There’s a beat of silence between us, the kind that comes with a thousand things unsaid and no space to unpack any of them.
Before there’s time to come up with something to break the tension, quick footsteps echo nearby.
“Look look! Uncle Reuben gave me pretzels!” Cohen barrels out of the back, holding a crinkly little bag in one hand and his water bottle in the other.
I feel Cole freeze beside me.
Cohen slows when he sees him. He looks up, eyes curious.
“Hi,” he says, cheerful as always. Unafraid. Friendly.
Cole’s eyes are still on him. I see his eyebrows twitch, just slightly. Recognition? Familiarity? Or maybe just surprise at how fast Cohen talks.
“Hey, kid,” Cole says, polite but distant. “Pretzels, huh?”
Cohen nods proudly. “Yeah. I helped Uncle Reuben count stuff in the office. He said I was better than a calculator.”
Cole chuckles softly, and I hate the way it warms something inside me. The way they’re both smiling now. The way I can already feel the pieces shifting in his head, even if he hasn’t connected them yet.
“This your little guy?” he asks, glancing at me, then back at Cohen.
I nod. “Yeah. This is Cohen.”
“Cool name,” Cole says.
“Thanks,” Cohen chimes in before I can respond. “It means brave. Mom said so.”
“Does it?” Cole asks, crouching just slightly to Cohen’s level. “That’s a strong name.”
“Yeah. I’m strong too. Wanna see my muscles?”
Before I can stop him, Cohen flexes both arms like a miniature bodybuilder. Cole laughs again. This time more freely, and I hate how easy it is between them.
“Okay, those are impressive,” he says.
“Also, I can run fast. Like really fast.”
“I believe you.”
I’m watching Cole’s face too closely now. Waiting. Dreading. Hoping he doesn’t look too hard at Cohen. Doesn’t notice the curve of his jaw or the shape of his eyes. The way he pushes his sleeves up with the same little flick Cole used to do.
But maybe he sees something. I don’t know. His smile falters for a split second. Not enough for Cohen to notice. But I do. I feel it.
“Well,” Cole says, standing up straighter, “I should get going.”
“Okay,” Cohen shrugs, turning toward me. “Can I have some lemonade?”
“In a minute,” I murmur, eyes still on Cole.
He meets my gaze again, and for a breath, we’re back in the middle of that old, aching gravity.
He opens his mouth as if he might say something else. But then he just gives a soft nod.
“Good seeing you, Kenna.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You too.”
And just like that, he turns and walks to the counter, keeping his back to us. Like maybe the distance will protect him from whatever just passed between us.
