Pushing the thought aside, I set my phone down, walked downstairs, and padded barefoot to the front door, drawn by the faint sound of crickets outside. I tugged it open just far enough to peek through the screen.
Like a dream, there he was.
Austin sat on the top step of his side of the porch, elbows resting on his knees, a half-empty beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. He wasn’t scrolling on his phone or watching the street. He just ... sat there.
Still and silent under the glow of a porch light.
The light haloed his profile in soft gold, catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the messy waves of his hair. He looked so different like this—quiet, almost contemplative.
I didn’t want to interrupt, but my hand was already on the knob.
Before I could overthink it, I slipped outside, the screen door sighing shut behind me. My bare feet were silent on the worn wood planks as I crossed to him.
“You’re brooding,” I said.
Austin glanced up, surprise flashing in his eyes before it softened into something warmer. “I didn’t hear you come out.”
“I’m a part-time ninja,” I said, easing down onto the step beside him. The wood was cool beneath my thighs as I tucked my legs under me.
“You couldn’t sneak up on me if you tried,” he teased as he tipped his bottle toward me. “Beer?”
I shook my head. “Not tonight.”
We sat in companionable silence, my head on his shoulder while the sound of insects and distant waves from the lake filled the air.
“You okay?” I asked finally.
He was quiet for a beat too long. Then he exhaled through his nose, giving a lopsided shrug. “Yeah. Just ... well, brooding, I guess.”
I chuckled as my heart lurched. “About?”
His thumb traced the label on the bottle. He was still before his shoulders jerked. “Nothing important.”
I didn’t push. God knew I wasn’t eager to bare my own messy thoughts.
Then his voice dipped, quiet and rough around the edges. “My mom used to sit like this. She’d stare out at the road like she was waiting for him to come back and choose her. Maybe she thought if she stayed still enough, long enough, he’d walk right up the steps and everything would be fine.”
I turned my head to watch him, my chest tightening.
“But he never did,” Austin added, his smile brittle. “And she never moved on. Just ... stayed stuck there waiting for a man who never loved her.”
Waiting for a man who never loved her.
I wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught behind the lump in my throat. I knew the pain and embarrassment of realizing the person you had pinned your hopes on wasn’t capable of loving you back. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for his mother to have spent her life waiting for a man who never came. What was worse, it was clear she wasn’t the only one who had spent countless hours waiting.Hoping.
My chest ached for that little boy.
Austin let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”
“You didn’t,” I said quietly. “It’s ... I get it.”
His gaze flicked to mine, searching. “Do you?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I did. But I understood enough about waiting—about the ache of hoping for something you couldn’t name.
The porch light buzzed faintly overhead.
Austin set his bottle aside, his hands resting on his thighs as he leaned in, his voice low and steady. “Whatever’s spinning in your head right now ... you can trust me with it, you know.”
