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Christmas.

The word feels both too soon and too far away.

I was asleep when autumn faded and winter came. I missed the crunch of leaves, the first frost, the music that creeps into stores too early.

And now here I am—sitting at my own table, surrounded by mismatched mugs and empty plates and the people I love most in the world—and I feel like a stranger in my own skin.

But a happy one. A grateful one. A version of me that’s just starting to thaw.

The guys are arguing about who had the worst take in the studio today—Benji swears it was Carson, Carson blames Thorin, and Thorin just shovels pasta into his mouth like an exhausted dad who’s been through it all and lived to stir another pot. Eli’s in his high chair gumming a chunk of bread with the focus of a monk and the appetite of a linebacker.

And I… I just sit.

Soak.

Breathe.

Because this? This messy, loud, late-night dinner full of carbs and chaos and love so palpable it hums beneath my skin?

This is what I came back for.

I stretch my legs under the table, ankle bumping into Fletch’s, and I smile when he instinctively hooks his foot around mine like he’s anchoring me in place. Like if he doesn’t hold on, I might drift off again.

I won’t.

I’m not going anywhere.

Even as the warmth and weight of the evening start to settle heavy behind my eyes, I fight to stay present. I want to memorize the way Reese’s ponytail bounces when she talks with her hands. The way Carson’s laugh cracks halfway through like he’s running out of air. The way Benji wipes his mouth with the back of his hand even though there’s a napkin literally in his lap.

And the way Fletch watches me when he thinks I’m not looking—like he’s scared I’ll vanish all over again.

Eventually, the yawns sneak up on me like little traitors—slow and stealthy, curling around my ribs until I can’t stifle them anymore.

Fletch notices, of course. He always does.

He nudges me gently with his elbow. “You should go to bed, baby.”

“I don’t want to,” I whisper, slurring a little on the tail end of the sentence. “Feels like I just woke up. I want to behere.”

“You are,” he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “And you will be again tomorrow. But you need rest.”

I nod. My body agrees even if my heart isn’t quite ready to let go of the night.

“I need a shower first,” I mumble, rolling my neck, my muscles stiff and unused. “I still feel like a hospital.”

Reese stands abruptly like someone hit her eject button. “And that is our cue.” She claps her hands once and waves a dish towel like a white flag. “Come on, boys. Out.”

Carson groans. “We didn’t even get dessert.”

“You had garlic bread,” she shoots back. “That’s dessert in this house. Let’s go.”

Thorin lifts Eli out of his high chair with practiced ease. The little guy rubs his eyes and rests his head on his dad’s shoulder like the toddler version of a mic drop. Benji pretends to steal a breadstick from the table, gets swatted by Reese, and retreats with a dramatic sigh.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” she promises, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “We’ll catch up properly.”

“You already told me everything,” I whisper.

She smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not even close.”