“You ready?” she asks, glancing back at me. There’s a spark in her eyes, playful but soft.
I nod, smiling. “More than ready. Let’s see if I still remember how to show you a good time.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “You always did set the bar too high.”
I grab my keys. “Thought we’d take a drive. Something familiar.”
She raises an eyebrow. “A drive?”
“Yeah,” I say as I hold the door open for her. “Little nostalgia never hurt anyone.”
She smiles and steps outside. The sunlight catching her hair just right.
And just like that, we’re off—no pressure, no bigpromises. Just two people trying to find their way back to something that once felt like home.
Chapter Thirteen
BRUSHSTROKES AND HEARTBEATS
KENNA-PRESENT
I still don’t knowwhat I’m doing.
There’s this weird pull in my chest, this back-and-forth between wanting to keep things simple and not fall into old habits, and this other part of me that just wants to give in. To let Cole back in, even after all this time. These past nine years have been a blur of numbness and aching, like there’s been this hollow spot inside me that nothing could fill. Not time, not other relationships, not even pretending to move on.
Yet every time I look at him, each time our eyes meet, that spot in my chest starts to open. Opening to his love and attention like it did years ago. It’s scary, honestly. Because if he’s what I’ve been missing, what does that say about the last nine years? About everything I’ve tried to build without him?
What does it mean for all those nights I told myself I didn’t need him?
I don’t know how to hold both my pride and my love for him in the same breath.
When I walk into the living room, Cole’s standing near the door with a picnic basket in his hands. There’s a cloth covering the top, and I can’t see what’s inside, but it looks like he packed a lot. The whole thing is kind of domestic, in a way that almostmakes me laugh. Us doing something as simple as a picnic? It feels strange, but not in a bad way.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice still a little rough from sleep. Even after breakfast and coffee, I’m not fully awake. Part of me wonders if this is just a walk or a drive, but something about his expression tells me it’s more than that. “What’s the nostalgia about?”
He grins at me, and it’s that smile that always does something to my heart. “It’s a surprise. You’ll love it.”
I squint at the basket. “What’s in there?”
Before I can try to peek, he walks over and lifts me up by the waist like it’s nothing. I let out a surprised gasp, more from how fast it happens than anything else, and then it hits me—this feeling. That warmth blooming in my chest, spreading through me like a memory I didn’t know I was still holding onto.
His arms around me feel solid. Familiar. Like coming home.
“Cole! Put me down!” I protest, but I’m already laughing.
He does after a second, but his hands don’t fully leave my waist. That warmth lingers, like it’s waiting for me to acknowledge it. And I hate that my body remembers him so easily. I hate that part of me still fits him, even after everything.
But I don’t pull away.
“Come on,” he says with a half-smile as he picks the basket back up. “We’ve got a day ahead of us.”
And for some reason, I follow without asking anything else.
The drive is quiet in a comfortable way. We don’t talk much, just let the scenery roll past us—soft greens and blues, the morning light warming everything it touches. When we pull up to the shore, my breath catches in my throat.
It’s the beach. The same beach we talked at for hours. The one where we became more than just a friendly face in the hallways at school.
I wasn’t expecting this. But part of me is glad he brought me here. The memories come back in pieces. The sun on our faces,the way he looked at me that day, like I was something special. It’s a strange full-circle moment. A reminder, maybe. Or a test.
