One morning she woke before him—sunlight slanting through the half-open blinds, painting stripes across his bare back. He was sprawled on his stomach, one arm flung across her waist even in sleep, face half-buried in the pillow. She watched the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the faint freckles scattered across his skin from too many hours in the sun, the way his hair curled messily at the nape of his neck.
Her chest did that strange tightening thing again—half ache, half warmth.
She slipped out of bed quietly, pulled on one of his T-shirts (it smelled like salt and cedar and him), and padded to the kitchen. Evelyn was already up, humming as she sliced mangoes at the counter, the knife moving with slow, practiced ease.
“Morning, love,” Evelyn said without turning. “Sleep well?”
Aria smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Really well.”
Evelyn glanced over her shoulder, eyes twinkling as she set the knife down. “Good. That boy’s snoring could wake the dead, but you seem to manage just fine.”
Aria laughed softly and poured herself coffee. She stood at the window watching the courtyard pool shimmer, steam rising from her mug in lazy curls.
Evelyn wiped her hands on a tea towel and came over, leaning against the counter beside her. For a moment they just stood there, the house quiet except for the distant hum of a neighbour’s lawnmower.
“You know,” Evelyn said quietly, “I’ve been watching you two. And I like what I see.”
Aria’s fingers tightened around the mug. “We’re… It’s not—”
Evelyn gave a small, knowing smile. “I see the way Jax looks at you. He’s always been the one making everyone else smile—me, his mates, sponsors, fans. Always charming, always putting on the grin so no one worries. But you? You makehimsmile. Real ones. The kind that reach his eyes without him trying. That’s rare.”
Aria felt her cheeks warm. She looked down at her coffee.
“I just want someone to look after him properly,” Evelyn continued, voice softer now. “Not the racer, not the sponsor darling—the boy who still calls me every week to check if I’ve eaten, who bought this place so I wouldn’t have to worry about stairs or bills. He looks after everyone. It’s about time someone looked after him.”
Aria swallowed. “I’m not sure I’m that person.”
Evelyn reached over and patted her arm—gentle, steady. “You might be. Or you might not. But you’re here now, and that counts for something.”
They stood in comfortable silence for a minute. Then Evelyn tilted her head. “Tell me about your family, love. You don’t talk about them much.”
Aria hesitated, then let out a small breath. “My parents are Korean immigrants in LA. Dad’s a symphony conductor now—he started as a session musician, worked his way up. He wanted me to be a classical pianist. Lessons from five, recitals, competitions. He saw pop as… frivolous. Not serious. Not respectable. When I got scouted for the group at fourteen, singing in a bar, he was furious. Said I was throwing away everything he’d sacrificed for.”
She paused, staring into her mug. “Mom saw how I lit up when I sang. She’d sneak me to open mics when Dad was working late. She never pushed, just wanted me to be happy. But the fights got worse after I moved to Seoul at sixteen for my training. They divorced a couple years later—right around when my solo career took off. I still think… it was over me. Dad could never accept my decisions. Mom tried to mediate, but she couldn’t keep holding it together. They split, and the guilt’s been sitting in my chest ever since. Like if I’d just played the piano like he wanted, maybe they’d still be together.”
Evelyn’s expression softened. “Oh, love. Parents make their own choices too. You didn’t force anyone’s hand.”
Aria gave a small, sad shrug. “I know. But it still feels like my fault sometimes. I talk to Mom once a month or so. She’s proud of me, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. Dad… we don’t talk. He’s not proud of the path I took. Never has been.”
Evelyn nodded slowly. “You can’t carry their choices forever. You’re allowed to be happy your way.”
Before Aria could respond, there was a muffled groan from the bedroom—Jax stirring. Evelyn winked and turned back to the mangoes. “Better get that coffee to him before he comes looking like a bear.”
Aria laughed quietly, grateful for the shift.
Later that afternoon, they were back by the pool—Evelyn napping inside, the sun hot on their skin. Aria floated on her back, eyes closed against the glare, while Jax sat on the edge beside her, legs in the water, scrolling idly on his phone.
She spoke without opening her eyes. “Why is this so easy?”
He looked up. “What?”
“This.” She gestured vaguely between them, water rippling around her arms. “Being… like this. There’s no one watching. No photos. No reason to pretend. But it still feels…” She trailed off. “Natural.”
Jax set his phone down on the tile. He was quiet for a moment, then gave a small, thoughtful shrug.
“Are things supposed to be hard?” he asked simply.
The question caught her off guard. She opened her eyes, rolled onto her stomach so she could look at him properly, arms folded on the floatie’s edge.
