Jabbing at the fire with the metal poker, I watch the embers scatter like tiny sparks of blazing stars.
“You came back to survive, not to reopen old wounds,” I remind myself.
And yet, here I am, analyzing the way Alex’s hazel eyesburned into mine, and the way his voice got all low and rough when he said he had to leave before he did something he’d regret.
I do not care what he meant by that.
I don’t.
I really,reallydon’t.
A sharp knock on the door interrupts my downward spiral. I frown, glancing at the time.
Is he back again?
Another knock, this time more insistent. I stalk to the door and pull it open. A gust of cold air rushes in, followed immediately by a blur of blonde hair and a very familiar presence.
“Oh my God, finally,” Liv huffs, stepping inside like she owns the place. “Do you know how long I’ve been knocking? I almost froze to death out there.”
I blink at her. “It’s been like ten seconds.”
“Exactly.”
Liv’s smile is wide—the kind that crinkles the corners of her ocean blue eyes and displays her perfect, blinding-white teeth like a trophy. Her blonde hair is twisted up into an effortlessly messy bun, unlike the mediocre one I’m rocking, that would take me two hours and a YouTube tutorial to replicate. She’s wrapped in a magenta-colored puffer jacket, a rainbow striped scarf draped around her neck, skinny jeans and the same worn leather boots she’s had since high school. In her hand is a white paper bag stamped with a logo for a bakery I don’t recognize. The rich, buttery smell curling from it nearly knocks me back.
“I brought you an offering,” Liv says proudly, lifting the bag like she’s a little kid showing off their latest drawing. “Only the best chocolate croissants on this side of the Atlantic. Fresh out the oven.”
Olivia “Liv” Gonzalez and I have known each other since we were toddlers. Our moms were best friends before we were born. When I moved to Manhattan, Liv stayed. Her dad hadrecently skipped town and her mom couldn’t hold it together by herself. Liv had no choice but to step up and help take care of her little brother, Noah. She was still a kid herself, but she knew that she would do whatever it took to keep Noah from being affected by her parents’ inability to provide. She gave up dreams of college and every ounce of spare time she had in order to pick up shifts at a diner in town, bringing home dinner for Noah every night so he would have something to eat.
We always planned to leave Windhaven together one day. I was going to paint and she was going to photograph all around the world. We were going to be the storm that broke out of this town. But even with her parents becoming unreliable, she didn’t flinch. She stayed rooted and steady in a way I didn’t know how to back then. I’d always admired her for it. She raised Noah like he was her own, while also taking care of her mom like no child should ever have to.
Liv somehow still managed to carve out a life here that mattered. She didn’t let her struggles and less-than-ideal circumstances dim her sunshine. She did it all with a smile on her face, whether or not it was genuine.
Even though we didn’t end up in the same city, she never left my side. Liv called every week, without fail. Even when I got busy, flaked, or just forgot to answer, she never stopped calling. She even mailed handwritten letters when I got too overwhelmed to text or call—real letters, with loops of her messy handwriting that always ended with “Love you more, pendeja”. She sent photos of Noah during his baseball season, her bakery runs, her small, but beautiful life in Windhaven. When my career took off and I felt like I was drifting out of reach, she yanked me back down to Earth with snarky voicemails and exactly zero patience for any of my excuses. She never scared easily and stayed when staying was the hardest thing to do.
She is my sister. Not by blood, but in all the ways that are significant.
“You know showing up with pastries is emotional blackmail, right?”
She breezes past me into the house. “Call it whatever you want.”
I grab the bag out of her hand. “But I know what these are without even looking at them and I love you.”
“I know.” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Wow. This place is…haunted.”
“It’snothaunted,” I say, even though I kind of agree. “It just needs some… work.”
“Yeah, like an exorcism,” she adds, glancing around, slack-jawed in disbelief at the current state of things.
I roll my eyes and take a chocolate croissant out of the bag. Biting into it, I let out a dramatic moan. “Oh my God. This is actually life-changing. So much better than the ones in the city.”
Liv smirks. “Told you. The new bakery is phenomenal. I already made besties with the owner so she always hooks me up. You have to come with me tomorrow.”
I nod through another bite, eyes closing in pure bliss. “Done. I’ll marry her if she keeps making these.”
Liv flops onto the couch, stretching her legs out as dust flies all around her. The sight reminds me to vacuum and wipe down every surface of this place as soon as possible.
“So, what’s the deal with Alex?” she asks nonchalantly.
