We order our food, falling into an easy rhythm—teasing, reminiscing, carefully skirting the bigger things hovering between us. He tells me about his time being back in town. I tell him about all the changes at work and the latest Feely sibling shenanigans.
“You always hated change,” he says, playing at the corner of his napkin.
“I didn’t hate change,” I correct. “I hated not knowing where I’d land.”
His eyes lift to mine. “And now?”
I hesitate. “Now I’m…in charge and figuring it out.”
He nods like that’s enough. Like he understands what I’m not saying.
The drinks arrive, and he slides my glass toward me before the waiter even sets it down. Raspberry iced tea. No lemon. Extra ice.
I take a sip and groan softly.
Cole arches his eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“You still know me.”
He shrugs. “I could never forget the important stuff.”
I tilt my head. “Am I the important stuff?”
His voice drops. “You have been the only important ‘stuff’ in my life.”
The words settle between us, heavy and tender. I break eye contact first, suddenly fascinated by the condensation on my glass.
“Do you remember prom night?” I ask, softer this time like I’m unwrapping something fragile.
His smile turns easy, nostalgic. “Yeah, I remember.”
“The steps,” I say. “You tried to bow like you were in some old movie.”
He chuckles. “I was trying to impress you.”
“You tripped,” I remind him gently.
“I recovered,” he says. “Mostly.”
“I laughed,” I admit. “But only because you stood back up, offered your arm, and acted like it was all part of the plan.”
He nods. “Because I still got the dance.”
“And you didn’t let go of my hand the whole night,” I add. “Even when my feet hurt.”
His eyes soften. “I didn’t want to miss one second of your company.”
“And the picture,” I say. “The one by the bleachers.”
“My mom framed it,” he says quietly.
“So did mine.”
He smiles, slow and fond. “I put it in a box. It’s in my closet.”
I meet his gaze, and something warm settles in my stomach.
Today flashes through my mind all at once. The surprise painting session on the beach, his laughter carried by the wind, the way dinner feels less like a date and more like coming home. It’s the best day I’ve had in a long time. Maybe the best in years. I’m not measuring my words or guarding my smiles. I’m not hiding. At least not in the way that feels heavy.
