Kyron’s grinning from the couch. Locke’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, but I can see the smirk he’s trying to hide. Even Beckett looks amused, which is annoying because this was partially his idea.
Footsteps on the stairs.
I turn.
Holy fuck.
I’m the luckiest man alive.
She’s wearing white. All white—leather pants that fit like they were made for her, a top that’s half lace and half something that makes mybrain short-circuit, a silver chain at her throat. Her hair is down, soft waves catching the light. And her face—
She did something. Makeup, that’s it. Her eyes look bigger, her lips shiny and soft, and I can’t stop staring. Her heels hit the last step and I forget how to breathe.
My heart does something I’m not prepared for. Not just want. Something deeper. Like recognition.
“Rane?”
I blink. My mouth is open. I should probably close it.
“Oh my god, Nova.” My voice comes out rough. “You’re stunning.”
Her cheeks go pink. She doesn’t believe me—I can see it in the way she ducks her head, the way her shoulders curve in slightly.
“You lucky son of a bitch.” Kyron shakes his head. “Seriously.”
“Hey—you got to make out with her.” I shoot back. “Had her legs wrapped around you and everything.”
Nova’s turning redder by the second.
Locke pushes off the wall and crosses to her. He doesn’t say anything at first—just looks at her, something soft and serious in his expression. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek.
“We’re lucky men,” he says quietly. Gives her a small smile.
Then he turns, grabs something off the table, and throws it at Kyron’s head.
“Knock it off. Fucking neanderthals.”
Vaelor catches the projectile before it hits anyone. “He’s not wrong.”
I step forward. Hold out my hand.
“Ready?”
She looks at myhand. Then at me. Then she smiles—small and uncertain and absolutely devastating.
She takes my hand.
We walk.
The restaurant is exactly how I remember it.
Tiny. Six tables crammed into what used to be someone’s living room, mismatched chairs, candles stuck in old wine bottles. The kind of place you’d walk right past if you didn’t know it was there.
My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid. Every birthday. Every time something good happened—or something bad, and she wanted to remind me that good things still existed.
Maria sees me the second we walk in.
“Rane!” She comes out from behind the counter, arms already open. “It’s been too long. Too long!”
