“Love that for him.”
“You’ll love it more after you see the bathroom,” she said, already moving again. “It’s like a spa. Rainfall shower, those super plush robes. And the tub! We have one just like it in our room. I may never put clothes back on.”
“Please warn me before that happens.”
She glanced over her shoulder with a teasing smirk. “No promises.”
I laughed, following her into the bathroom as she flicked on the light.
She wasn’t kidding. The bathroom was gorgeous—clean, sleek, soft lighting and cream tile, with a massive walk-in shower, said bathtub, and towels folded like hotel origami. There was even a window above the tub that looked out onto the snowy sky.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said.
“I know,” she said, standing beside me. “I’m tempted to just live here and ghost everyone.”
“Yeah, right. You’d panic the second your Wi-Fi cut out and you couldn’t pull up your outline or watch ten hours of cat videos.”
She gasped mockingly. “Howdareyou know me.”
“I know you because we trauma-bonded in the worst way imaginable and now we’re basically sisters,” I responded with a smile.
“True. The deepest friendships are forged in blood,” she quipped back.
“And phone calls where we both cry but say it’s allergies.”
She snorts. “What if Iamcrying and it’salsoallergies?”
We stood there for a moment in the quiet, all smiles, surrounded by the soft light, and something about the way she looked at me shifted. Still playful, still Hana. But different, somehow.
“I didn’t realize how much I missed you until just now,” she said, grinning with that crooked smile of hers.
I smiled back, but something about the way she said it caught me off guard. It wasn’t dramatic or sentimental—it was just honest and simple.
“I know,” I murmured. “Same.”
We stood there for a second as we faced each other, the sound of distant voices filling the quiet between us.
There were years behind that silence—years of FaceTime calls, long texts, hard conversations, and shared weight we didn’t always know how to express. Being in the same room again after months apart made something inside me click into place, like I hadn’t realized a part of me was missing until now.
“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” she said.
I nodded. “Me too.”
She looked like she wanted to say something else but just gave me a small, warm smile and nodded toward the hallway. “Come on. Jack’s probably trying to make Elliott drink something that tastes like gasoline.”
I laughed, following her out. “Sounds about right.”
And just like that, the moment passed.
But still, something felt a little fuller in my chest, like I’d remembered how to breathe a little deeper, just by being near her again.
* * *
The living room was warm, lit mostly by the fire and a single lamp near the couch. Jack and Elliott had taken over the plush armchairs, a half-finished bottle of whiskey on the coffee table between them. There were snacks, blankets, and music playing through a speaker tucked on a shelf.
Hana and I had curled up together on the couch—me cross-legged, her tucked under a blanket with her legs pulled up. She handed me a mug of tea as she scooted beside me, her wine glass noticeably absent.
Jack gave her a look. “You done already, love?”
