Before he can answer, Kai calls out from the other side of the room, “He sent it to me too. Group chat’s blowing up, FYI.”
The others all nod, not even pretending to be subtle about it, and when I glance back at Holden, he just shrugs, hands tucked into his pockets.
“What?” he says, completely unbothered. “I’m proud of you.”
My heart stutters—one of those offbeat, too-full moments—but Maya doesn’t let me sit in it for long. She appears at my side, one arm slung around my shoulders, her other hand jabbing at her phone like she’s on a mission.
“I made a playlist for this moment,” she says, eyes gleaming.
She holds up the screen:Coralie is a genius—a playlist stacked with songs I already love and others I know I’m about to. AsJust What I Neededby The Cars starts to play through the speakers, she presses a kiss to my temple.
Laughter bubbles up in my chest as the kitchen comes back to life around me—music, voices, crumbs on counters, mismatched conversations all blending into one messy, perfect rhythm.
We eat and laugh and talk for the next little while, the sort of easy joy that only happens when the air is warm and no one’s pretending to be anything but full and happy.
Theo, always on some kind of mission, tries to prove he can eat an entire triple cheeseburger without breathing. He does it. Barely. Soren times him with her phone and declares him both disgusting and impressive in equal measure.
Kai, perched on the arm of the couch with a soda in hand, casually mentions a new student from Italy who’s been coming into his coffee shop almost daily.
“He’s doing a semester abroad or something,” he says, trying—and failing—to sound chill. “He ordered in Italian and I literallystuttered.”
The group goes quiet for a beat, then collectively gasps.
Maya clutches her heart. “You? Stuttered? That’s serious.”
Alana leans forward, eyes wide and wicked. “That’s love at first sight.”
Theo, ever the opportunist, pouts dramatically. “You never stutteredaround me.”
Alana doesn’t miss a beat. She tilts her head, blinks slowly, and says, “You-you-you’re not that-that cute.”
The room erupts. Maya’s laughing so hard she has to wipe tears from her eyes. Soren nearly chokes on a chip, and Holden’s shoulders shake beside me, a soft, low laugh escaping him. The sound of it, paired with the ocean breeze drifting in from the back doors, feels like something I’ll want to remember forever.
When everyone’s full and sleepy and starting to sprawl out like sea lions on the deck, Theo and Alana turn to me with matching grins—concerningly so. It’s the look of co-conspirators who are either about to announce a surprise party or a group hike at dawn.
“Girl,” Alana starts, her voice softening, “we know it wasn’t easy for you to… you know, leave your family and your… snow, to come here.”
Maya snorts. “And wemighthave made your transition a little more chaotic than necessary.”
I laugh. “You think?”
“Shut up.” She grins, flicking a paper napkin at me.
“What the lovely ladies are trying to say,” Theo says, stepping in smoothly, “is that we’re really damn glad you ended up on our little island.”
Soren and Kai nod, Maya throws an arm around me, and then Theo bends to pull a small, wrapped package from under the couch.
“You’re my girl now, Freckles,” he says. “I mean—” he glances at Holden, who raises a brow, “—you’rehisgirl, but you’re ours too. And we’re lucky to have you.”
Alana takes the package and passes it to me, eyes bright. “So… we got you a little something.”
Suspicious, I eye them all as I peel back the Manoa green wrapping. It takes less than two seconds for the tears to blur my vision.
Under the paper is a painted rendering of a Day octopus—mid-transformation, arms unfurling in motion, shades of electric blue bleeding into burnt orange and vivid purple. Its eye is caught in a sidelong glance, sharp and skeptical, exactly like Damon’s always was when I got too close to his tank with the wrong kind of snack or too many questions.
I blink, trying to focus, but it’s impossible. My chest tightens, my throat thickens. I recognize the artwork immediately.
Theo took Alana and I to that tiny coffee shop months ago, the one near Waikiki with mismatched chairs and the sunset painted on the outdoor brick. This octopus had hung on the far wall inside, half-obscured by a stack of prints and framed photos. I stood there too long, staring at it, completely frozen by how much it looked like Damon—same poise, same cocky tilt of the head, like he knew something you didn’t.
