I’m laughing into his shoulder as his arms wrap around me.Familiar warmth seeps into the edges of my chest.Before he scruffles my hair the way he used to.
“Missed you too, Buck,” I whisper, and pull back to look at him.
He looks good.Settled.
The laugh lines around his eyes are new, his glance at Mia softened by contentment.Something in that quiet happiness settles the restless part of me that’s been traveling cities and months to outrun itself.
I turn to Mia, who watches with that soft, attentive smile that always catches me off guard.
“So why is my brother stealing your skincare?”I ask, hugging her lightly.
“Why does your brother do half the things he does?”she teases.
Ollie throws his arms up in mock protest.
“I didn’t steal!Borrowed.With intent to replace.Someday.Maybe.”
“God, I missed you both,” I admit, letting the words fall softly, without grand gestures.
“We missed you too,” Mia says, squeezing my hand.“Your brother has been impossible without his favorite audience for his dramatic monologues about everything random.”
“Hey,” Ollie protests, but his laugh is warm.“My coffee-brewing knowledge is a gift to humanity.”
“Which is why I invested in noise-canceling headphones,” Mia says, settling back on her stool.“Anyway, Nora, tell us everything—Spain, London… You look…” She studies me like she always does.“Different.Good different though.”
I perch on the counter, legs swinging, thinking of how much the last eight months have stretched and reshaped me.
“It was incredible.Exactly what I needed.London’s amazing.The internship's been incredible.Honestly, it’s been a dream.”
“And Spain?”Ollie leans on the opposite counter, serious in a way that reminds me he’s not just my brother, but the guy who’s protected me my whole life.
“It was… magic.”
Mia beams, squeezing my hand.
“Sounds like the most incredible time.I’m so glad you made it happen.”
Ollie stands.“Okay, enough about you—ask me about?—”
“Oh my God,” Mia and I say in unison, dissolving into laughter that feels like medicine.
Footsteps on the stairs pull me back.I know without looking—it’s Jake.Shirtless, shorts, broad shoulders that weren’t as broad as I remember.
“Well, would you look at that,” Ollie drawls, familiar ease in his voice.“Some things never change.Still can’t wake up before dawn, huh?”
Jake rakes a hand through his hair, eyes flicking briefly to mine, careful, almost furtive, then away.
“Some of us don’t survive on three hours of sleep and pure stubbornness like you do, Buck.”
“It’s called discipline, asshole.You should try it sometime.”
“It’s called being a masochist, but sure—we’ll call it discipline.”
Watching them, I feel that strange weight of nostalgia—the kitchen, the banter, the years layered into an easy rhythm.And then Jake’s eyes meet mine and I suddenly remember that things are not like they were before.A distance has crept in that wasn’t there before and become some kind of foreign language between us.
The front door opens then slams shut and all I hear are voices and rustling bags.
“—told you we should have brought the cooler?—”
