“Oh my god,” Kristy groans. “The kid grapevine strikes again.”
I can’t help a small laugh. “Yeah.”
“Alright,” she says, voice gentler now. “So tomorrow’s clearing the air, not the end of the world. Just go, eat, breathe, and let him process. Text me after so I know if I should chill the wine or the tequila.”
“Deal.”
The next evening comes faster than I expect.
By the time I park out front, my stomach’s already tight enough to make me wish I’d skipped lunch—and it knots tighter with every step up the walkway.
The porch light’s on, the sound of laughter drifting faintly from inside. I pause at the door, square my shoulders, and remind myself this is just dinner with family.
Erin opens the door before I can knock.
“You made it,” she says, smiling like nothing’s strained.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I manage, hoping it sounds lighter than it feels.
Dinner’s on the table: pasta, salad, a bottle of wine breathing in the middle like a peace offering. David’s there too, sleeves rolledup, still in work clothes. He gives a quiet nod that I return with one of my own.
The first few minutes are easy enough. Erin keeps the conversation moving with playoff talk, and Maya and Sophie’s musical coming up.
I add what I can between bites, pretending the tension at the far end of the table isn’t there.
Erin turns to me, smiling. “Sophie was telling me there’s some kind of sponsor skate this weekend. She said her dad might even be on the ice—she’s so excited.”
“Yeah,” I say carefully. “He’s cleared for controlled ice work, so it’s safe. I’ll be there to supervise. It’s just a short standing appearance.”
David’s fork stills midair. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him watching.
And then Maya tilts her head, expression open and curious. “Is Sophie’s dad your boyfriend?”
The room goes quiet. Erin freezes, wineglass halfway up. David looks down.
I take a slow breath, set my napkin on the table.
“We’ve been spending some time together,” I say gently. “We’re getting to know each other for now.”
Maya grins like she’s solved a puzzle. “That’s what Sophie said. She thinks it’s romantic.”
Heat creeps up my neck, but I manage a small smile.
Erin recovers first. “Who wants dessert?” she says, standing before anyone can answer.
David clears his throat. “I’ll help you,” he mutters, pushing back his chair.
As they disappear into the kitchen, Maya leans toward me, whispering conspiratorially, “I think it’s cute.”
I manage a small smile. “Thanks, kiddo.”
When Erin and David return with plates of brownies, the conversation shifts to Maya’s school concert and family stuff. It’s lighter, easier. But the quiet looks between me and my brother stay.
Not angry—just not settled.
When Erin and Maya head to the kitchen to pack up leftovers, David lingers by the table.
“Walk with me?” he asks quietly.
