By the timewe get back, the afternoon's gone all golden and the house feels different.I can hear Lydia and mom in the kitchen, probably going over the seating chart for the millionth time, and Nick's voice from somewhere in the living room.
I should probably go help with whatever wedding crisis has definitely happened while we were gone.But instead, I find myself walking toward the lake as the sun starts setting.The wedding's in five days and Nate and I still haven't properly talked about anything.
About what we're doing.
About what happens after summer.
About whether this is real or just nostalgia and good timing.
There's something awful about knowing something has an expiration date.Every kiss feels borrowed, every moment weighted with the knowledge that it might end.
I find Nate at the end of the dock, legs dangling in the water, looking like he's thinking about something heavy.He's different since Spain—calmer, maybe.Like someone's sanded down his edges.But he's still got that intensity that makes my stomach flip.
"Mind if I sit?"I ask, already settling next to him.
He looks at me and his whole face changes—softer, like he's just remembered something good.
"Always room for you."
We sit there quietly, watching the water move against the dock.It's peaceful in that way that makes you want to hold your breath so you don't break it.
"Weird," I say eventually, "how everything feels completely different but also exactly the same."
"Yeah," he says quietly."I keep expecting everything to be unrecognizable.But it's all still here."
"We're different though," I say, studying his profile.
He turns to look at me properly, and there's something in his eyes that wasn't there before.Like he's made peace with whatever was eating at him.
"You seem steadier," he says."More...I don't know, sure of yourself."
I think about the girl who left Eden almost a year ago—scared, traumatized, running from everything that hurt.
"Being away taught me stuff about myself I didn't know I needed to learn.Like the difference between being alone and being lonely.Between healing and just not dying."
He laughs, but it's not really funny.
"Spain taught me that running away doesn't fix anything.It just puts off the hard conversations."
The water keeps moving against the dock.I should tell him about that night, about what I saw, about how being back here has cracked open things I thought were healed.But every time I try, my throat closes up.
There's this part of you that'll do anything to protect the bit that's been hurt, even if it means lying to the people you love.
His hand finds mine and squeezes, and it's like an anchor.
"Hey," he says carefully."You alright?"
Simple question, but suddenly my heart's going mental, that familiar panic when someone gets too close to stuff you're not ready to share.I know it's Nate, I know he's safe, but there's this other part of my brain that remembers when honesty was dangerous.
Especially when this particular truth would destroy him.
It's mad how the simple moments are always the ones that trigger everything else.
Basic question, catastrophic answer.
"I'm good," I say, but my smile's all wrong.
He studies my face for ages, and I can see him weighing what to say.Old Nate would've pushed, demanded answers.This Nate just nods.
