“Oh. Right. Food. Yeah.”
He stepped back reluctantly, and I smiled as I pulled out one of the stools tucked under the island. I sat, propping my elbows on the counter like I’d done a hundred times before, and watched him move around the kitchen. There was something grounding about it—abouthim—shirtless and barefoot, making me food.
He opened a bottle of wine and poured me a glass without asking—myfavorite, the one he always kept stocked back then.
He slid it across the counter to me, then looked up, eyes serious. “Tell me,” he said quietly.
I nodded, and even though we’d texted and talked when I was in London, I told him everything. About Will. About the breakup. About why I pulled away—because I was trying to make sure this was right, because I was upending my entire life and needed to know I wasn’t making another mistake.
He nodded, quiet, listening the way he always did when it mattered.
I told him about coming here, about where I was staying in a guesthouse on the North Shore, though I didn’t say who lived in the main house. I couldn’t. That was Nova’s trust, and I wouldn’t break it.
I told him I wanted to surprise him. That I missed him.
By the time I was done, he’d set one of my favorite soba noodle salads in front of me, along with grilled miso salmon, without asking. I looked at him, and I knew.
This was exactly why I’d come back.
I took a bite and groaned, letting my head fall back dramatically.
“Okay. Rude.”
Dirks looked up, already smirking. “Rude?”
“That you remembered exactly how I like it. Like, disgusting levels of accuracy. Did you write it down in some secret ‘Luna Survival Manual’?”
“Page twelve, under‘Things she pretends she’s not picky about but is deeply offended by if wrong.’”
I narrowed my eyes, pointing my chopsticks at him. “Careful. I’m unpredictable when fed.”
He grinned, then nodded toward the salmon. “Try the fish. I marinated it in my emotional trauma.”
I snorted. “That explains the salt.”
He laughed, truly laughed, and it pulled something loose in me. This felt... light. Easier than it should’ve. Like we hadn’tlost almost five years, like I hadn’t shattered both of us the last time I stood in this kitchen.
“So,” I said, taking another bite. “What I’m hearing is, in my absence, you became a domestic god?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You think this is new? I’ve always been like this. You just had tunnel vision for my abs and bad decisions.”
“Istillhave tunnel vision for your abs and bad decisions,” I deadpanned, and he let out a low chuckle that made my chest tighten.
We kept eating, the silence between us now filled with the clinking of utensils and the kind of comfort you only get with someone who’s seen you cry and still texted the next morning. I watched the way he moved, how settled he looked in his own space, and I realized how much I didn’t know about his life anymore. How much time had passed.
As if reading my thoughts, he looked at me carefully. “You ever talk to Jeremy?”
The question landed like a dropped glass.
I blinked, my fork halfway to my mouth. The air in my lungs thinned a little.
My smile faltered, but I tried to keep it light. “That’s a hard pivot.”
He didn’t say anything, so I set my fork down gently. The back of my neck warmed. “Have you heard from him?”
“No. Not since I tried to reach out. I haven’t—nothing.”
I nodded, dropping my eyes to my plate, even though I wasn’t hungry anymore.
