Her eyebrows lift. “Kill each other? You mean fighting over Dee?”
I grin, glancing at her. “Not quite. They’ve got that all figured out.”
She pauses, considering. “I got the impression last time your dad and I visited that those boys were all smitten with her. How does that... work, exactly?”
“It works because they’re all in love—with Dee, with each other, with the whole dynamic. They’re in a poly relationship.”
Her brows knit slightly, but she doesn’t look shocked—just curious. “And it never gets out of hand?”
“They’ve been together for years,” I reply, shrugging. “It’s unconventional, sure, but they’re happy. That’s what matters.”
Mom tilts her head, still thoughtful. “Well, they’re lucky to have you keeping everything running smoothly. Not everyone could handle that.”
“Probably not,” I admit with a small smile.
She brushes a stray curl from her forehead, her tone shifting to something more casual, though the subtext is anything but. “You know, a job like that could be done from here just as easily as from the city.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at my lips. “Mom, we’ve been through this. Mammoth Lakes isn’t exactly the epicenter of the music industry.”
She shrugs, turning back to her dough. “The world’s more connected than ever. You could work remotely.”
“Like from here, Mom?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, I’ll just set up shop in the living room and field calls between cookie breaks.”
She doesn’t answer; she hums softly as she presses cookie cutters into the dough. I follow her gaze out the window, where fat snowflakes drift lazily to the ground, blanketing the deck and the pine trees beyond. This peaceful place seems like an alien planet compared to the gridlocked streets of San Francisco. For a moment, I let myself imagine it—staying here, waking up to birds chirping in the trees instead of honking horns in the traffic. The idea tugs at a longing deep inside me that I can’t name.
But it’s just a fantasy. My life isn’t built for this town. And it’s not just San Francisco I’d have to leave behind. It’s also the independence I’ve clawed for after my world fell apart. Here, everything feels too close—memories, family, him. The thought of running into Ray Flanagan again makes my chest tighten, though I can’t tell if it’s from anticipation or dread. Probably both.
The doorbell rings, sharp and unexpected, jolting me from my thoughts. I glance at my mom, who’s already wiping her hands clean on a towel.
“Can you get that, Sophia? I’m covered in flour.”
I nod, rising from the table. As I walk through the dining room, my boots creak softly against the polished wood floors. The warmth of the kitchen fades behind me, replaced by the cooler air. I pass through the dining room, where the antler chandelier casts long shadows over the polished wooden floors. The light dims as I leave the kitchen behind, and the air feels cooler in the foyer, carrying a faint trace of pine from the garland Mom draped over the staircase railing. The house seems quieter now, the muffled sound of snowflakes hitting the windows amplifying the pounding of my heart. I don’t know why my pulse quickens as I reach the door, but something tells me this isn’t just another holiday visitor.
A rush of cold air hits me as I pull the door open, snowflakes swirling into the warmth of the house. My breath catches when I see him—a tall figure framed by the soft glow of the porch light, his broad shoulders dusted with snow. For a moment, I can’t make out his face, just the imposing outline of a man who seems too out of place on this quiet, snowy night. Then his eyes meet mine—piercing blue, sharp enough to cut through the chill—my stomach flips, and the world shifts.
There he is.
Ray Flanagan.
He’s different now, and yet, somehow, exactly the same. The boy I once knew has been chiseled by time and pain into this man, all hard angles and quiet intensity. His fiery red hair is slightly long, tousled by the wind. His jaw is sharp, shadowed with stubble that only emphasizes the cold perfection of his features. But it’s his eyes that hold me captive—icy blue and brimming with something dark I don’t recognize but feel all the same. My lungs stop functioning, so I grip the edge of the door as if it’s the only thing keeping me standing.
“Sophia,” he says, my name rough yet familiar on his thick lips, as if it’s something he’s been holding onto for years. The sound sends a shiver down my spine. But the rippling sensations ignite a low fire deep inside me.
It takes me a moment to find my own voice. “Ray?” The word comes out softer than I mean it to, like a question I didn’t know I had.
He watches me with those baby-blue eyes, his expression unreadable. It seems he’s seeing through me, into places I’ve tried to keep hidden—even from myself. He’s standing so close, the scent of him—woodsmoke and pine—wraps around me.
The silence between us stretches, heavy with all the things that remain between us. The years apart, the memories we can’t erase, the scars we both carry—they hang in the air like the snowflakes falling around him. I want to say something, but the words catch in my throat.
And for a moment, I wonder if he’s as haunted by me as I am by him.
6
RAY
The door swings open, and there she is. Sophia.
The first thing I notice is her eyes—those damn green eyes, sharp and luminous like emeralds catching the sunlight. She stares at me briefly, eyes wide with shock, like she wasn’t expecting to see me. Her lips part slightly, and I glimpse something raw beneath the surprise—maybe uncertainty or even fear. It’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by a mask of calm.
