The walls had filled in since Hunter bought the place. A year ago, the hallway was blank, but now it was lined with framed photos. Beach days, kids tangled together on the couch, Cami and Hunter caught mid-laugh, the kind of moments that felt real, not staged.
I set a bottle of wine and cookies for the kids I’d brought on the counter as I slipped off my shoes, letting the house settle around me.
I called toward the back of the house, “Cami, what’s the plan here? Reorganize? Or can we drink wine like responsible adults?”
She laughed, yelling back, “Wine first. Organization can wait.”
“Excellent. I accept your terms.”
I leaned against the counter, soaking in the serene hum of their home. A rare occurrence, as Hunter had taken the kids to the park while Cami attempted to catch up on chart notes.
She appeared a second later, hair up in a messy bun, carrying two wine glasses in her hands. “I hope you have that key chain I bought you for your birthday because you’re opening the wine. I have no idea where the corkscrew is, and I’m ninety percent sure I lost it.”
I laughed, setting my purse on a stack of kids’ drawings before opening the bottle. The cork opened with a pop, and Cami cheered.
We carried our glasses out to the deck, where the evening light had turned the wood gold. The yard felt like a half-finished dream. There were potted plants lined up in a row waiting to be planted, a covered pool still waiting to be opened, and the faint scent of cut grass drifting in.
“Okay,” I said, sinking into one of the chairs. “This place is beautiful.”
Cami smiled, looking around like she still couldn’t believe it. “Hunter’s been talking about hosting everyone for a barbecue once we recover from the wedding.”
“Everyone, meaning Logan and Harper?” I teased, swirling my wine.
Her smirk was immediate. “And maybe a certain overworked, emotionally unavailable lawyer I know?”
I groaned. “Oh, we’re startingthere.”
“Of course we are,” she said. “You think I missed the way you looked at him during brunch?”
“Cam.”
“What?” She raised her hands innocently. “He’s cute.”
I hesitated, a small, involuntary flinch betraying me before I could snap into nonchalance. “I barely know him.”
“Uh-huh. And yet you picked out earrings before brunch, didn’t you?”
I glared. “You have no proof.”
She grinned, smug and unrepentant. “Please, I know you. You only wear those little gold hoops when you want to ‘look casual but not too casual.’”
“Remind me to never invite you to cross-examine me,” I said, sipping my wine.
She sat back, eyes softening. “You like him.”
I hesitated. “I like Harper.”
“And?”
“And he’s…” Intriguing,” I admitted, my voice softening. “But in a moody ‘I put on a tough face, but my six-year-old turns me to mush’ kinda way.”
“Exactly,” she said. “You spend ninety percent of your life in courtrooms, case files, the pressure cooker that is your brain, just live a little.”
I made a face. “Thanks for that glowing character summary.”
She smiled. “You know what I mean.”
I didn’t answer right away. She was right, and we both knew it.
