole dish and wearing cherry-red lipstick that matched her earrings. Wes followed, his gait still slightly uneven, but more confident now. My sister Clara walked beside him, laughing at something he whispered to her—his expression softer than I’d ever seen it.
Elodie came next, holding a giant bowl of fruit and waving her elbow in the air as she passed me. “Don’t ask. Levi made me carry the healthy stuff. I’m hoping it’s a phase.”
Levi trailed behind, even taller than I remembered, with Cal at his side, both of them already eyeing the ice-cold lemonade at the table.
As Elodie stepped inside, I leaned in and murmured, “I still can’t believe Clara is here.”
She bumped her shoulder against mine and smiled. “Me neither. But it’s kind of nice, isn’t it?”
I glanced back at the porch where Clara now stood, nudging Wes’s arm and laughing as he pretended to glare at her.
“Yeah,” I said. “It really is.”
The house buzzed with movement—doors opening and closing, bare feet on the wood floors, chairs scooting across the deck. There were easy hugs and second helpings and the clink of glasses raised in toast.
The windows were wide open, letting in the warmth of the summer dusk, and the breeze caught the edge of the linen curtain, lifting it just enough to feel like the whole house was breathing.
We had made it.
Not perfectly. Not easily. But fully.
And with everyone here, the house didn’t feel new anymore.
It felt lived in. It felt like home.
The last of the dishes clinked into the sink. Outside, the fireflies had taken over, blinking in a lazy rhythm beyond the porch rail. The chatter of friends had faded, the music long stopped. Now it was just the two of us, moving quietly through the kitchen like it was a ritual we’d practiced for years.
Austin’s hand brushed across the small of my back as I reached for a dish towel.
“You did good,” I murmured.
“So did you,” he said, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
His touch lingered, his hand slipping beneath the hem of my shirt. His thumb dragged against my bare hip bone like he couldn’t help himself.
That warmth—that easy, electric thrum that always came alive between us—it bloomed again. Familiar. Safe. Irresistible.
This.
