“Miles?” His mom’s voice is warm with surprise.
I turn just in time to see her near the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. Her gaze flicks from him to me, and her smile widens.
“Nora.” She steps closer. “It’s so good to see you again.” She pulls me into a gentle hug—the kind that screams “we approve of our son’s dating choices” without needing to say it out loud.
I want to say, “and this time with more clothes,” but I refrain. No need to make it any more awkward.
The next thirty minutes blur by in conversation and laughter before we all settle into the living room for games. I end up on the floor with a Scattergories timer buzzing angrily beside my elbow while his family passionately debates whether feral goat counts as a legitimate answer for things found on a farm.
“Plus,” Mallory adds, “it’s two words. And you cannot just slap a hyphen in there and call it one.”
“A hyphen absolutely makes it legitimate,” Greg argues. “Group vote.”
Mallory sighs. “Okay, hands up if feral-goat counts.”
Only Miles’s dad raises his hand.
“Vetoed,” she declares instantly.
Greg grumbles but crosses the word off his list.
Jackie pats my arm with a gentle smile, like I’ve just been initiated into a very loud, very opinionated secret society. “You see what I deal with?”
I smile back, but something inside me twists. I’m lying to this woman. To all of them. And the longer I sit here, the heavier it feels.
“Your turn, Nora.” Miles nudges my knee gently with his.
I flinch before I can stop myself. “Yeah—okay.” I grab the die, even though my brain has split into two competing channels—one having far too much fun, the other screaming that this is a terrible idea. I toss it onto the table, and it lands on C. I set the timer, and we scribble until the buzzer shrieks.
“Things you don’t want to find in your bed,” Melanie announces.
“Chipmunk,” I say when it’s my turn.
Miles tips his head back and knocks his glasses slightly crooked. “You can’t just name any animal that starts with a C.”
“It’s a true story,” I insist. “I woke up to a chipmunk in my bed in college. It was deeply traumatic.”
Melanie shrugs. “I’ll allow it.”
His mom’s eyebrows lift, delighted. “You’ll have to tell us the story! At the cabin!”
My throat tightens. “The cabin?” I echo.
“Oh yeah.” Mallory flips to a fresh Scattergories sheet. “The family weekend. Every summer before the kids go back to school we spend a weekend together with bonfires, yard games, and zero cell service.” She beams at me. “You’re invited, obviously.”
My pencil snaps clean in half. “I—um,” I say, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to intrude.”
Jackie waves her hand, brushing it away. “Nonsense. You’re practically family already. You bring out the best in Miles.”
His dad chuckles. “And besides, we could use more people on our side during charades. My wife cheats.”
“I do not cheat, Gregory.” She scoffs.
He glances at me and mouths, “She cheats.”
I laugh—because this is how they are. They tease and bicker, but it’s affectionate and chaotic. It’s the kind of family I used to picture for myself before life taught me to keep my expectations small. And that’s exactly why panic starts tightening around my ribs. Because none of this is real. I’m not Miles’s girlfriend. They’re making plans around a future that doesn’t actually include me—and I’m letting them.
Miles shifts closer, lowering his voice. “You okay?”
