“Hey,” I breathed back, the words shaky and soft.
Inside the house, everything smelled faintly of new paint and salt air. Boxes were stacked everywhere, furniture waiting like silent sentinels. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, lighting the dust motes in the air, golden and lazy. I ran a hand along the edge of the couch Thomas had prepped for us and felt its smoothness under my fingertips, proof that this was real, ours.
The bedroom was still half a mess, but I couldn’t resist. I pulled Anthony down with me onto the bed, letting the soft duvet wrap around us. He kissed the side of my head, tugging my hair gently, his hand brushing my arm with a feather-light touch that sent a shiver through me.
“You’re okay?” he asked softly.
I nodded against his chest. “I really am.”
He smiled, a little crooked, the kind that made my heart lift. He brushed his thumb over the back of my hand. “Good,” he said. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
We moved slowly through the house together, opening boxes, placing dishes, rearranging throw pillows, teasing each other over small choices. Mia and Dix carried in the firepit, Jet brought in a bag of charcoal, and Drax stacked wood neatly at the ready. Each movement was full of laughter, chatter, and the kind of easy affection that only comes from years of knowing someone is your chosen family.
Anthony hovered near the grill outside with Thomas, tossing burgers and sausages, calling out occasional instructions. Every so often, I caught his eye, and we shared a quiet smile—a reminder that through all the chaos, we were still ours.
By the time the fire was crackling and the plates were steaming, Mia clinked her beer bottle against Dix’s. “Okay,everyone. Beach boy and hot daddy deserve a proper toast,” she declared, grinning wide.
I blinked at her, and Anthony’s lips twitched.
“To Elliot,” Mia began, raising her bottle. “Who survived everything life threw at him and still shows up, full of sarcasm and kindness.”
“To Elliot!” the others echoed, lifting their bottles.
“To Anthony,” Dix added, smirking at him over the firelight. “Who’s grumpy, gorgeous, and never let this guy sink—literally.”
“To Anthony!” everyone called out, and he finally let a small laugh slip through.
I watched them all, the way they leaned into each other, shared teasing looks, whispered side comments, and laughed too loudly. And Anthony—my anchor, my safe place—grinned like a kid, his chest warm, his hand finding mine across the plates.
Mia nudged me. “Hey, beach boy, what do you have to say for yourself?”
I cleared my throat, mock-official, smiling at Anthony. “I… I’m lucky. Beyond lucky. And I’m not giving up this family or this man. Ever.”
Anthony laughed, low and throaty, tugging me closer as if the world outside the circle of fire didn’t exist. “Good answer,” he said, resting his forehead against mine again.
The sky deepened, stars winking into existence above. My fingers tangled in his, our thumbs brushing over each other. The fire crackled, the waves whispered behind us, and for the first time in a long time, I felt entirely at home in my own skin. And not just because Anthony was here—but because the people who loved us both were here too, raising glasses and hearts in the only way that mattered: together.
ANTHONY
The firepit had burneddown to glowing embers, the kind that breathed softly instead of crackled. Someone laughed inside—too loud, half-drunk, full-hearted—and glass clinked against glass in the partially unpacked kitchen.
“Alright,” Mia announced from somewhere behind me, clapping her hands together. “Before anyone wanders off or sets something else on fire—toast time.”
A chorus of groans followed.
“I swear to God,” Drax muttered. “If this is another speech?—”
“It isabsolutelyanother speech,” Dix cut in, already raising her drink. “And you’re going to listen because it’s important.”
Elliot shot me a look from where he was crouched near the garden table, wildflowers scattered around him like he’d spilled a piece of the field onto the wood. His mouth twitched, half-embarrassed, half-soft. The light caught in his hair, turned it molten gold, and my chest tightened in that familiar, terrifying way—like loving him was still the bravest thing I’d ever done.
Mia lifted her bottle. “To beach boy.”
Elliot groaned. “Please don’t?—”
“Toourbeach boy,” Jet corrected, grinning. “Who scared the absolute shit out of us, then decided to stick around anyway.”
Glasses lifted. Someone whooped.
