Across the table, Grayson leans closer to the screen. “Speaking of Gabby, how is she?” he asks, going for nonchalant and failing horribly.
Stella’s smile falters. “She’s fine.” She glances at me, then back to the screen. “She’s not yours to worry about anymore, Gray.”
“With all due respect Stella, Gabby will always be mine to worry about.”
The statement surprises me, given the choice he made after high school, though the looks on the faces of his mother and brothers suggest this isn’t a shock to them. Nash even said as much at the music festival at the pier.
“You lost that right when you left her behind,” Stella replies, quiet, steady, sure.
“She’s not wrong,” Bennett mutters. “Which is rare. And terrifying. And hurts to admit. But true.”
Stella’s eyebrows raise. “How much of that wine did you drink?”
Instead of a reply, Bennett polishes off his glass and pours himself another, smirking as he tips the bottle towards her in salute.
“Now that we’ve cleared all that up,” Nora says with a sweet smile and no-nonsense tone, “let’s pass the chicken around before it gets cold, shall we?”
The conversation loosens after that. Laughter returns, slower at first, like a song restarting mid-verse. Grayson tells us about the new album he’s recording—long nights, finicky producers, a weird synth-heavy track he’s convinced is going to be a sleeper hit. Stella talks about the possibility of a contract for her event company with Stillwater Bay, something about running their centennial blast next year. Nash grumbles about the hospital, but it’s short-lived. Grayson talks like someone who expects the world to keep listening. Gideon, after much prying, shares that he’s headed to the Pacific Northwest to escort a senator and his wife to a fundraising event.
“I’ve worked with them before,” he grumbles. “She always hits on me. He notices. And I swear, he’s fine with it.”
Groans and grimaces flicker around the table. Nora arches her brow in the most maternally disapproving look I’ve ever seen. “And you’ll leave it alone,” she says. “Because your mother raised you better.”
“Debatable,” Bennett mutters and Gideon snarks back at his older brother.
I laugh. We all do. The kind of laugh that leaves you warm down to the bones.
This feels like the family I always wanted. Instead of cold judgment and the feeling of never being enough, there’s truth and respect and vulnerability and acceptance. I remember being a little girl, soaking up as much of the feeling as possible.
But this time, there’s also Nash.
He sits beside me, quiet and composed, but completelypresent.His thigh brushes mine under the table. He refills my water glass without asking. His hand lands lightly on my knee at one point and when he doesn’t immediately move it, every cell in my body takes notice. He’s a gentleman, opening doors for me, taking care of me, but never, not once, taking control of me.
It’s a lovely feeling.
We talk. We laugh. But the hum between us, undercurrent and spark, is constant.
His fingers trace a slow circle on the side of my leg, barely there, and it takes everything in me to stay focused on the conversation around me. It’s grounding. Disorienting. Intimate in a way that feels both terrifying and inevitable.
“How much longer are you in Stillwater Bay, Lucy?” Nora asks and Nash’s hand stills.
“That’s a good question.” My gaze flicks his way. Tense jaw. Flared nostrils.
But then he meets my eyes and I’m shocked at thesadness I see churning inside. It’s there only a moment before it’s gone, replaced by professionalism and distance.
“Today is her first day walking without crutches,” he says, with the same detached efficiency he used in the ER. “We’ll have a better idea of how that ankle’s healing after our next couple rehab sessions, but I’d guess another month tops before she’s ready to get back to class.”
And suddenly, I’m certain someone meeting my eyes would be shocked by the sadness churning inside. I distract myself by sipping water and smiling like I’m not confused by my own reaction.
After dessert, I start to gather plates. “Let me help with the dishes.”
“Oh no, honey,” Nora says, rising with a smile. “You’re a guest tonight.”
“And barely mobile,” Nash mumbles with a pointed glance my way.
Nora shoots me a look that sayshe has a point.Normally I’d argue, but today I don’t mind. Not when Nash’s voice goes soft at the edges like that. Not when I catch the flicker of protectiveness behind the teasing. Not when that protectiveness feels so good.
“I can carry plates,” Stella offers, already stacking dishes like she owns the place.
