Tara cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention. She was holding an envelope, turning it over in her hands with an expression Ryan couldn’t quite read.
“This is from me and Will,” she said. “I know it’s not very fun to unwrap, but...” She handed it over.
Ryan opened the envelope and pulled out a receipt. He read it twice before the words made sense.
Four new all-season tires. Already paid for. Installation scheduled for next week.
“The ones on there now are practically bald,” Tara said quickly, as if she needed to justify it. “And you know winter here is no joke. I just—I’d worry if you were driving around on those tires when the snow comes this winter. So.” She shrugged, trying to look casual and failing completely.
Ryan stared at the receipt. His mom had driven on bald tires for years because they couldn’t afford new ones. He remembered the way the car would slide on wet roads, the white-knuckle drives through rainstorms, the constant fear that this would be the day their luck ran out.
“Thank you,” he said, and his voice came out rougher than he intended. “This is... thank you both.”
Tara’s eyes were wet again. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
Will’s hand landed on Ryan’s shoulder, warm and solid. “Can’t have my apprentice sliding off the road on his way to work.”
“About that.” Ryan looked up. “I was hoping maybe I could work with you more for the summer? On the inn?”
Will’s face creased into a smile. “I was counting on it. Those window frames aren’t going to build themselves.”
“At least window frames don’t fly into desserts,” Evan muttered.
Ryan’s face heated. “We’re not talking about the drone.”
“Oh, we’re definitely talking about the drone.” Ally settled onto the arm of the couch. “I just got the frosting stains out of that dress last month.”
“The dress was beige! You can barely see?—”
“It was my favorite dress, Ryan.”
“The navigation system was perfect. It’s not my fault Christina moved the cake.”
Christina held up her hands. “Six inches. I moved it six inches.”
“Six inches was enough! The calibrations were very precise.”
“Precise enough to dive-bomb directly into the punch bowl,” Will added, grinning.
“That was an emergency landing! The frosting got in the rotors!”
Everyone was laughing now, even Ryan, the embarrassment fading into something warmer. This was what families did—they remembered your disasters and teased you about them forever, not to be cruel, but because it meant you belonged to the story. You were part of the history.
“For the record,” Emily said, bouncing Grace on her knee, “I thought it was impressive. Right up until the icing explosion.”
“Thank you.” Ryan pointed at her. “Finally, someone with perspective.”
“Perspective covered in frosting,” Evan said, and the laughter started all over again.
Later, after chocolate cake and coffee and a detailed explanation of Ryan’s summer gaming plans—Jake and Marcus from the high school, two guys from one of his college classes who didn’t care that he was younger, had a full day of gaming scheduled for Saturday—Ryan stepped out onto the porch with Angus at his heels.
The sun was setting over the lake, painting everything gold and pink. His Outback sat in the driveway, keys heavy in his pocket. Tomorrow he’d drive himself to the store for the first time. Next week, he’d have new tires. This summer, he’d spend learning to build window frames and hang drywall and do all the things that made a house become something real.
His mom would have loved this. The thought arrived softly, without the sharp edges it used to carry. She’d wanted so badly for him to have a normal life, to find his people. Not to feel like a weirdo because he was so smart.
The screen door creaked behind him. Tara appeared with two glasses of lemonade, handing him one before settling into the porch swing.
“Big day,” she said.
