Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

In the weeks since their engagement, Lacie, Taylor, and I had been consumed with wedding planning. Lacie couldn’t choose between Taylor and me, so we decided to share the title — co–maids of honor. Two months to plan a wedding, no matter how small, was nowhere near enough time. To make things even more complicated, most of Lacie’s family lived out in California. Once the date was officially set, our first priority became coordinating the guest list and getting the invitations sent out on time.

We made a list of everything that needed to be done before the wedding. The venue was the first task in order. Even though the summer house was regularly maintained by a housekeeper and a gardener, it had still fallen into a bit of neglect.  According to Jere, it was clear it hadn’t been lived in for years.

Lace and Jere wanted everything to feel “fresh” again — which basically meant minor renovations on a two-month deadline. The porch needed repainting, a few roof tiles had to be replaced after the last storm, and the guest rooms needed to be prepped for incoming guests. The kitchen required a deep scrub since Jere planned to handle the catering himself to save money, and the pantry had to be fully restocked. Outside, Susannah’s hydrangeas needed pruning, the deck needed sanding, and someone had to check whether the outdoor lights still worked. 

In addition to the house repairs, we needed to find a local bakery for the cake, a florist for the bouquets, and a rental company for tables, chairs, and linens. We also planned a trip to Michaels to pick up supplies for DIY table decorations, because apparently, we were now the event design committee too. We still had to find an officiant, finalize the playlist, and book someone—anyone—to handle photos. And of course, there were dresses and tuxes to find, fittings to schedule, hair and makeup to plan, and a rehearsal dinner that needed organizing. By the time we finished the list, we were half laughing, half crying — it was ambitious, to say the least.

Looking at our packed calendar for the next two months, I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like when I got married. Their wedding was small by most standards — a guest list of barely seventy-five people — but when I pictured my own, I always imagined something even simpler. Just me, my family, and C—

I stopped myself before I could finish the thought.

“You okay?” Taylor asked, glancing over at me.

I let out a rough little laugh. “Yeah,” I said. “Just getting a little tired.”

Taylor checked the time and sighed, sinking deeper into her chair. “You’re right, it’s getting so late.” She paused. “Belly, I feel so bad leaving you in the middle of all this,” she admitted.

“Don’t be,” I reassured her. “This is too important.”

Taylor was set to leave for New York this weekend for her six-week PR internship — the one she’d been dreaming about since high school. She’ll even get the chance to work alongside Vogue. It was everything she’d ever wanted, something she’d committed to long before Lacie and Jere got engaged. She’d be back just in time for the wedding anyway, and with her organizational skills, I knew we’d still be putting her to work remotely — scheduling calls, confirming vendors, and sending way too many reminder emails from New York.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I meant… as your moral support. He’s coming back.”

I swallowed hard.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” I said quietly. “I think it’s time.”

“Are you ready?”

I nodded, forcing my face into something that resembled calm. “A lot’s happened since then,” I said. “We were just young, stupid kids back then.”

The truth was, Conrad and I only lasted a few months before everything fell apart.

Sometimes I still wonder if it was timing, or if we were just too young to understand what it meant to hold on to someone. Back then, everything felt so big — every look, every fight, every silence. When Susannah got sick again, the weight of it all was too much. He shut down, and I didn’t know how to reach him. Maybe no one could have. But even now, it still feels like we left something unfinished — maybe now, I would finally get that closure Taylor often talked about. 

X

The plan was to meet up in Cousins.

With Taylor off to her internship in New York and Jere starting his apprenticeship at Breaker in Boston — mostly an effort to get on Adam’s good side — it was up to Lacie and me to take charge of coordinating the house repairs. Jere and Steven planned to drive up on weekends to help however they could. But, in an unfortunate twist of fate, Lacie got an urgent call from her mom back in California.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Lacie said, her eyes brimming with tears.

Her grandmother had slipped and been rushed to the hospital. With the rest of her family tied up with work and kids, there was no one else who could stay and care for her around the clock. Hiring help would cost too much, and with the wedding expenses, it just wasn’t possible. 

And Lacie being Lacie, she couldn’t say no when her mom asked if she could come home — just for a couple of weeks — to help.

“Lace, everything’s going to be okay,” Jere said gently, wrapping an arm around her.

We were just about to drive up to Cousins when the call came. I was standing by their apartment door, bag in hand, stunned with the sudden turn of events.

“How are we supposed to plan the wedding now?” Lacie cried. “I can’t just dump all of this on you.” She looked up at me, her voice cracking. “Belly, I can’t— I don’t—”

“Lace,” I said, cutting her off softly but firmly. “I can do it.”

“Bells, this is too much for one person,” Lacie said, shaking her head. “Taylor and I—”

“Can help me coordinate everything remotely,” I cut in, firm but calm.

Jere stood, turning toward me. “Belly, I—”

I held up a hand to stop him. “You and Steven are still coming up on the weekends to help with the house repairs. I mean, it’s not like I’ll be the one standing on the roof hammering things.” We all chuckled at the thought.  “Lace, you and I can FaceTime with Taylor for everything else. You can work on some of our DIY stuff from Cali. Really, I’ll just be the boots on the ground handling the basics. We already know which bakery is for the cake– It’s possible.”

Lacie jumped from her seat and pulled me into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I couldn’t say no — my Gam… I’m really close to her, you know?”

I hugged her back just as tightly. “I know,” I said softly. “I would’ve done the same for my Halmoni.”

I felt Jere come around and wrap his arms around us both. Lacie sniffled a few more times before finally pulling away.

“Okay,” she said, wiping her eyes. She held out her car keys and pressed them into my palm. “You’re taking my car then.”

I didn’t even try to argue. Not having a car would’ve made everything ten times harder — I couldn’t picture myself biking around Cousins with bags of groceries and paint cans. No, thank you.

“I’ll take you to the airport,” Jere told her, already reaching for our bags. Lacie disappeared back into their bedroom, and he turned to me. “Bells, this means a lot to me.”

I squeezed his outstretched hand and smiled. “You both mean a lot to me,” I said, then narrowed my eyes playfully. “But I better see you every weekend. Or else I’ll stab you with a nail, or something.”

He laughed, nodding. “Aye aye, captain.” Then his expression softened. “But seriously, I know this got thrown on you last minute. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

“You’re lucky I only planned to study French this summer,” I said with a small smile.

“Also…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I talked to Con.”

My heart thudded loudly in my ears.

“I told him about the plans to fix up the house,” Jere continued. “I’m not sure when he’s coming, but I just wanted you to know — in case he shows up one day.”

“It’s his house too, Jere,” I said quietly. “He has more right to be there than I do.”

Jere pressed his lips together. “It’s your home too, Bells. I know how hard it is for you to come back, but we all grew up there. It’s why Lace and I chose it for the wedding. It’s special — to all of us.”

“I know,” I said, shrugging lightly.

“I just want you to be ready,” he said.

I thought back to my conversation with Taylor about the very same thing. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells about it anymore,” I told him. “Conrad and I were bound to run into each other again someday. And I guess… that day’s now.”

The truth was, if I’d really wanted to avoid Conrad forever, I wouldn’t have stayed friends with Jere. I didn’t say it out loud, but I think he knew. Honestly, I think everyone knew.

Jere nodded slowly, like he understood more than I was admitting. Then, just as the heaviness settled, he ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. “I’m getting married,” he said — and then grinned. “I’m getting fucking married!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah,” I said. “You are.”

X

Without Lacie there, I was left to my own thoughts during the three-hour drive to Cousins.

Dangerous.

I tried to focus on other things to occupy my mind. Like how Mom had left the week before for a book retreat in Toronto, where she’d be gone for a month. Dad — who they both swore they weren’t officially seeing each other again, though everyone already knew — just happened to have a work conference in Canada at the same time.

Funny, I thought. Some coincidences are just too obvious.

I thought about Paris — how I’d have less than a week after the wedding to pack before flying out. I started making a mental list of everything I wanted to do this time: visit Shakespeare and Company again, but actually buy a book; picnic under the cherry blossoms in the Jardin du Luxembourg; eat too many macarons at Ladurée; see the Monet collection at the Musée de l’Orangerie; maybe even take a solo day trip to Giverny to see his gardens in person. I’d walk along the Seine at sunset, finally brave the catacombs, and maybe — vis l’instant présent — fall in love with some French guy.

Then suddenly, less than twenty minutes into the drive, I was already thinking about Conrad.

Over the years, it had been impossible not to. I knew Mom still kept in touch with him. Like everyone else, she understood he was a taboo subject in the beginning. But after a while, she’d casually mention him during holidays — a quick update here and there, never enough to invite questions, but always enough to make me wonder. They’d always had a special bond, the same way I had one with Susannah. Asking Mom to cut him off was something I couldn’t — wouldn’t — ever do, no matter how things ended between us.

Updates about him came in fragments. I didn’t know much about his life in sunny California, and maybe that was for the best. I didn’t know if he was seeing anyone, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. The thought of him with some perfectly tanned, leggy blonde hurt more than I liked to admit.

Sometimes I’d wonder if he still looked the same. Once, I even tried snooping on his social media — just to see him — but after we unfollowed each other, his profiles were all set to private. I remember setting mine to private too, out of pure spite. 

Did he lose that boyish charm? Does he have a beard now? Does he still dress the same?

Because I definitely don’t feel like the same person I was four years ago. Volleyball toned me up; I wasn’t the lanky teenager I used to be. Being around girls like Taylor and Lacie pushed me to care more about how I presented myself. I learned how to take better care of my hair, how to actually do my makeup, and my style — thankfully — grew up with me. I even know how to walk properly in heels now.

Then I started to stress about what I’d even say to him when we finally saw each other again. Would we hug? Shake hands? Or would he just nod politely and walk right past me — the way he did that summer I was a debutante?

Would he ask how I’ve been, or would we both pretend like the past never happened? What if he acted completely unfazed — like I was just another person from his childhood, someone he barely remembered? What if I said something stupid, or worse, nothing at all?

I started overthinking everything. What I’d be wearing the first time he saw me again, whether my hair would frizz in the humidity, if he’d still recognize my laugh. It was ridiculous, really. Four years later, and he still had the power to make my stomach twist just by existing in the same zip code.

Quicker than I expected, I passed the welcome sign for Cousins. And just like that, my hands were turning the wheel onto that familiar driveway.

The house looked almost exactly the same, and somehow completely different. The shutters were still that faded blue, the porch light still tilted a little to the left. The hydrangeas along the walkway were in full bloom, wild and overgrown, like no one had the heart to cut them back. For a second, I half expected Susannah to step out onto the porch, waving me inside with that bright, effortless smile.

Exiting the car, the air smelled like salt and honeysuckle, just like it always did — that same sweet mix that felt like summer itself. My chest tightened, equal parts comfort and ache. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed this place until that moment. Cousins wasn’t just a town. It was a memory frozen in time and now, I was stepping right back into it.

Opting to grab my bags later, I took my first tentative steps toward the front door.

Just as I pulled the keys from my pocket, the door swung open.

“Belly?”

And there he was — Conrad Fisher, standing in the doorway.

Chapter Text

Conrad Fisher looked both the same and completely different.

His eyes were still that deep, stormy blue. The kind that always seemed to hold more than he was willing to say. They’d softened around the edges but hadn’t lost their intensity. His lips still curved slightly at one corner, like he was caught between a smirk and a secret. His hair, shorter now, had that same sun-faded brown that caught the light just right when he moved. And his jaw — sharper, more defined — looked like it had finally caught up to the rest of him.

He’d grown into himself. The boy I remembered had always carried a restless energy, like he was constantly on the edge of something. The man standing in front of me felt steadier. Still quiet, still unreadable, but more sure of who he was.

Gone were the t-shirts and basketball shorts. Now he wore a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms — casual but intentional — and trousers that actually fit. He looked like someone who belonged to the world now, not just to Cousins, not just to the memory I kept of him.

For a second, I thought I was imagining him.

The sunlight hit his face just enough to make me forget how to breathe. There was something calmer in his eyes. Time had softened him in the same way it had changed me.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower than I remembered.

It took me a full beat to answer. “Hey,” I managed, my throat tight.

A thousand thoughts rushed through my head at once. What I looked like. Whether there was travel lint on my shirt. If he could hear how fast my heart was beating. I’d played this moment out in my head a hundred different ways during the drive, but none of them prepared me for the reality of him standing right in front of me.

“You’re early,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like this was normal, like it hadn’t been four years since we’d last stood this close.

“Guess I beat the traffic,” I joked weakly, forcing a smile.

He smiled back, small and polite, but still familiar, then stepped aside. “Come in, Belly.”

My name in his voice felt funny.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” I said as I stepped inside.

“Yeah, my schedule freed up for the summer,” he murmured. 

It was strange seeing the house without Susannah’s touches. The warmth was still there, but muted. Little details gave away the quiet: a stack of unopened mail, the faint must of rooms left unused.

“I heard you’re some hot-shot doctor now,” I said, keeping my tone light.

He let out a small laugh, eyes distant. “No, just an internship,” he said, offering nothing more.

Still a closed book, I thought.

“That’s great,” I said lamely. My brain couldn’t come up with anything better. I wanted to ask if he was staying for the rest of the summer, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I wanted him to stay, and yet the idea of being alone with him for that long made my stomach twist.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “You can take your old room. I didn’t touch it.”

“Thanks,” I said softly. I wanted to ask why, but I didn’t. Some questions were better left unanswered. The silence stretched between us as I stood awkwardly in the foyer.

“I’ll grab your things for you,” he finally said, stepping past me before I could protest.

“Oh—okay,” I murmured, but he was already halfway down the steps.

I let out a slow breath and turned toward the staircase. The creak of the first step was exactly the same. Each one after felt like walking back in time. The banister still had the faint scratch from when Steven and I tried to slide down it one summer, and the same framed photo of Susannah and the boys hung on the wall. Someone had dusted it recently, but the glass still caught the afternoon light in a way that made her smile glow.

My chest throbbed.

By the time I reached the top of the stairs, everything felt both achingly familiar and impossibly far away. I hesitated in front of my old bedroom door, fingers brushing against the handle. For a second, I almost expected to hear Susannah and my mom laughing down the hall, or to see a pile of swimsuits and sand-dusted towels waiting on the bed.

Instead, when I pushed the door open, the air felt still and untouched — like it had been holding its breath, waiting for me to come back.

My room looked almost exactly the same as it did years ago. The soft floral wallpaper was still there, pale blue and cream, sun-faded in the spots where the light hit strongest. The same white curtains fluttered gently in the ocean breeze. My bed was neatly made, the quilt folded at the foot and the pillows fluffed — as if Susannah had just been here, straightening them herself.

The vanity in the corner still bore the faint nail polish stains from the summer Taylor and I tried painting our nails “ocean blue” and ended up splattering half the table. The bookshelf beside it was filled with the same sun-bleached paperbacks — To Kill a Mockingbird, Little Women, and the sand-dusted copy of The Great Gatsby Conrad once teased me for never finishing. A few old seashells lined the top shelf, next to the pearl necklace I’d left behind, the one Susannah had given me.

I took a glance at the closet, wondering if it was still there. 

I set my purse down on the bed and turned toward the window. I closed my eyes and, just for a second, I could hear it all again… the sounds that used to fill this house. Steven yelling my name from down the hall, the crash of something breaking followed by our inevitable arguing. Jere and Conrad's laughter spilling out of their rooms, echoing through the hallway. And outside, the faint hum of Susannah and my mom giggling over margaritas by the pool.

For a moment, it almost felt like I’d never left. The memories came so vividly it almost hurt. The walls still held the echoes of those summers, and I realized how much quieter the house had become without them.

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts.

Conrad stood in the doorway, my bags in hand. 

“You travel light,” he said, setting them down beside the bed.

“Didn’t think I’d need much,” I replied. My voice came out steadier than I felt.

He nodded, glancing around the room. “Looks the same.”

“Yeah,” I said, following his gaze. “It’s weird. I thought it’d feel smaller.”

“Maybe you just got taller,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I couldn’t help but smile back. “Barely.”

The air between us shifted then. He lingered for a moment, his hands in his pockets, eyes tracing the room like he was remembering it too.

“I was planning to make dinner and you’re welcome to join me,” he said finally, backing toward the door. “Hope you’re in the mood for some chicken.”

“Thanks, that sounds great,” I said softly.

He gave a quick nod, then disappeared down the hall.

I just stood there, listening to his footsteps fade. Conrad Fisher knew how to cook now, I mused. I wonder what else about him changed over the last couple of years. 

I spent the next few hours unpacking and cleaning my room. It was necessary, but mostly it was the perfect excuse to keep some distance from Conrad. From downstairs, I could faintly hear the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen. I knew I should probably go down and offer to help with dinner, but I needed a moment to breathe.

I sent an urgent text to the group chat with the girls: Conrad is at the beach house.

I didn’t expect Lacie to respond right away; she was probably still mid-flight. Taylor, however, replied almost instantly. Then she called.

I answered in a whisper. “Hey.”

“What the hell is he doing at the beach house already?” she hissed.

“He said his summer freed up,” I murmured. “I guess I’ll find out later tonight how long he plans to stay.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. He’s making dinner.”

“You’re having dinner with him?”

“I mean… yeah, I guess. What excuse would I even have not to?”

“And you’re cool with that?”

“Tay,” I sighed, rubbing my temple. “If he’s planning to stay the whole summer, I can’t exactly avoid him. Plus, this is his house. He could kick me out if he wanted to.”

“True,” she huffed. “God, I feel so bad leaving you right now. And with Lacie’s grandma—maybe I should—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off quickly. “Don’t do anything. I’m fine.”

The lie slipped out easier than it should have.

“I promise,” I added. “Everything’s fine. Honestly, I might even be able to use him. He’s the best man, after all. And way more capable of handling the renovations than I’d ever be.”

“Are you sure?” she asked again.

“I’ll tell you more later when I have more information,” I said. “Plus, Jere and Steven are coming up in a couple days. It’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” she said, though I could hear the doubt in her voice. “But if I don’t hear from you tonight, I’m calling the cops. Or worse, your mom.”

I laughed quietly. “Noted.”

“Text me after dinner,” she insisted.

“I will.”

When the call ended, I tossed my phone onto the bed and exhaled. The room was quiet again. For a brief second, I let myself imagine that I actually believed what I’d told her — that everything really would be fine.

X

Correction: Conrad knew how to pan-fry chicken and steam vegetables, but it was a far cry from knowing how to cook.

“You know,” I said, stabbing a piece of broccoli, “there’s this magical thing called seasoning.”

He looked up from his plate, one brow raised. “Salt and pepper are seasoning.”

“Barely,” I shot back. “What, no garlic? No herbs? Not even a squeeze of lemon?”

His mouth quirked. “Didn’t realize you were a professional chef now.”

“I’ve learned a few things,” I said, taking another bite. “I worked part-time at a restaurant for a while. I wasn’t in the kitchen or anything, but you pick things up when you’re waiting tables.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, but the smile lingered.

“Fine,” he said. “Show me how it’s done, then.”

“Fine,” I challenged. “I’ll make dinner tomorrow.”

The room went quiet again as we both turned back to our plates.

“How have—”

“How long—”

We both stopped, then laughed at the awkward overlap. He gestured for me to go first.

“Erm,” I said, taking a sip of wine. “I was going to ask how long you planned to stay.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened slightly.

“’Cause if you are staying, I could use your help with some of the projects.”

“Right,” he said, relaxing a little. “I was planning to stay through the wedding. I didn’t know you’d be here, and if that makes you uncomfortable, I can—”

“Conrad,” I interrupted, waving a hand. “You’re fine. It’s your house.”

He nodded. “Still, if you need help, I’m around. Jere mentioned something about renovations. I still have the number for the handyman Mom used to hire.”

“That actually sounds great,” I said, pulling up the to-do list on my phone. I slid it across the table so he could see. His eyebrows lifted when he saw the mountain of tasks.

“Yeah,” he said, whistling softly. “He could handle the big stuff—roof, deck, paint. You guys have got quite the list here, Belly.”

“Lace being in California makes things a little more complicated, but we have a game plan for what she can handle from there.”

Luckily, she’d already picked the color for the bridesmaid dresses. She’d probably have better options out west anyway. And with Taylor in New York, she’d have way more access to nice boutiques than anything I could find in the local shops here in Cousins.

“I’ll make some calls tomorrow,” he said. “Can you send me a copy of that?”

I nodded. “Um… do you still have the same number?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” I hesitated for a moment. “I changed mine a couple years ago after switching providers, so I lost most of my old contacts. Could you just put your number in?”

A distant look crossed his face as he took my phone and typed it in. He quietly went back to his dinner while I sent him the to-do list.

After we finished eating, he shooed me away from doing the dishes, insisting I rest after the long drive. I wished him goodnight and headed upstairs, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in — or maybe it wasn’t exhaustion at all. 

I lay awake long after the lights went out, listening to the ocean and the floorboards creak as he moved around downstairs. It was strange — being this close to him again. The house might have stayed the same, but I could already tell this summer wouldn’t.

Chapter Text

“Shit, Bells,” Jere cursed. “I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Jere, it’s fine,” I said. “Really, I think you guys are making a bigger deal out of this than I am.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’ll try to come up as soon as I can, though.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured him. “He’s actually been really helpful, to be honest.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He still had Oscar’s number, the handyman. Well he came by yesterday, gave us a quote for the deck and the roof — it’s within budget, and he’s starting tomorrow.”

“That’s awesome,” Jere said, sounding relieved.

“Conrad also checked out the patio lights. Looks like a few bulbs are out, so I’ll stop by Home Depot later to grab replacements. That way I can pick up some paint for the porch at the same time.”

“Listen, you’ve got the credit card,” he said. “Do whatever needs to be done. I trust you.”

“You, Steven, and Conrad can start on the porch this weekend,” I said, marking it on the calendar. “That way we can save a little money instead of hiring Oscar. I mean, how hard could it be?”

After we hung up, I was back on the phone — this time with Lacie and Taylor, going over florals. Lacie had already called around and found a florist in town that fit the budget. I promised to stop by later that afternoon to sign the contract and put down the deposit.

Halfway through our call, I heard the telltale creak of Conrad moving around upstairs. I’d woken up earlier than usual to catch Lacie before she left for the hospital. When Conrad appeared in the doorway, his eyes widened slightly at the sight of paperwork in front of me before turning to the fridge and pulling out a few ingredients.

“Scrambeled eggs? The usual?” he asked quietly.

I nodded, pressing the phone back to my ear.

“And Belly, if you come down to the city next weekend, we can shop for dresses together,” Taylor suggested.

“That’s actually a great idea,” I said, jotting notes down.

“Bells, use the card to book a flight,” Lacie said. “Please.”

“You know she’s not going to do that,” Taylor cut in.

Lacie sighed. “I’ll book it myself,” she said firmly.

“Lacie—”

“Belly, stop,” she said. “I don’t want to argue about this. You’re doing us a huge favor coordinating everything. It’s the least I can do.”

“Lacie, you’re one of my best friends,” I told her. “I was going to do this for you no matter what.”

In the end, it was two against one. By the time we hung up, my flight to New York was booked for the following weekend. Lacie was going to try to have someone care for her grandma that same weekend so she could come too, and we’d all shop for her wedding dress together.

“Perfect timing,” Conrad said.

I looked up to find him standing beside me with two steaming plates in his hands. I pushed my laptop and papers aside to make room, and he sat down across from me. We started eating in easy silence.

I laughed quietly. “Okay, breakfast you can cook.”

He smiled faintly. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

I flipped open my planner. “Home Depot,” I said. “And the florist.”

“I’ll come with you,” he offered.

“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “You probably have other things to do.”

I could name a dozen things on the to-do list he could do instead.

“Do you know which light bulbs to buy?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I pressed my lips together. “Uh...”

He chuckled. “Plus, I went through the storage unit in the garage yesterday. Found the old paint cans for the porch. They’re all dried up, but at least we can get them color-matched.”

I chewed thoughtfully. Damn it, he had a point.

Next thing I knew, I was driving into town with Conrad Fisher sitting in the passenger seat. From the corner of my eye, I caught him looking out the window, the morning light catching on his hair. Every so often, though, I’d catch him sneaking quick glances in my direction.

In the end, he broke the silence. “You drive better now,” he said, his tone light, teasing.

I rolled my eyes. “I had to learn,” I replied. “Taylor and I used to carpool from Brown to Philly to save money on flights.”

“I remember that drive,” he mused.

The tips of my ears burned. I kept my eyes on the road, pretending not to notice the way his voice softened when he said it.

And suddenly, I was remembering the first time he’d shown up at my front door all those years ago — that crooked smile, the way my heart had tripped over itself when I realized he’d driven hours just to see me. Back then, he used to make that drive from Brown to my house more often than he probably should have. It used to mean something. Maybe it still did.

“It kills me to stand here and not kiss you,” he had said.

My chest tightened at another memory… that winter night, the snow on the beach, the fireplace.

I cleared my throat. “So… how long have you been in town before I got here?”

“Just a couple days,” he said simply.

It still felt like pulling teeth trying to get more than a sentence out of him.

“Are you happy in California?” I asked.

He was quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t at first,” he admitted. The honesty in his voice caught me off guard. “I needed a change of scenery after Mom died.”

I thought that was all he’d say, but after a while, he added softly, “California’s… different. It’s beautiful, but strange. The sun sets differently there. People actually stop to watch it. Coffee costs twice as much, though,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess that’s the price of sunshine.”

I smiled faintly, staring out the windshield. He talked about California like it was another world. He had built a new life somewhere the rest of us couldn’t reach.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist for a while now,” he admitted.

“That’s good to hear,” I said softly.

I didn’t know what else to say. Hearing that from him felt heavier than he probably meant it to. I thought about all the nights he must’ve spent alone in that dorm room, trying to hold himself together. The panic attacks he used to hide from everyone. The way he carried the weight of Susannah’s illness before anyone else even knew. He’d always been the one to keep the world from crumbling, even when it was breaking him instead.

Back then, I used to think Conrad didn’t need anyone — that he wanted to be left alone. But now, sitting beside him, I realized maybe he just didn’t know how to ask for help.

“What about you?” he asked. “Laurel mentioned you got accepted into a study abroad program.”

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “Yeah. I’m really excited,” I said. “It’s in Paris. We backpacked through Europe last summer— I don’t know if Jere mentioned that to you.”

“I only ever heard about you in pieces,” he said quietly. “I tried to respect your space.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Yeah,” I managed. “I really fell in love with the city. I felt like I didn’t get enough time there, so when my advisor told me about the program, I applied right away.”

“I remember you were trying to learn French,” he said, a small smile ghosting his lips.

I laughed softly. “Dad got me this French textbook when we found out I was accepted. I’m hoping I’ll find the time to study it between, you know, all the wedding chaos.”

All too soon, I was pulling into the parking lot of the florist. Conrad trailed a few steps behind me as we walked inside. He seemed taller somehow — or maybe I’d just forgotten how small I always felt next to him.

“Welcome!” the woman behind the counter greeted brightly.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m here to meet with someone named Abbigail? I need to sign the contract and put down the deposit.”

“That’s me!” she said cheerfully, glancing between Conrad and me. “You must be the future Mr. and Mrs. Fisher — congratulations!”

My face went up in flames. “Oh, no—no, we’re not—” I stammered, waving my hands. “Sorry. I’m Belly. Maid of honor. I’m signing for Lacie Barone.”

“Oh!” Abbigail exclaimed, her cheeks turning pink.

“I’m the best man,” Conrad added smoothly, hands tucked into his pockets like this was nothing.

“Yeah,” I muttered, still trying to recover, swiping my sweaty palms against my shorts.

“Well, that’s lovely,” Abbigail said with an apologetic smile. “Let’s get you squared away.”

After signing the paperwork and swiping the card, she led us to a small display of arrangements — pastel peonies, white roses, and delicate sprigs of baby’s breath tied together with soft silk ribbons. I snapped a few photos and sent them to Lacie. Luckily, she replied almost instantly, choosing a pale blush and ivory palette.

On the car ride to Home Depot, I avoided any further conversation by turning up the radio. The air in the car felt thick — not uncomfortable exactly, just charged in that awkward, post–florist-faux-pas kind of way. Every time I thought of Abbigail calling us Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, my stomach twisted. Conrad hadn’t said a word about it, but I caught the faintest trace of amusement in his reflection on the passenger window.

I focused on the road, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel in time with the music. Outside, Cousins blurred past — the same streets I used to bike down, the same ocean peeking between rows of houses. Everything looked smaller now.

By the time we reached Home Depot, the silence between us had settled into something easier, less brittle. We walked through the automatic doors and were greeted by that familiar smell of lumber and paint. Conrad grabbed a cart without asking, his hand brushing mine briefly in the process. 

“You’ve got the list?” he asked.

“Right here,” I said, holding up my phone like a shield.

We wandered the aisles side by side — paint swatches in one hand, light bulbs in the other. It was strangely domestic, the two of us debating between Antique White and Oyster Shell, checking wattages, comparing prices. For a second, it almost felt like we were just… normal. Like we were a couple doing weekend errands instead of two people trying to pretend the past didn’t still hang between us.

I caught myself smiling when he reached for a box on the top shelf without hesitation, easily grabbing it for me. “Still tall, huh?” I teased.

“Still short,” he countered, grinning faintly.

It was such a simple exchange, so ordinary — but maybe that’s what made it feel dangerous. Because for a fleeting moment, I forgot that we weren’t still us.

X

Later that night, I once again found myself cooking dinner with him.

When I was younger, I used to daydream about what life with him would look like when we were older. Married, maybe. I’d picture us in a little beach house like this one — the windows open, music playing, the smell of something baking in the oven. I’d cook; he’d steal bites and pretend to help. We’d argue about who left the cap off the toothpaste or whose turn it was to do laundry. Maybe we’d have a dog, or two. Maybe kids with his eyes and my stubbornness.

It was silly, naïve, the kind of fantasy you only allow yourself when you’re sixteen and hopelessly in love. But standing there again, side by side at the counter, I felt the ghost of those old dreams linger in the air — faint, fragile, and impossible to ignore.

As we ate dinner, the conversation flowed easily. We talked about simple things: how bad the summer traffic had gotten, which stores in town had closed, the weather. All surface-level, safe. Neither of us mentioned the elephant in the room. I didn’t want to be the one to break whatever fragile calm we’d managed to create. We were just two friends at the table again, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.

“It’s weird being here without her,” he said quietly, glancing around the kitchen. “Sometimes I still catch myself waiting to hear her humming.”

My eyes drifted to the empty vase on the kitchen island.

“She always had hydrangeas in that vase,” I said.

He gave a small hum in response, his gaze following mine.

“Have you visited her recently?” I asked.

He nodded. “It was my first stop,” he said. “First time since the funeral.”

I swallowed hard.

The silence that followed was tender. Like we were both remembering her in our own quiet ways. She would’ve filled the silence with laughter, or music, or the clinking of wine glasses.

For the first time all evening, I stopped avoiding the ache in my chest and let myself feel it. Turns out, we both had avoided Cousins for years, and not just because of what happened between us. Her absence was the other reason — the louder one. Without Susannah, the house didn’t just feel emptier. It felt quieter in a way that neither of us had known how to face.

He was the first to break the silence again. “It’s nice to see you again, Belly,” he said softly.

I looked at him, unsure what to say, and managed a faint smile. Nice wasn’t the word I’d use. It was everything — too much and not enough, all at once.

Chapter Text

The following morning, I found hydrangeas in the vase.

Pale blue, freshly cut, and arranged just the way she used to do it — stems trimmed neatly, petals facing the window where the light hit softest. The sight made my chest tighten in that familiar, bittersweet way. I didn’t have to ask who put them there. 

Conrad had remembered. Of course he did.

For a moment, I just stood there, the smell of coffee and ocean in the air, and let the house feel alive again. It was the first morning that didn’t feel entirely haunted by what was missing.  I followed the sound of voices coming from the backyard and found him on the deck with Oscar. I hid myself in the shadows and allowed myself this one time to observe him. 

Conrad was wearing a wetsuit, unzipped halfway down his torso, the black fabric hanging loose around his waist. His chest was bare, tanned from early summer sun, and there was the faint, defined outline of abs across his stomach — not deliberate, not showy, just there. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, a few strands sticking to his forehead.

He looked so effortlessly at ease, with a surfboard tucked under his arm, laughing at something Oscar said. My stomach twisted. That stupid, familiar flutter that I thought I’d outgrown. I told myself it was nothing, just nostalgia, just the warmth of the morning sun. 

I held my breath when he glanced up toward the house. For a second, I thought he might have spotted me but his gaze trailed up, right in the direction of my window upstairs. For a few seconds, his eyes lingered. Then he shook his head and turned back to Oscar, as if nothing had happened.

Forgoing breakfast, I headed back up the stairs and spent the next few hours cleaning some of the bedrooms. The beds had been stripped, so I dug through the linen closet for matching sets and started remaking each bed. I moved from room to room, opening every window to allow the soft breeze in. Wiping down dressers, shaking out curtains, and vacuuming corners that hadn’t seen sunlight in years. I set out fresh towels and folded a spare blanket at the foot of each bed. I even set out vases and a few seashells from the supply closet — small touches that made the house feel less like a time capsule and more like a home again.

Susannah would have been so proud.

By the time I finished the last room, the afternoon light had shifted golden across the floors. I stood in the hallway for a moment, catching my breath. 

“You didn’t eat the breakfast I set out for you,” Conrad’s voice came out of nowhere.

I spun around. He was standing at the top of the staircase. The wetsuit was gone, thankfully, replaced by a clean white t-shirt and jeans. His hair was damp from a shower, dripping slightly at the ends, and somehow that made it worse. 

"I always liked you with wet hair. It's so romantic," I once said.

“Oh,” I said lamely. “I didn’t see it.”

He nodded slowly. “Oscar left for the day. We got most of the deck sanded — just a few more sections tomorrow. He said we can get it sealed by Friday. And I finished replacing the lightbulbs.”

I exhaled in relief, smiling at him. “That’s a couple more off the to-do list.”

He peeked into what used to be Steven’s room. “It’s looking great up here. Nice edges on the sheets,” he said, grinning. “Forty-five-degree angles, tight corners.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I had a really great teacher,” I joked as I closed the linen closet. “I think I’m done for the day.”

“Want to grab an early dinner?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded, suddenly aware of how hungry I was. “I’m starving.”

He gave me a pointed look, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’ll drive,” he said, already heading down the stairs.

I guess you could say being alone with him was getting easier. Or maybe it only felt that way because we still hadn’t talked about it.

In the car, Conrad had insisted on the Boardwalk Café for burgers. As kids, it used to be our favorite stop — greasy food, sticky booths, and milkshakes that melted faster than we could drink them. We’d scarf down our burgers and race each other to the arcade.

The place hadn’t changed much. The same red vinyl booths, faded surf posters on the walls, and the smell of grilled onions and fries hanging in the air. Someone had added a neon sign above the counter that said Best Burgers on the Coast, though I doubted that was ever true. 

“You know what I’m craving?” he asked as soon as he polished off his burger.

I was only halfway through mine. “What?”

“Rosie’s pies,” he said, leaning back in his seat with a small grin.

My mouth fell open, hit with a wave of nostalgia. “I would die for a—”

“Blueberry pie?” he finished for me.

I sat back, eyebrows raised. “How did you—”

“C’mon, Belly,” he said with a half-smile. “I’m a mind reader.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah, well, let me guess,” I said, closing my eyes dramatically and pretending to think. “You’d go for the apple.”

He laughed, nodding his head.

“Basic,” I teased, picking a fry on my plate.

“Classic,” he countered, the corner of his mouth lifting higher now.

Thirty minutes later, we drove five miles out of Cousins for said pies. The little roadside shack looked exactly the same — wooden panels, hand-painted signs, and rows of fruit baskets spilling over with peaches, berries, and cherries that gleamed under the afternoon sun. At the counter, we ordered a slice of blueberry and apple pie. Conrad excused himself to the restroom while I browsed over the fruits.

“Belly?”

I turned at the sound of my name and froze. Nicole was walking toward me, sunglasses pushed into her hair and that familiar confident smile on her face.

“Belly!” she said again, her voice warm with surprise.

“Nicole!” I returned her hug.

“I thought I saw you and Conrad,” she said, smiling as she pulled away.

I pointed toward where he’d disappeared. “Yeah, he went to the restroom.”

“It’s been so long,” Nicole gushed. “You’re probably a senior in college now, right?”

I nodded. “My final year’s this fall,” I said. “What about you?”

“Graduated last year,” she said brightly. “I’m working in fashion now—or trying to, anyway.”

“That’s amazing. I always admired your style.”

She smiled coyly. “Thanks.”

“Have you heard from the other debs?” I asked. “I haven’t been in touch with anyone.”

She chuckled softly. “Gigi’s dad got caught up in some trading scandal a couple years ago, so they had to sell their house in Cousins. Last I heard there was a Netflix documentary about it, so I guess they’re doing fine now. I think she lives in Texas now. And Shayla hasn’t been back since, you know… her and Steven. She’s living in Australia now.” She shrugged. “I guess the gang kind of fell apart. It was bound to happen, you know?”

“Are you sticking around for the summer?” I asked.

“I was going to, but an opportunity just came up—I’m leaving for Milan tomorrow, actually,” she said. “But it’s so nice to see you again, Belly. You’re all grown up.” 

She paused and then smiled, glancing behind me. We both watched Conrad walk up to the counter to pick up our pies. “I’m really glad it all worked out for you and Conrad.”

“Oh, we—”

Her phone rang before I could finish. “Shoot,” she muttered. “I’m supposed to meet Paige. I had to back out of helping her with the debs this year. But listen, let’s hang out, okay? Maybe when I get back? Tell him I said hi!”

She was already halfway to her car before I could respond.

“Nice seeing you!” I called after her, my voice barely carrying over the breeze.

As I watched her drive off, I felt the words I hadn’t said stick in my throat. I should’ve corrected her, told her that Conrad and I weren’t anything. 

A few moments later, Conrad walked over with the pies in hand. 

“Was that Nicole?” He asked. 

I nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. She says hi.”

He didn’t say anything after that, just started heading for the car. But I couldn’t stop replaying Nicole’s words in my head. I’m glad it all worked out for you and Conrad.

For a moment, I wished she’d been right. That we had worked out. That after everything, we’d fought harder instead of letting distance and silence do the talking for us. But another part of me — the part that still stung from how easily things had fallen apart — couldn’t help feeling angry. Angry that he hadn’t tried. Angry that maybe I hadn’t either.

When reality settled in, the ache was back. Because we hadn’t fought for it. Because when things got hard, we let go instead of holding on. And now, he walked beside me, humming softly to himself, blissfully unaware that the what-ifs were burning a hole straight through me.

X

All of Friday, I did my best to avoid Conrad. Every time I caught a glimpse of him moving through the house or bent over the deck in the sun, something inside me stirred that I didn’t want to name. It was a mix of anger, resentment, and those same stupid butterflies that never seemed to die. So I kept busy, throwing myself into chores, anything to stop myself from thinking too hard or feeling too much.

It bothered me how normal things felt between us, how easily we had slipped back into a routine. Eating dinner together, sharing quiet jokes, brushing past each other in the kitchen like no time had passed. It almost felt easy again, and that made me furious with myself for letting it happen. He never apologized. He never acknowledged how things ended, or how badly it hurt. What we had should have been worth fighting for, but we both let it fall apart. And now, here we were, pretending that playing house made up for everything we lost.

If he noticed the change in my mood, he didn’t say anything. 

By late afternoon, the sound of tires crunching over gravel pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked out the window just in time to see Jere’s Jeep pull into the driveway, Steven in the passenger seat, both of them grinning like they owned the world.

I met them at the door before they even had a chance to knock.

“Bells!” Jere shouted, scooping me into a bear hug that nearly knocked the air out of me.

“You’re crushing me,” I laughed, half muffled against his shoulder.

“You missed me,” he said matter-of-factly, setting me down.

Steven stepped in next. “Wow, the house looks… clean. Did you actually do housework?”

“Someone had to,” I said, crossing my arms playfully.

Jere’s eyes darted around. “Where’s Conrad?”

I hesitated just a second too long before answering. “Out back, I think.”

“Perfect,” Steven said. “Let’s ruin his peace and quiet.”

They dropped their bags and disappeared toward the back, leaving me in the hallway. The house suddenly felt louder, fuller. It was nice. Maybe exactly what I needed. I followed the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. Conrad was leaning against the counter while Jere animatedly recapped some story I’d already heard twice over the phone. Steven was perched on one of the stools, chiming in with sarcastic commentary every few seconds.

Conrad laughed — a real laugh, not the quiet half-smile I’d gotten used to this past week — and something in my chest tugged. Seeing the three of them together again felt like watching a piece of the past come to life. It was easy, natural, like no time had passed at all. And for a second, standing there in the doorway, I felt that same mix of warmth and yearn that always came with him.

I hovered at the doorway, afraid to disturb their camaraderie.

“Dude, it’s been years,” Steven said, shaking his head with a grin.

Conrad shrugged. “Well, you know…medical school.”

“That’s your excuse for everything,” Steven shot back. “You missed holidays, my graduation party, and the boys trip to Cabo.”

“You guys had a trip to Cabo?” Conrad asked, eyebrows raised.

“You would’ve known if you ever came home,” Steven teased.

Jeremiah snorted. “He’s got you there, man. I think the last time we saw you was what? When Dad and I visited last Christmas?”

The air shifted slightly at that, a quick flicker of silence before Conrad nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess it’s been that long.”

“Well, good thing you’re here now,” Jere said, clapping his brother on the shoulder, the mood lifting again. “We’ve got a whole summer to make up for it.”

Conrad smiled, and when his eyes met mine, my stomach flipped.

“Yeah,” he said, holding my gaze. “Guess we do.”

“The gang is back, yes!” Steven declared, throwing his hands up like he’d just scored a touchdown. “Aaand we have an epic bachelor weekend to plan!”

I stepped fully into the room then, crossing my arms. “Not so fast,” I said, wagging a finger at them. “You three have a porch to paint this weekend.”

“Aw, come on, Bells,” Jeremiah groaned. “It’s the first night back!”

“And you decided that planning a wedding with two months to spare was a good idea,” I retorted.

Jere held his hands up in defeat.

Steven sighed dramatically. “See? I told you she’s in charge now.”

“Always was,” Conrad said under his breath, that small smirk tugging at his lips again — and I pretended not to hear it.

Chapter Text

Apart from eating meals together, my interaction with Conrad for the rest of the weekend was almost nonexistent. When we did cross paths — passing each other in the hallway or reaching for something in the fridge — he always looked like he wanted to say something. But then, just as quickly, he’d retreat behind that same quiet restraint I’d spent years trying to understand. 

Typical Conrad.

There was never any in-between with him. He was either unreachable or, most recently, disarmingly honest, like when he casually mentioned he’d started seeing a therapist. It caught me off guard — not because it was strange, but because it was so unlike him to share something that personal. It made me wonder what else he’d been carrying all this time, what parts of himself he’d learned to finally let go of, and which ones he still held onto.

The guys made great progress on the porch, though they were still far from finished. It seemed the painting project would need another weekend. I guess it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. Their only real guidance came from Oscar’s quick notes and a couple of YouTube tutorials that Steven claimed made him “basically a professional.”

First, they had to run to Home Depot to rent a power washer, to strip off years of salt and grime. That alone turned into an ordeal after the washer sputtered out halfway through, forcing them to make another run back to Home Depot to rent another. Then came the sanding and by the time they finished, everyone looked like they’d been rolling around in sawdust.

After that came the priming, taping off the edges, and an ongoing debate about whether the foam roller or paintbrush was better for the job. Conrad didn’t say much, just worked quietly beside them, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a faint streak of primer smudged across his forearm. He’d always been the quiet one of the group, steady and focused in a way the others weren’t. Still, watching him fall back into step with the guys tugged at something in me. They never said it out loud, but I could tell they’d missed this — the rhythm, the easy laughter, the sense of being a team again. And Jere especially… he’d missed his brother. The lightness in his mood all weekend made it impossible not to notice.

Luckily, I was spared from all that said labor. The girls and I spent most of the weekend on group calls to keep the wedding planning moving. By Sunday, we’d made real progress. Our shared mood board for the table designs was starting to take shape — soft pinks and whites, a touch of eucalyptus, and just enough candles to make everything feel intimate.

We made a few calls to local rental companies in town for tables, chairs, and linens, but hadn’t decided which one to go with yet. Prices were all over the place, and since Lace wanted to stay within budget, we agreed to compare final quotes before committing. She was also determined to take full advantage of the upcoming Michael’s sale on Friday to stock up on materials for the table décor and guest favors. I could already picture her filling a cart with ribbon spools, hurricane vases, and glue guns while FaceTiming us for opinions.

Before we ended our final call, the girls started grilling me about Conrad.

“So,” Taylor drawled, twirling a strand of her hair on screen. “What’s it like living with him again? Any late-night heart-to-hearts yet?”

I glanced around nervously, even though I was wearing my AirPods and sitting alone in my room.

“Yeah, right. The only heart-to-heart we’ve had was about seasoning.”

Lies, lies.

Lacie laughed. “He’s helping with the house though, right? How’s he been?”

“Fine,” I said too quickly. “Quiet. Focused. You know, typical Conrad.”

“Uh-huh,” Taylor said, narrowing her eyes. “And how are you?”

“Also fine,” I insisted. “Totally fine.”

“You’re using the word fine a lot,” Taylor pointed out. “You sure you’re not secretly spiraling?”

“I’m not spiraling,” I said, pretending to check something on my notepad just so I wouldn’t have to meet her gaze. “We’re both adults now. It’s… normal.”

“Normal,” Lacie repeated with a teasing grin. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

“Goodbye,” I said, reaching for the “End Call” button as both girls burst into laughter.

Before Jere and Steven drove off Sunday night, Steven pulled me aside. In a rare tender moment between us Conklin siblings, he looked at me with genuine concern.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, glancing toward the porch where Conrad was still talking to Jere.

“Yeah,” I said, though my voice came out softer than I meant. “It’s… up and down, I guess.”

He nodded, his usual sarcasm gone. “I figured. You’ve been doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“You know. The whole pretending-you’re-fine-when-you’re-clearly-overthinking thing.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “You think you know me so well?”

“I do,” he said simply. “You forget I was there, Belly. That night at prom… when he left. You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to. I know what it did to you.”

The memory hit me fast — standing in the rain in my dress, watching Conrad’s taillights disappear down the street, Steven’s arm around me when I finally stopped pretending it didn’t matter. He didn’t say much then either. He just stayed and let me cry.

“I’ll be okay,” I said finally. “It’s different now. We’re different. We can actually talk without…” I trailed off, realizing how unsure that sounded. “Well, mostly.”

Steven studied me for a long moment before nodding. “Just don’t let him undo all the work you’ve done to get here, alright?”

“I won’t,” I said, and for once, I meant it.

The serious look faded from his face, replaced by that familiar grin. “Good. Because if you start crying over him again, I’m telling Mom. Or worse…Tay.”

I rolled my eyes. “Wow, thanks for the brotherly support.”

“Anytime,” he said, pulling me into a quick hug before jogging toward the car. “Try not to burn the house down while we’re gone!”

I smiled after him, the ache in my chest easing just a little. Leave it to Steven to break my heart and fix it in the same breath.

X

It was pretty much the same over the next few days between Conrad and me.

On Monday, I left the house before he even woke up. I drove into town to place the order for their wedding cake. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself remembering how serious Jere had been about it — a two-tier dark chocolate cake with raspberry coulis filling and a mirror glaze topping.

“Belly, cacao is the bean — it’s what chocolate is made of,” he’d lectured, waving his hands like some kind of pastry chef. “The whole flavor profile depends on the bitterness of the dark chocolate and the sweet tartness of the raspberry.”

I rolled my eyes at the memory, handed over the card, and paid for what had to be the most expensive cake I’d ever ordered. 

With that task done, I should’ve gone straight back home. Instead, I kept driving.

I took the long way along the coast, windows down, the sea breeze tangling my hair. I stopped for an iced coffee, browsed through a little bookstore I’d never noticed before, and let myself wander. Maybe I was avoiding more than just the house. Maybe I was avoiding the quiet.

When I had lunch at the deli downtown, I unexpectedly ran into another familiar face.

“Belly?”

I turned, and there he was — same dark curls, same kind eyes, holding a to-go bag in one hand and looking pleasantly surprised.

“Cam Cameron,” I said, grinning as I stood. “Wow, it’s been… forever.”

“How’ve you been?”

“Great,” I said automatically, though the word felt like a half-truth. “Just here for the summer. Helping plan a wedding. What about you?.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “That sounds like a full schedule. I just graduated last month — finally.”

“That’s amazing! Congratulations,” I said. “Where from again?”

“UF,” he said. “Marine biology. I’m back here for the summer, working at the aquarium again, but I’ve got a full-time position lined up at the university this fall.”

“That’s really great, Cam,” I said, and I meant it. “You always loved the ocean. Guess it loved you back.”

He smiled at that. “Guess so. What about you? Still at Brown?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “One year left. I’m actually off to Paris to study abroad in fall.”

“Paris,” he repeated, impressed. “You’re really doing it, huh?”

“Trying to,” I said, laughing softly. “Feels like the right kind of chaos.”

“You always did like a good adventure,” he said, his smile easy, genuine.

“Listen, I have to clock back in,” he said, glancing at his watch. “But I’d love to catch up more. Want to grab lunch tomorrow? I’m off.”

I hesitated, and he caught it immediately.

“Belly,” he said with a small smile, “as a friend.”

I exhaled, returning his smile. “Sure,” I said. “I’d love to.”

The next morning, I stayed hidden in my room, listening for any sign of Conrad. When I finally heard the back door close and saw him heading toward the beach, board under his arm, I waited until he disappeared into the waves. Only then did I grab my keys, slip quietly out the front door, and drive off.

We met at the little restaurant near the pier. Cam was already there when I arrived.

We ordered sandwiches and iced tea, and for a while, the conversation was easy — talk of college, work, life. He told me about the aquarium, how they’d just started a new sea turtle rehabilitation program. His face lit up when he spoke about it, and I found myself smiling just watching him.

“You seem… good,” he said eventually. “Like you’ve really grown into yourself.”

“I try,” I said, tracing the rim of my glass. “It’s been a weird few years.”

“I heard about Susannah,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, Belly. She was always so kind to me.”

My throat tightened. “Yeah. She was the best of us.”

He nodded. “And the guys?”

I gave a small shrug. “As okay as they can be. It’s… complicated.”

“It always was, wasn’t it?” he said with a soft laugh.

I smiled faintly. “Yeah. Some things don’t change.”

"So, wedding?" he asked.

“Jere’s actually the one getting married at the end of the summer,” I told him. “I have it on good authority that I can guarantee an invite for you, if you want to come. I am the wedding planner, after all.”

“That sounds like fun,” he agreed. “Except, I thought… weren’t you interested in him?”

“Oh,” I gasped, my eyes widening. “That was actually… that was Conrad.”

“Ohhh,” he said, realizing. “Right. The older brother.”

“Yeah,” I said, laughing softly. “He’s actually in town too, working on the house renovations for the wedding.”

“That’s awesome,” he said, genuinely. Then, after a pause: “Any wedding bells for you guys?”

My heart deflated. “We… uh. We actually broke up,” I said carefully. “It didn’t last long — a couple of months, maybe.”

Cam’s expression softened immediately. “I’m sorry, Belly.”

“Don’t be,” I said quickly, waving a hand, though my throat felt tight. “It was a long time ago. It just… wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

He was quiet for a moment, studying me with that same steady calm he’d always had. “You don’t have to pretend it didn’t hurt,” he said gently. “And it’s okay if it still does.”

I stared down at my hands, tracing the condensation ring my glass left on the table. “It’s not that it still hurts exactly. It’s more like… there’s always this echo of it. You think you’ve moved past something, but then you see them again, or hear their name, and suddenly you’re back there. Sixteen and you thought you knew what love meant.”

Cam nodded slowly, his voice low. “That kind of love doesn’t just disappear. It changes shape, but it sticks with you. Especially when it’s tied to someone who was part of everything else.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Yeah. Exactly. After Susannah died, everything shifted. Conrad and I were already… complicated. Losing her just made the space between us feel impossible to cross.”

“You all lost something big,” he said softly. “Grief messes with people. It doesn’t make them bad, just… different.”

“He’s definitely different,” I said quietly. “We both are.”

“Maybe that’s okay, though. Sometimes different just means you’re still figuring it out.”

I looked at him then — really looked at him — and realized how easy it was, talking to someone who didn’t expect anything from me. No history to untangle, no hurt to tiptoe around. Just kindness.

“You should have been a therapist,” I joked and he laughed easily.

He leaned back in his chair, watching the waves through the window. “Well, sounds like you’ve got a good thing going — Paris, weddings, sunshine.”

“Something like that,” I said softly. “It’s been… nice. Busy helps.”

“Yeah,” he said with a small, knowing smile. “It usually does.”

For a while, we just sat there, letting the sounds of the café fill the space between us — the clinking of dishes, the low hum of conversation, the faint crash of waves outside. Talking to Cam felt easy in a way that nothing else had lately. Just two people catching up on life.

When we said goodbye, he pulled me into a hug. 

“Take care of yourself, Belly,” he said.

“You too, Cam. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

As I watched him walk away, I felt no ache, no confusion, just the soft comfort of knowing that some people are meant to drift in and out of your life, leaving you a little steadier each time they do. With Cam, although there wasn’t ever a spark, there was also no hidden tension — just peace. I realized how much I’d missed that feeling.

Chapter Text

Avoiding Conrad didn’t stop him from showing up in small ways. Each night I came home late, a plate waited for me on the kitchen island, neatly wrapped in saran with a yellow sticky note that said “Eat Me :)” in his handwriting. The first time I saw it, I just stood there for a while before heading upstairs without touching it.

By morning, the plate would be gone, and I’d find traces of it in the bin. It became a quiet pattern between us. He kept leaving the meals, and I kept pretending not to notice. Each time, the guilt settled a little deeper, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the silence.

When we did run into each other, I forced a polite smile, said hello, and hurried past. He would start to speak, his lips parting like he was searching for the right words, but I never stayed long enough to hear them.

Even then, he kept helping. Every day, something else on the wedding list was crossed off. I’d added him to the shared calendar that Lacie, Taylor, and I updated, and whenever a new task appeared, it was done by the next afternoon. The patio furniture had been power washed, the gutters cleared, and he and Oscar had the deck sanded and sealed by Wednesday. He even replaced the loose porch light that had been flickering since we got here.

It frustrated me how steady he still was. He didn’t ask for thanks or acknowledgement. He just did things, quietly dependable as ever, while I tried not to look too closely. Maybe that was what hurt the most… that he could still show me he cared.

On Thursday, I was about to start cleaning out the pantry when he finally cornered me.

“Oh, do you need help?” he asked.

When I came downstairs that morning, his car wasn’t in the driveway. I’d assumed he would be gone for a couple hours. But there he was in the kitchen doorway, a plastic bag from the local surf shop in one hand and a white box in the other.

“Nope,” I said simply.

“I picked up some of the good muffins,” he said, setting the box on the counter.

I glanced at it, then back at the shelf. “You know, I don’t really eat breakfast these days.”

“Oh,” he said, the word soft, uncertain. “Well, you should. You always used to say breakfast was the most important meal.”

“That was when I was sixteen.”

He chuckled lightly, but I didn’t turn around to see his face. “I guess some things change.”

“Yeah,” I said flatly, wiping dust from my hands. “They do.”

There was a pause, then his voice softened. “You’ve been keeping busy.”

“It’s a long list.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. He cleared his throat. “I was going to clean out the pantry today.”

“That’s okay,” I replied quickly. “Figured you could use the day off.”

He shifted closer, the sound of his footsteps slow against the tile. “No, it’s fine. Let me just lay out my board in the sun and I’ll come help.”

“I said I’ve got it, Conrad,” I snapped.

He froze midstep. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

He nodded slowly, though I could tell he didn’t believe me. “You’ve been… different this week. We barely spoke and I haven’t seen you around.”

“How is that any different from the last couple of years?" I reminded him. 

“I just mean…One moment everything was fine but after Rosie’s, it’s like a flip switch.”

“Kind of reminds me of how you were growing up,” I quipped. 

He tried to smile, but it came out more like a wince. “Guess so.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the rustle of boxes and the distant hum of the ocean outside. He studied me, and I could feel it—the weight of his stare, patient but searching.

“Did I do something wrong?”

The question hit harder than I expected. My heart tripped over itself. I expected us to continue to skirt around the subject but I forget he’s bluntly honest these days. 

“No. Like I said, I’ve just been busy.”

It was a lie, and we both knew it.

“I’ve tried giving you space,” he said. “I didn’t want to push you if you needed time. But if I did something…I just want to know. I can continue to give you space.”

I stared at the shelves, at the way the light caught the dust floating between us. The words sat heavy in my chest. Space was exactly what had ruined us. Time didn’t fix what silence broke.

Finally, I said, “We’ve had plenty of space, Conrad.”

He blinked, unsure how to respond. 

“Do you want to finally talk about it then?” he asked.

Yes.

“Is there anything to talk about?” I replied instead.

His lips pressed together. “It feels like it.”

“What do you want to say?” I asked, quieter now.

He hesitated, then exhaled. “I don’t know…I’m sorry?.”

A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. I turned away, needing distance even though there was already too much. The air felt heavy, thick with everything we hadn’t said.

“Belly,” he said softly.

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t apologize if you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”

He still didn’t get it. That wasn’t the apology I wanted. And I wasn’t about to stand here and explain it to him. He didn’t move closer, but I could feel him behind me.

“Is there anything I can do to fix this?” he asked. “To fix us?”

Something sharp unfurled in my chest. “Conrad, if there was ever a chance of fixing us, don’t you think it would’ve happened years ago?” 

The heat rose to my cheeks as I turned to face him. “There isn’t an us,” I said. “I’m not even sure there ever was. We were just young and stupid.”

His eyes darkened.

“When I was a kid, I built you up in my head. This perfect version of you that didn’t even exist. And I chased it because I wanted so badly to believe it was real.”

He looked stricken, but I kept going. “I’ve moved on,” I said, though the words felt like vinegar in my mouth. “Haven’t you?”

Liar.

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed. Then he said quietly, “I tried reaching out.”

My breath caught. “When?”

“After your first semester at Brown,” he said. “I called a few times. But you never picked up.”

My heart sank. “I never got those calls.”

“I figured that out recently,” he chuckled darkly. “After a while, I stopped trying. It felt like you didn’t want to hear from me.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Had I known, would I have answered?

“I thought giving you space was the kindest thing I could do,” he said.

I let out a shaky breath. “Space isn’t kindness, Conrad. It’s just another way of leaving.”

“I was drowning, Belly,” he said, voice breaking slightly.

My insides twisted. “And I kept trying to pull you,” I whispered. “But you wouldn’t let me.”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t know how to ask for help.”

A hollow laugh escaped me. “It’s always been that way. Ever since we were kids.”

“I like to think I’m better at it now.”

“Look,” I sighed, leaning against the counter. “Fine… I did keep my distance this week. But I think everything felt too normal too fast. Like we didn’t once hurt each other and the last four years didn’t happen. Like you weren’t once a pillar in my life and then suddenly, you were just gone.”

And it hurts to hear people assume we were still together. 

“And now suddenly we’re cooking dinners again, laughing over pies, pretending none of it happened. It was too much…”

“It felt easy,” he admitted. “To go back to the way things were.”

“But the thing is,” I said quietly, “Space allowed us to grow up. Space taught me how to live without you in my life. And we’re no longer kids. You don’t know the first thing about me now, and I don’t really know you anymore.”

A flicker of hurt crossed his face, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

“How do we go from here?” he asked.

I met his eyes. “You’re right. We can’t exactly ignore each other,” I said. “We’re going to be stuck here together for the rest of the summer. And for the sake of my family, for Jere, we’re bound to see each other again at some point — birthdays, holidays, weddings.”

Like when Steven and Taylor eventually get married. Or when Conrad does.

I forced a small smile. “But now that we’ve talked about it… maybe…”

Maybe what? Could I really stomach the idea of just being his friend? Could I watch him move on, laugh with someone else, fall in love again — and still pretend it didn’t hurt?

“Maybe we can try to be friends. That’s something we never really got the chance to be.”

The words felt steady leaving my mouth, but inside, they rang hollow. There was still so much I wanted to ask, things I didn’t know if I could ever say out loud. Did he ever regret letting me go? Did he hurt the way I did, in the quiet moments when no one was watching? Did he think about me when he couldn’t sleep, the way I still thought about him?

Did he ever love me like I have always loved him?

He looked at me for a long moment before nodding slowly.

“Friends,” he said.

“Friends,” I echoed.

X

“Belly, it’s pandemonium here,” Lacie sighed through the phone. “Michael’s was practically empty by the time I went inside. At the first one, none of the hurricane vases were left. Except for one, but it was broken. The second one was even worse. I think an old lady stepped on me.”

I laughed, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I folded a towel. “You make it sound like an apocalypse.”

“It is an apocalypse. Finding twelve matching vases is impossible. Apparently, half the West Coast decided they all needed centerpieces this weekend.”

“Okay, calm down, Bridezilla,” I teased.

“I’m serious!” she whined. “I have a vision, Belly. But every bride in this goddamn town has already cleaned out the inventory.”

“Well, maybe Cousins Michaels will have some,” I offered. “Tourists don’t usually buy in bulk.”

There was a pause. “You’d really check for me?”

“Of course,” I said. “Just text me the exact kind you want, and I’ll take a look.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she groaned with relief. “Oh, and if they have those woven placemats in stock — the beige ones, not the white — could you grab a few? And maybe some of those little fairy lights too?”

“Got it. Hurricane vases, beige placemats, and fairy lights,” I repeated. “Anything else while I’m at it? Maybe a cake stand or your sanity?”

“I lost that weeks ago,” she said dryly. “Thank you, seriously. You’re the only reason this wedding is still happening.”

I smiled despite myself. “You say that now, but wait until I send you the bill for emotional labor.”

From across the room, Conrad looked up from where he was sorting through the drawers. He was pretending not to listen, but I could tell he was following every word. We finished cleaning out the pantry yesterday and today, we were checking to see if Jere had all the utensils he would need to cater the wedding. 

“I can head out now,” I told Lacie, glancing at the time. “Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

“Bless you,” she said. “Text me when you get there. I’ll send photos of the vases, just so you know what to look for.”

“Got it,” I said.

“Tell Conrad I said hi, by the way,” she added suddenly.

I hesitated just long enough for him to notice. “Sure,” I said finally.

When I hung up, he was already reaching for the car keys on the hook.

“I’ll drive,” he said simply, like it wasn’t even up for debate.

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re volunteering to go to Michaels with me?”

He gave a small shrug. “Someone’s gotta carry the vases.”

“Alright,” I said quietly, slipping on my shoes. “Let’s go save a wedding.”

The drive to Michaels was quiet at first, the sound of the waves fading behind us as the road curved inland. I watched the trees blur past my window and tried to steady the strange mix of calm and unease sitting in my chest.

We’d promised to be friends. That was the new unspoken rule. And, to his credit, Conrad seemed to be taking it seriously.

Last night, we had dinner together again. It wasn’t awkward, not really. Just careful, like we were both testing the edges of something fragile. He asked questions about Brown, about my major, about Paris. I told him Brown was good, that I switched to sports psychology after my injury during sophomore year, and that I was really looking forward to studying abroad. He wanted to know which classes I liked most, what I planned to do after graduation, and if I still played volleyball. I told him my favorite class was nutrition science, that I hoped to apply for graduate school, and that no, I no longer qualified to play professionally after the injury.

It almost felt like he was meeting me for the first time, not trying to remember who I used to be.

At first, I didn’t ask him much back. A part of me was still too afraid of the answers. Maybe I didn’t want to know what his life looked like without me in it.

But eventually, I asked anyway. About Stanford. About California. About what it was like living so far from home.

He told me it was strange at first, that the quiet of Palo Alto didn’t feel like Cousins, and that he missed the sound of the ocean. He said that it felt like being on another planet. That despite the loneliness, he felt like anything was possible. He also said the weather was almost too perfect, that it made it hard to feel anything too deeply. He joined a surf club on weekends, but most of his time nowadays went into med school and research work at the university hospital.

When he spoke, his voice was calm, steady, like he had already made peace with the version of his life that no longer included summers here. I listened, nodding when he glanced over at me, but my chest continued to ache anyway.

It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. It was the quiet realization that while I had spent years learning how to live without him, he had done the same.

“I still can’t believe he’s getting married,” Conrad said after a moment.

“I kind of expected it,” I admitted. “When I first saw them together, I just knew.”

“You don’t think they’re too young?”

“I mean… yes. But if you know, you know. You know?”

When I was younger, I thought I knew. 

He let out a quiet laugh, amused by my wording.

After a moment, he asked, “What’s Lacie like? I’ve only met her once or twice.”

I smiled softly. 

“She’s great. Calm in a way that balances Jere out. They’re different, but it works.”

“Yeah?” he said, glancing at me briefly. “I always wondered what kind of person would put up with him long-term.”

I laughed, swatting his arm. 

“Someone patient. Someone who loves him enough to make sense of the chaos.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Sounds like she’s good for him.”

“She really is,” I said. “They take care of each other. What they have…it’s real.”

“I’m happy for him.”

“Me too,” I said. 

“But my dad’s not too thrilled about it,” he said finally, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Don’t get me wrong, he likes Lacie. But he refused to fund the wedding. Said they’re too young, that it’s a mistake they’ll regret in a few years.”

My eyes lifted toward him. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Jere took it hard, even if he pretended not to. He acts like it doesn’t matter, but it does. He’s always wanted Dad’s approval, even when he says he doesn’t care.”

I frowned. “That’s not fair. It’s supposed to be one of the happiest times of his life.”

“I told Jere I’d talk to him,” Conrad said, his voice low. “But you know how it is. My dad and I don’t have the best relationship.”

“Does Jere still not know about the affair?” I asked gently.

Conrad shook his head. “If he did, he wouldn’t be working for him at Breaker.”

I nodded, staring down at my hands. The car filled with that familiar silence again, just heavy with everything they’d been through.

“For Jere, I’d do it,” he said after a moment. “I know having Dad’s blessing would mean the world to him. So while you’re away this weekend, I was going to head to Boston. Have dinner with dear old Dad.”

I smiled faintly. “You’re a good brother,” I said. “I’m sure Jere would appreciate it.”

He gave a small shrug, eyes still on the road. “He deserves to be happy.”

This is what friendship with Conrad could look like — gentle, honest, and almost easy. But underneath it all, that familiar ache in my chest refused to fade.

Just before we pulled into the Michaels parking lot, the car’s display screen lit up.

2 New Messages from Agnes.

The words flashed for only a second before he reached out and cleared the notification. He didn’t react, didn’t even seem to notice I’d seen it.

The one topic we never touched was our love lives. It felt easier to pretend it didn’t matter, that we were both too busy to think about things like that. But deep down, I knew better. It was foolish to think he’d stayed single all through college, because I hadn’t either.

Conrad Fisher would always be the first of many things for me, but he wasn’t the last. 

I turned my eyes toward the window, pretending to study the storefronts as my pulse started to race. As the car rolled to a stop, I forced a smile, reached for the door handle, and told myself it was all okay. But deep down, something inside me cracked all over again.

Of course he had someone.

Author’s Note:
Thank you guys so much for your sweet words! I appreciate them so much. I know updates have been a little all over the place lately, but after this chapter, I’ll be posting every Monday (PST). I’m not sure how many chapters this fic will be but we still have a long journey together. I definitely plan to include Paris and our well deserved "after". At least, until the movie comes out.

Also, just a quick reminder: Belly is still a very unreliable narrator. While I don’t plan (at this moment) on writing a Conrad POV, I hope I still capture his ache and yearn.

Chapter Text

“Wait,” Taylor said, shaking her head and holding up both hands as if to pause time. “Friends?”

Lacie and Taylor exchanged a look that was far too knowing for my liking.

I narrowed my eyes. “What was that look for?”

“Nothing,” Lacie said quickly, her tone far too casual as she flipped through a rack of lace gowns.

“Lace,” I warned.

She didn’t meet my eyes. “I just think it’s… interesting. That’s all.”

Taylor sighed dramatically and crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, but I have to say it — friends with Conrad? Really?”

I exhaled sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Taylor said, stepping closer, “that I don’t know if I could ever be friends with someone I wasn’t completely over. And Belly, be honest — are you?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Of course I am,” I said too quickly. “It’s been four years.”

Taylor arched an eyebrow. 

“Four years, and you still remember the exact shade of his stupid eyes.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not,” she said, softer now. “But it’s true.”

I crossed my arms, trying to hold my ground. “We talked, okay? We cleared the air. We both agreed it was time to be friends. This—” I gestured vaguely, “—this friendship thing, it’s… it’s healthy.”

Lacie hummed, pulling a satin dress from the rack and holding it up against herself. “You sure it’s healthy? Because you’ve sounded a little worked up since that talk. And it’s not like you’ve dated anyone seriously since him.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. “That’s not—” I stopped. “That’s not the point.”

Taylor exchanged another look with Lacie before turning back to me. “Belly, no one’s saying you can’t try. We just… don’t want you to get hurt again. You’re always the one trying to fix things that broke for a reason.”

Her words stung, mostly because she wasn’t wrong.

Lacie stepped in gently, her tone calm. “Look, we just care about you. If you think being friends with him is what’s best, we’ll support you. But if you’re doing this because it’s easier than admitting you still care…” She trailed off, letting the silence hang between us.

I swallowed hard and forced a small smile. “You guys are overthinking it. We’re just two people trying to make peace. That’s all.”

Lacie tilted her head. “Then why do you look like you’re trying to convince yourself of that?”

I hesitated, fiddling with the edge of a sequin dress on the rack. “Because even if I wasn’t overthinking it,” I said finally, “it doesn’t matter. I think Conrad has someone back in California.”

That got both their attention.

Taylor’s eyes widened. “Wait—what? How do you know that?”

“I saw a text pop up on his phone. Her name’s Agnes.” I tried to sound casual, but it came out too flat. “Could be a friend, could be more. But… I don’t know. He cleared the notification really fast.”

Taylor groaned, tossing a hanger. “Seriously? That man could have the literal saint of patience and he’d still manage to make things complicated.”

Lacie gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Bells.”

I shrugged, forcing a laugh. 

“It’s fine. I mean, we’re friends now, right? He can date whoever he wants.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Okay, first of all, if we’re speaking hypothetically—and I mean purely hypothetically—that girl has nothing on you.”

I laughed despite myself. “Tay—”

“No, I’m serious!” she said, pointing firmly at me. “He can have all the surfer girls in California, but you’re the Belly Conklin. The blueprint. The original heartbreak.”

Lacie snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

“Wow, thanks, guys,” I said dryly, though my cheeks warmed anyway. “Love being known for my tragic origin story.”

Taylor grinned. “You’re not tragic, babe. You’re just… cinematic.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled, the tension easing a little. “Well, the cinematic version of me is definitely over him.”

Liar.

“Sure,” Taylor teased, drawing out the word. “And I only watch reality TV for the plot.”

Lacie stepped between us, holding up another dress with a laugh. “Okay, before this turns into a therapy session, how about we focus on finding something I can actually wear down the aisle?”

“Fine,” I said, taking the dress from her hands. “But for the record, if this Agnes person turns out to be fake, I’m saying I told you so.”

“Deal,” Taylor said, smirking. “And if she’s real, we’re still saying she’s irrelevant.”

I laughed, shaking my head as we moved deeper into the rows of dresses. For the first time that morning, the knot in my chest loosened—just a little.

I laughed, grateful for the distraction, even if deep down, their words followed me like a shadow.

The rest of the morning blurred into laughter, fabric rustling, and the faint scent of vanilla candles drifting through the shop. Lacie floated between racks with the kind of determination only a bride-to-be could have, pulling out dress after dress before rejecting them with a wrinkle of her nose.

“This one’s too poofy,” she said, fanning out a tulle skirt.

“This one’s too shiny,” Taylor countered, squinting at a satin gown that gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

I just laughed, trailing behind them, my arms full of options that were all starting to blur together.

Then, near the back of the store, half-hidden on the sale rack, Lacie gasped.

“Oh my god. This is it.”

The dress was simple but stunning — off-the-shoulder, with soft chiffon that fell in delicate folds. The fabric caught the light just enough to shimmer, the kind of glow that didn’t need sparkle to feel radiant. She slipped it on, and as soon as she stepped out of the dressing room, Taylor and I both froze.

“Lace,” I whispered. “That’s the one.”

Her eyes shone as she turned toward the mirror. “You really think so?”

Taylor pressed a hand to her chest. “I think I’m gonna cry.”

Lacie laughed through her own tears, spinning once before throwing her arms around us. “Okay, okay, it’s settled. This is the dress.”

After that, it was our turn. The bridesmaid dresses were tucked away in a corner display — pale blush pink, soft and airy, with thin straps and a flowing skirt that brushed the floor. When we stepped into them, the color looked like rose petals against our skin.

Taylor beamed at her reflection. “We look hot,” she declared.

“Elegant,” I corrected, smoothing the skirt over my hips.

“Hot and elegant,” she said with a wink.

I turned toward the mirror and froze for a moment. The girl staring back didn’t look like the awkward teenager who once tripped over her own feet in heels. My hair framed my face in soft waves, my shoulders stood a little straighter, and the pink fabric warmed my skin just right. I didn’t know what Agnes looked like — or if she was even considered a competition— but for once, I didn’t care.

I’d grown into myself, piece by piece, heartbreak by heartbreak. The girl in the mirror wasn’t trying to be anyone’s dream anymore. She was her own.

Taylor caught my gaze in the reflection and grinned. “See?” she said softly. “Told you. No one can top you.”

I smiled back, half shy, half proud. “Maybe not even California girls?”

“Not even close,” Lacie said from behind me.

We spent the rest of the afternoon like that — laughing, taking too many mirror selfies, debating whether we could justify matching shoes. By the time we left the shop, the sun was starting to dip low, and I felt… lighter.

We’d spent the entire day riding the high of finding the dresses — teasing, laughing, making grand promises about tan lines and matching manicures. When the time came to say goodbye the following day, it hit me all at once: how much I’d missed being around them like that.

Leaving the girls was harder than I thought it would be.

“Two weeks,” Taylor reminded me, squeezing my hand. “Cousins, your birthday weekend. We’ll spend the day at the beach away from the boys.”

I nodded, trying to look cheerful even though my throat ached.

Lacie threw her arms around me next, still glowing from the excitement of her wedding dress. “We’ll celebrate big. Cake, champagne, and maybe a little less wedding talk.”

I laughed, hugging her tight. “Deal.”

By the time I got to the airport, the adrenaline had faded. I found my gate, tucked myself into a corner seat, and set my carry-on beside me. The faint buzz of announcements echoed overhead, mixed with the low hum of travelers passing by.

I scrolled through my phone, aimlessly at first — Mom (and Dad) checking in from Toronto, a string of photos from Taylor of her mid-shop poses, a text message from Jere asking me about ramekins. Normal things. Comforting things.

But then my thumb hovered over Instagram. Conrad and I added each other again on our social media pages. He doesn’t post anymore — the last photo was posted five years ago. Not that I checked as soon as his page was no longer private. Too quickly, I found myself navigating over to his follower list.  I stared at the empty search bar far too long before typing a single word: Agnes.

I hesitated. My pulse thudded in my ears. What would I even do if I found her? What was I hoping to see — a face, a smile, some confirmation that he’d really moved on?

I backspaced the name and locked my phone.

Outside the window, planes taxied down the runway, their lights flickering against the dusk. I took a breath, forcing my chest to loosen. Conrad could have a whole life waiting for him in California, and maybe he did. But I had one too — one that was growing, expanding, carrying me farther than I’d ever gone before.

Still, as the boarding call echoed through the speakers, I couldn’t stop the small ache that pulsed under my ribs.

Two weeks. I’d see everyone again soon.

And maybe by then, I’d finally stop wondering about the girl named Agnes.

X

By the time I got back Sunday afternoon, the sun was already dipping low over the water. When I pulled into the driveway, the house looked calm and I found the guys lounging in the yard. 

From the looks of it, they’d finally wrapped up the porch project. The railings gleamed with fresh paint, the deck swept spotless, and the leftover cans stacked neatly in a corner. Even the drop cloths were folded — an impressive miracle, considering these were the same guys who once left pizza boxes in the living room for days.

Steven, sprawled across one of the lawn chairs, was in the middle of some exaggerated story, gesturing wildly with his hands. Jeremiah sat beside him, barefoot and grinning, his skin sun-warmed and streaked with paint. Conrad leaned back in the chair opposite them, head tipped toward the fading light, sunglasses on, and an idle smirk on his lips.

Their shirts were splattered with white paint and half-empty beers dangled loosely from their fingers. A speaker played somewhere nearby, low and lazy — Fleetwood Mac or maybe The Eagles, something that belonged to the background of a Cousins summer. 

They looked relaxed, sun-tired but satisfied. 

I stayed by the screen door, just watching them. It was a snapshot of something I hadn’t realized I’d missed: the sound of their laughter, the warmth of summer, the feeling of coming home.

Steven noticed me first.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up!” he called out, lifting his bottle. “Didn’t think you’d survive New York, Bells.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped outside, “Ha ha. Miss me already?”

Jere grinned. “Always.” He motioned toward the cooler. “Grab a drink. We were just talking about how much easier things got without you bossing us around.”

“Sure,” I teased, walking over to them. “Because clearly this porch painted itself.”

Conrad finally looked up then, lowering his sunglasses just enough to meet my eyes. “Welcome back,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

It wasn’t much — two simple words — but it did something to me. 

I forced a light laugh, dropping my bag on the floor. “So… what’d I miss?”

“Steven and I are probably staying the night,” Jere said, gesturing to their beer bottles. “Don’t want to risk that long drive.”

Steven nodded. “There’s chicken on the stove if you’re hungry.”

My eyes went straight to Conrad. He held up his hands in defense. “Jere cooked it.”

Jere looked between us in confusion. “What did I do?”

“You need to teach Conrad a thing or two about seasoning,” I said, biting back a grin.

Jere smirked. “He’s getting better, though. Managed not to burn the rice this time.”

“That’s progress,” I teased, grabbing a plate from the counter. “Next lesson: how to use garlic without fear.”

“Hey,” Conrad said, eyes narrowing slightly but a small smile tugged at his lips. “In my defense, I was told to keep it simple.”

I smiled, shaking my head as I pulled up a chair. My gaze drifted toward the porch. “It looks great. You guys actually cleaned up too — I’m impressed.”

Steven clutched his chest dramatically. “Wow, a compliment from Belly Conklin. Someone write that down.”

“Don’t push it,” I warned, grinning.

“So?” Jere asked, leaning forward. “How was New York? How’re the girls?”

“It was good,” I said, grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler. “Tiring, but good. Lacie found her dress — no alterations needed. Total miracle.”

“No way,” Jere said, his eyes lighting up. “Was it the one she wanted?”

“Better,” I said. “Taylor and I cried. Twice.”

Steven snorted into his beer. “Sounds about right.”

“And you?” Jere asked. “You guys found your dresses too?”

“Yes!” I gushed, smiling wide. “Pure luck, really. Super simple, really affordable. Everything looked perfect together. I even felt kinda … pretty.”

Jere smiled softly. “You are pretty, Belly.”

Heat crept up my neck, so I busied myself adjusting the chair. “Anyway,” I said quickly, “the girls are coming down in two weeks for my birthday weekend. So get ready for more chaos.”

“Time flies,” Steven said. “Is it really that time already?”

“Yeah,” Jere added. “We’ll throw you a proper Cousins birthday. It’s been years since we’ve celebrated here. Cake, beach, maybe a bonfire?”

“That sounds perfect,” I said, smiling.

Across the table, Conrad hadn’t said much. He sat quietly, listening, his sunglasses now pushed up into his hair. When I finally glanced at him, he was already watching me — not smiling, just looking.

Before I could decipher the expression in his eyes, Steven stood up abruptly, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright, I’m calling dibs on the shower before you animals use up all the hot water.”

Jere groaned. “You used all the shampoo last time, dude.”

“That was one time!” Steven protested, already heading toward the house. “And I smelled amazing, by the way!”

The moment he disappeared inside, quiet settled over the backyard again. I took a sip of water, trying to look anywhere but at Conrad. Then, of course, my stomach betrayed me.

A loud, unmistakable grumble echoed in the lull of conversation.

Jere burst out laughing, nearly spilling his beer. “That sounded like a cry for help.”

I covered my face with both hands. “I might be a little hungry,” I admitted. “I skipped lunch, okay? Airports make me anxious, and the last thing I wanted was airplane food.”

Conrad’s chair creaked as he stood. “I’ll fix you a plate,” he said simply.

“What? No, I can—”

He was already halfway to the house, waving a hand over his shoulder. 

“It’s fine. Sit down, Belly.”

I watched him disappear through the screen door, the sound of his footsteps fading.

Something in my chest pulled tight. I wasn’t sure if it was guilt, nostalgia, or that soft ache I’d been trying to ignore. This would be the first plate of food he’d prepared for me that I’d actually eat — not leave untouched out of stubbornness. It felt like something small, but also like everything.

When I turned back, Jere was watching me. Not with judgment, just… softly. 

“What?” I asked, forcing a laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He took a sip of his beer, still smiling. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking something,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

He tilted his head. “Just that you’re not as good at pretending as you think you are.”

That caught me off guard. “Pretending?”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “That you don’t still care about him. I mean, it’s Conrad.”

My chest tightened. “That’s not—” I started, then stopped myself. “You’re reading too much into things. We’re just… friends. We talked about it. So, as his friend, yes, I do care about him.”

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t sound convinced.

I picked at the label of my water bottle, watching the condensation slide down the side. “It’s complicated, Jere. You know that better than anyone.”

He gave a quiet laugh, though there was something wistful in it. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then Jere leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know… I don’t think I ever told you.”

I looked over. “Told me what?”

“That Conrad asked for my blessing to be with you.”

My head snapped toward him. “What? When?”

He smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “After you guys broke up.”

I blinked, trying to make sense of it. “Wait—after?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Things between me and him were still… rough back then. We weren’t really talking. Don’t get me wrong, Belly. What I thought I felt for you back then was real. I just think we’re better as friends now. Right?”

I nodded slowly. “I couldn’t agree more.”

He exhaled, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “By then, I’d already made peace with it. I think I even told him that. But Conrad… he was different that day. Like, really different. He kept saying how he screwed things up between you guys — between him and me. And how unless he heard it directly from me, it wouldn’t work without my blessing.”

I swallowed hard, the air suddenly feeling too thick. “What did you say?”

“I told him he had it,” Jere said simply. “Because by then, I understood. You guys were… you.”

He paused, eyes on the horizon, voice soft when he added, “He said he loved you.”

The words hit me like a current, pulling me under.

Conrad Fisher loved me.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Because hearing it from Jeremiah — years too late, spoken in the calmest voice imaginable — somehow hurt worse than when Conrad had walked away without ever saying it himself.

And somewhere deep down, beneath everything I’d tried to bury, a part of me whispered the question I didn’t dare ask out loud.

Did he still?

Chapter Text

I stared at Jere, my mind still catching up to what he’d just said.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

Jeremiah’s expression softened. “Honestly? It kind of became this unspoken rule — not talking about him around you.”

I frowned, and he hurried to explain. 

“At least in the beginning. Then after, it felt irrelevant to mention him. You and I had just started being friends again, and it felt like bringing him up would ruin that. Then, after a while… you started moving on.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you looked happy again.”

“That’s not really the same thing,” I said quietly. “Being happy and knowing the truth.”

He sighed. “Yeah, maybe not. But after everything, I figured you didn’t need more Fisher drama in your life.”

I wasn’t angry. Just blindsided. Like someone had cracked open a memory I didn’t know was still alive inside me. “Still, Jere,” I said. “You could’ve told me.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “You and Conrad… that whole thing was messy, Bells. I didn’t want to make it worse. I didn’t even know if he wanted you to know.”

I nodded, even though part of me didn’t understand how something that big could be kept secret. “Did he say anything else?” I asked after a pause, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jere’s eyes flicked toward the house, where Conrad’s shadow moved faintly behind the kitchen window. “Just that he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Least of all you.”

Something inside me twisted. I pressed my palms against my knees, grounding myself.

“I guess I just wish I knew,” I said finally. “Back then.”

Jere was quiet for a moment before asking, “How are you really doing, Bells?”

For a second, I thought about telling him the truth — that I wasn’t sure. That being here again felt like standing in two timelines at once, like every memory I’d buried was suddenly breathing again. But then I thought of Conrad. Of how four years was a long time. Long enough for him to move on. Long enough for someone else to know him the way I used to.

So I forced a smile and said, “I’m fine.”

He gave me a look that said he didn’t quite believe me. 

“Be honest,” he said gently. “Is being around him… hard?”

I hesitated, twisting the ring on my finger. 

“Different,” I admitted. “But not bad. Not something I can’t handle.”

“Belly,” he said, leaning forward, voice low. “If it ever gets to be too much, you can always go home. Lacie and I would get it. I mean that.”

My chest tightened. “I know,” I said softly. “But I’m okay, really. Conrad and I… we’re trying to rebuild something. A friendship. For everyone’s sake.”

He studied me for a long moment before nodding. “Alright. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself too, okay?”

“I won’t,” I promised, even if I wasn’t sure I believed it.

Jere looked like he struggled to form his next words and eventually, he asked gently, “What I said…Would it have changed anything?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But maybe it would’ve hurt a little less.”

Before I could say anything else, the back door opened.

Conrad reappeared, balancing a plate in one hand and a fork in the other. He set it down in front of me, the smell of warm chicken and rice filling the air.

“There,” he said simply. “Eat before you pass out.”

I looked up at him, startled by the easy kindness in his tone. “Thanks,” I managed, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be.

His lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close. “Anytime.”

Then he sat back down, reclined in his chair, and took a slow sip of his beer, completely unaware that Jere had just changed everything.

I stared at the plate, appetite gone, feeling the weight of the moment pressing against my ribs.

How was it possible to sit three feet from someone and feel like the ground beneath you had shifted entirely?

He looked so calm. So normal. Like he hadn’t once admitted he loved me, like those words hadn’t existed somewhere between us this whole time — invisible but alive.

Jere glanced at me briefly, maybe to check if I was okay, but I didn’t trust myself to look back. Because if I did, I might break the illusion that everything was fine.

I picked up my fork, stabbing half-heartedly at the chicken. “It’s good,” I said quietly.

Conrad looked at me then, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Guess you were right — Jere can cook.”

And just like that, the conversation went back to normal. But I didn’t.

I looked away, out toward the ocean, and let the truth sink somewhere deep in my chest — that maybe I would’ve fought harder to make things work, if I’d known. That yes, Jeremiah, it would’ve changed everything for me.

Because now, every laugh, every glance, every small kindness carries a new kind of ache.

He once said he loved me.

X

The house was quiet in the morning.

Jeremiah and Steven drove off before the sun rose, their laughter still echoing faintly down the hall as they loaded the car. I’d also woken before sunrise, bleary-eyed, my pillow cool where sleep should’ve been. No matter how many times I flipped over, I couldn’t shut off my thoughts. Jere’s words replayed in my head like a skipping record. 

He said he loved you.

All night, I laid in bed listening to the three of them downstairs, laughing over beers like nothing had changed. And maybe for them, nothing had. But for me, everything felt different. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

I finally dragged myself out of bed and I padded downstairs, hoping for quiet.

Conrad stood barefoot in the kitchen, still in the old gray T-shirt he’d slept in, hair a mess, head bent as he poured coffee into a mug. The soft morning light caught the edges of him, painting everything in gold. When I was a kid, I always thought of Conrad as the sun.

He glanced up, surprised but calm. “Morning.”

“Hey,” I said, my voice rough with sleep.

He poured another mug without asking and slid it across the counter toward me. Then, like magic, a box of the good muffins appeared. I smiled at him gratefully, immediately grabbing one and biting into it. I hesitated, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Before you say it,” he said, “I knew that ‘I don’t eat breakfast’ thing was total BS.”

That pulled a small laugh out of me, and the sound startled us both. “You got me there,” I said, taking another bite. “Guess I forgot how to argue before caffeine.”

He smiled and leaned against the counter beside me. 

It felt normal. Just two people sharing a quiet morning.

“So,” he said after a sip, “what’s on the agenda today, wedding planner?”

I looked at him over the rim of my mug. “Are you volunteering?”

He shrugged, that faint grin still there. “Depends on what you’ve got in mind.”

I let out a slow breath. 

“Honestly, I don’t feel like running errands today. I kind of just want an easy day.”

“Easy sounds good,” he said. “You’ve been doing, like, five jobs at once since you got here.”

“That’s because someone has to keep this place running,” I teased. “You think Jere and Steven were the ones organizing the list?”

He smirked. “You saying I’d be lost without you?”

I gave him a pointed look. “You said it, not me.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Alright, so what’s your ‘easy day’ idea?”

I glanced toward the pile of Michaels bags still sitting by the stairs. “I was thinking I’d start working on some of the table decorations. Lacie wants to do photo centerpieces. You know, pictures of her and Jere at every table.”

He grinned faintly. “That sounds nice, sentimental with a side of cheesy.”

“Exactly,” I said, smiling despite myself. “She also gave me a stack of her baby pictures before she left, so now we just have to find some of Jere’s.”

He raised a brow. “You mean, dig through his old stuff?”

“Pretty much.” I set my mug down. “She wants cute. Matching. Nostalgic.”

Conrad made a face. “That’s a tall order for Jere’s childhood photos. Half of them are him covered in sand or eating something off the ground.”

I snorted. “Oh, I remember. There was one summer where he wouldn’t stop sticking shells in his mouth. Said they were ‘salty snacks.’”

Conrad laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “He was disgusting.”

“Adorable,” I corrected.

“Same thing,” he said, taking another sip of coffee.

I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms. “You know, you’re going to have to help me. You’re the keeper of all the family archives.”

He feigned offense. “Am I?”

“You know where everything is,” I said. “Susannah used to make you organize the photo albums every summer.”

That made him pause for a moment — just a flicker — before he nodded. “Yeah. She did.”

I softened. “So you’ll help?”

He shrugged lightly, avoiding my gaze. “Sure. I’ll grab the box from storage.”

“Perfect,” I said, pushing away from the counter. “Then we can work on them at the kitchen table. Make it a project day.”

He smirked. “What, like arts and crafts?”

“Exactly like arts and crafts,” I said. “I even have glue sticks and glitter if you’re feeling brave.”

He groaned. “I think I just remembered I had plans.”

I rolled my eyes, fighting a smile. “You’re not backing out.”

He sighed, dramatic. “Fine. But if I end up with glitter in my hair, you’re at fault.”

“Deal,” I said, trying not to grin too wide.

By late morning, the kitchen table had turned into a full-blown craft zone. Ribbon, glue sticks, little jars, and Lacie’s endless color-coded notes were scattered across every inch of wood. Music played quietly from the speakers, something soft and steady that felt older than both of us.

He sat across from me, sleeves rolled up, cutting strips of lace ribbon with alarming precision. I was in charge of tying the tags and arranging the mini candles into hurricane vases. Every now and then, our hands would brush when we reached for the same spool of twine or photo print, and I could feel my pulse jump like it was trying to escape my chest.

“This looks... dangerously professional,” he said, inspecting one of the finished favors.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, leaning back to admire our progress. “You’re not half bad yourself.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m just saying, you couldn’t even wrap a Christmas gift.”

He smirked. “I was going for minimalism.”

“Right,” I said, laughing softly. “If minimalism means using one piece of tape and praying it holds.”

He shook his head, smiling, and the silence that followed wasn’t awkward — just warm. 

The kind that felt like old times.

After a while, I reached for the photo box he’d brought down earlier. It read “FISHER SUMMERS” on the lid in Susannah’s handwriting. My chest tightened just seeing it.

I lifted the lid, and inside were stacks of photos — faded, sun-warped, edges curling. Us on the beach. The boys at the boardwalk, faces red from the sun. Me, missing a front tooth, holding a melting popsicle. Susannah laughing behind the camera.

“Oh my God,” I murmured, holding one up. “Look at Steven’s haircut. Why did no one stop him?”

Conrad leaned over to see. “That was Mom’s doing,” he said, grinning. “She thought it made him look like one of the Beatles.”

I laughed so hard my eyes watered. “He looks like a mushroom.”

We went through more — Jeremiah as a toddler covered in sand, mom and Susannah sitting by the pool with matching hats, all of us in floaties too big for our bodies.

“God, I forgot how small we were,” I said, turning one photo over in my hands. “Feels like another lifetime.”

Conrad smiled faintly. “It was.”

I reached for another album — the thick one with the floral cover. Inside, the photos were older, more deliberate. Each page told a story: birthday cakes, Fourth of July sparklers, movie nights on the couch. Then I flipped to one that made me stop.

It was the five of us — me, Steven, the boys, and Susannah — sitting on the porch steps. She was in the middle, smiling with her arms around us. The light had caught her hair perfectly, golden and soft.

Conrad went still when he saw it. 

“That was the summer she got sick,” he said quietly. “The first time.”

I looked at him. His expression was calm, but his voice wavered just slightly, enough to make my heart ache.

“She still made us pancakes every morning,” he continued. “Even when she was exhausted. I remember coming downstairs once, and she was sitting at the counter, just staring out the window at the ocean. Said she didn’t want to waste a single sunrise.”

I swallowed hard. “She was the kind of person who made everything feel lighter.”

He nodded. “Yeah. She really was.”

We sat there for a long moment, neither of us speaking. The music had stopped, but I didn’t notice until the silence started to hum in my ears. The air between us felt full, charged with something I couldn’t name.

Conrad reached over and brushed a speck of glitter off the back of my hand, his fingers lingering a heartbeat too long. “You always made her proud, you know,” he said softly.

My throat tightened. “She said that about you too,” I whispered.

He gave a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“You always made this place feel like home.”

The words hit something deep in me, knocking the breath from my lungs. My eyes stung, and I blinked fast, pretending to focus on the photo album in front of me.

“She loved this house so much,” I said quietly. “Every corner of it. Every summer, she’d come up with some new project — repainting, gardening, redecorating — like she was afraid it would lose its magic if she stopped.”

Conrad nodded, his gaze distant. “She used to drag me out of bed at sunrise to pick hydrangeas. Said they looked best in the morning light. I hated it back then, but now I’d give anything to do it again.”

I smiled sadly. “I remember her teaching me how to braid flowers into the fence. We got so sunburned that day, your dad yelled at us.”

He let out a small laugh. “And she just said, ‘at least they’re happy burns.’”

I laughed too, but it came out shaky. 

“She always had a way of making everything sound beautiful.”

“She did,” he murmured. 

His voice caught just slightly, and something inside me ached at the sound.

A long pause stretched between us, heavy and tender all at once. His hand was still close to mine on the table, and before I could think better of it, I reached out — just a small movement, my fingers brushing over his.

He didn’t pull away. His hand turned, palm open, meeting mine halfway. For a moment, we just stayed like that, fingers touching, comforting each other.

“I miss her,” he said finally, voice quiet and raw.

“I do too,” I whispered. “Every day.”

And I meant it. But part of me knew that right then, in that tiny fragile moment, it wasn’t just Susannah I was missing.

My heart fluttered in my chest, that familiar dizzy feeling I’d tried so hard to bury coming back all at once. His thumb brushed lightly against my knuckles, a motion so gentle it barely felt real.

I could’ve stayed there like that — holding onto the only piece of him I could — if not for the sharp vibration that broke the spell. I pulled my hand away.

Conrad’s phone buzzed on the table. I saw the name as he flipped it over.

Agnes.

He smiled faintly, just enough for my stomach to twist. Then, as if it were nothing, he turned the phone facedown and reached for his drink.

The warmth in my chest cooled in an instant. I turned away, pretending to adjust the stack of photos, my fingers suddenly restless. I looked back down at the photo of Susannah, her smile frozen in sunlight, and forced myself to breathe. 

It felt like I was sixteen again — watching him walk away toward someone else.

Chapter Text

The thing with being friends with your ex is that it’s a constant balancing act.

You’re always caught between what was and what is, pretending not to remember the way their voice used to sound when they said your name or how it felt when their hand brushed yours. You learn to smile at the right moments, laugh when they do, and act like the memories don’t still pull at the edges of everything.

And the worst part is that sometimes it almost feels real, like you really are just friends. Until something small happens. A look. A laugh. The way they hand you your coffee exactly the way you like it. And suddenly, you’re back in the past, feeling everything you swore you’d buried.

That’s what it was like with Conrad.

Every morning felt too familiar. Too easy. We’d pass each other in the kitchen, talk about the weather or the errands that needed to be done. We were polite and careful, like two people pretending not to know every version of each other that ever existed.

And I hated how natural it felt.

Because being around him again wasn’t just comfortable. It was dangerous. It made me wonder what could have happened if timing had been kinder to us.

He still moved through the house like he belonged to it, like the walls remembered him. Sometimes I’d catch him pausing in the hallway, his eyes softening at a photo on the wall or the way the light came through the curtains. I wondered what memories were running through his mind when he looked like that, and whether I was part of them.

And then there was her. Agnes.

Just seeing her name on his phone was enough to sting. Whoever she was, it didn’t matter. The fact that she existed at all was a reminder that his life kept going after me. That I wasn’t the girl he stayed up thinking about anymore.

Maybe this was what friendship was supposed to be. Acceptance. Letting go while still standing close enough to smile.

I told myself that every day.

And every day, I believed it a little less.

Because the truth was, being near him again stirred up a mess of things I didn’t want to name.

Some days, I felt selfish for enjoying it — the comfort, the familiarity, the way it felt to fall back into something that used to be ours. Other days, I felt guilty. Guilty that if Conrad really did have someone waiting for him back in California, I was crossing some invisible line just by being here, laughing with him, sharing little pieces of a life that no longer belonged to me.

And then there were moments, brief but sharp, when I caught myself wondering what it would’ve been like if we’d made it. If we’d survived the distance and the grief and all the ways we broke apart. Sometimes I hated myself for still dreaming about it. For still wanting to.

Like the other day at the restaurant depot.

We’d gone to pick up catering supplies for Jere, and it felt… easy. Domestic, even. We’d fallen into this rhythm — walking side by side through aisles of bulk napkins and silver trays like a couple running errands on a Saturday.

He’d stopped in front of two nearly identical stacks of plates, confusion written all over his face.

“What’s the difference between this plate and this plate?” he asked, holding one in each hand.

I couldn’t help laughing. “That one’s a charger plate,” I said, pointing to the prettier one. “It’s just for decoration. It goes under the dinner plate.”

He blinked. “So it’s a plate for a plate?”

“Basically,” I said. “It’s supposed to make the table look nice.”

He shook his head, unimpressed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You sound like an old man,” I teased.

He smirked. “You sound like my mom.”

And that was it. 

We both laughed like it was the easiest thing in the world. But afterward, when the laughter faded and we were driving back with the boxes rattling in the backseat, I caught myself watching him again. The curve of his jaw, the sunlight catching in his hair, his hand loose on the wheel. The way he glanced at me sometimes like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

This could have been our life.

Maybe that was the cruelest part of all. That it still felt like it could be.

When things were good between us, they were easy. I could almost forget the years in between, the silence, the distance, all the ways we failed each other. We would cook dinner, share a joke, bump shoulders in the kitchen like it was second nature.

And that was what scared me.

Because I didn’t know what any of it meant anymore. The comfort, the quiet glances, the way he still knew how I liked my coffee, all of it left me confused. And his moods didn’t help. Some days he was warm, soft around the edges. The next, he would pull away again, like he suddenly remembered we were not us anymore.

Things shifted the other day.

We had gone to the grocery store, just running errands and restocking the fridge. It was simple, something we might have done together if life had gone another way.

I was pushing the cart, reading through the short list on my phone, when Conrad lingered by the spice section. He looked completely lost.

I laughed, walking over. “Okay, lesson one. You can’t live without garlic powder. That’s like the backbone of all flavors.”

He nodded, serious, like I was giving him classified information. “Garlic powder. Got it.”

“Paprika’s good too,” I continued, pulling a jar off the shelf. “Smoky, adds color. And cumin, if you ever want something that tastes like effort.”

He tilted his head. “What does effort taste like?”

“Not burnt chicken,” I said with a grin.

He huffed a quiet laugh and grabbed one of each, studying the labels as if he planned to memorize them. “So what you’re saying is I’ve been under-seasoning my entire college life.”

“I’m saying you’ve been eating food that probably tastes like air,” I teased.

He smirked. “Good to know. Guess I’ve been missing out.”

“You have,” I said softly, and for a moment, we both just stood there. Close, quiet, surrounded by rows of color and scent.

He looked over at me, a faint smile in his eyes. “You really like cooking, huh?”

“It relaxes me,” I said. “It’s something I can control.”

His smile faded just slightly, but not in a bad way. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that.”

We fell into a rhythm after that. He’d read the next thing off the list, I’d explain why it was important, and we’d walk side by side down each aisle. Our arms would brush now and then, and neither of us pulled away. I told myself not to read into it. That it was just two old friends running errands.

Part of me liked how it felt and that was enough to make me feel guilty all over again.

We were in the milk aisle when I heard someone call my name.

“Belly?”

I turned, startled, then immediately relaxed. “Cam! Hey.”

He smiled, warm and easy. “Hey yourself. Good to see you again.”

“You too,” I said, returning the smile. “How’s the aquarium?”

“Busy. We had two sea turtles released last week,” he said, still holding the basket in one hand. “How’s everything with the wedding?”

Before I could answer, Conrad looked up from the shelf. “Hey, man,” he said, reserved.

Cam nodded at him. “Conrad. Long time.”

“Yeah,” Conrad said lightly.

I gestured between them, trying to keep the air steady. “We were just picking up some groceries for the house.”

Cam grinned. “Domestic life suits you,” he teased and I felt my cheeks heat up.

Conrad’s jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing.

Cam glanced back at me. “Wedding prep going okay?”

“Mostly,” I said. “You know how it is.”

He nodded. “It’s coming up soon.”

Conrad’s head turned just a little. “You know about that?”

“Yeah,” Cam said casually. “Belly mentioned it when we went out a couple weeks ago. I got the invite by the way, thanks.” He reached out to brush my arm as he said it.

The shift was immediate. I felt it before I even looked at Conrad.

His expression didn’t change much, but I could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened. 

“Right,” he said.

Cam, completely oblivious, smiled at me. “Hey, if you aren’t busy this weekend—”

“It’s actually Belly’s birthday this weekend,” Conrad cut in, his tone sharp enough to make both of us pause.

Cam blinked, surprised. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah,” Conrad said. “Big plans at the house.”

I stared at him, half-annoyed, half-stunned. “What plans?”

Conrad shrugged. 

“You said the girls were coming down, didn’t you? Bonfire, cake. The whole thing.”

Cam smiled again, clearly trying to keep up. 

“That sounds great. Happy early birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said, still side-eyeing Conrad. “You should come, actually. The more the merrier.”

Conrad’s head turned toward me, slow and deliberate. “What?”

I gave him a pointed look, forcing a bright smile. “Yeah, it’ll be fun. Saturday night, bonfire on the beach. Bring whatever you want.”

Cam’s grin widened. “Really? That sounds awesome. I’ll bring something sweet. You still like blueberry pie?”

“I’ll never say no to blueberry pie,” I said.

Conrad stayed silent, his hand tightening slightly around the cart.

“Well, I’ll see you guys then,” Cam said cheerfully. “Good luck with the rest of your shopping.”

“Thanks,” I said, hugging him quickly.

He shook Conrad’s hand next. “See you around, man.”

“Yeah,” Conrad said, his tone polite but clipped. “See you.”

When Cam disappeared around the corner, I reached for the cart.

“So,” I said quietly, “that was Cam.”

“Yeah,” Conrad said after a moment, pushing the cart forward. “Didn’t know you two were still… in contact.”

“We’re not,” I said quickly. “We just caught up. It was nice.”

He nodded once. “Good for you.”

I blinked. “Good for me?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up a gallon of milk and dropped it in the cart like the conversation hadn’t happened. 

The rest of the trip was quiet. He didn’t say a word on the drive home. He just put on the radio and stared out at the road, sunglasses on even though the sun was setting.And the thing was, I didn’t know if I was angry or sad or something in between.

I knew that look. I’d seen it before, once upon a summer, the first time Cam had taken me out on a date and Conrad Fisher had stood in the kitchen pretending he didn’t care. Later, lying in bed that night, I replayed the way his voice had changed — low, flat, careful — and realized it sounded a lot like jealousy.

And that confused me most of all.

But Conrad, as history would confirm, was always confusing. 

Like the other day, we were driving back from yet another wedding errand when we passed the farmer’s stand at the edge of town — the one that always had the freshest peaches.

“Want to stop?” he asked suddenly.

I shook my head. “We already passed it.”

But he slowed the car anyway, checking the rearview mirror before making a U-turn. “We can spare five minutes.”

The warm scent of fruit and dust hit us the moment we stepped out of the car. Wooden crates were stacked high, the peaches round and golden in the late afternoon light. I picked one up, pressing my thumb gently into the skin. “These are perfect,” I said.

“You could make something with them,” he replied. “Pie, maybe. Or strudel.”

I smiled, glancing at him over my shoulder. “You sound like you’re volunteering as a taste tester.”

He shook his head. “Can’t. I’m allergic.”

I paused. “You are?”

He nodded. “Peaches, mostly. Fresh ones. Mouth gets all itchy.”

I stared at him, surprised. “How did I not know that?”

He gave a small shrug. “Guess it never came up.”

I bit into one, the skin giving way with a soft snap. The sweetness hit me instantly, syrupy and sun-warm. Juice ran down my chin before I could catch it.

“Careful,” he said, amusement flickering in his voice.

“I got it,” I murmured, wiping at my chin with the back of my hand. But before I could finish, he stepped closer.

“Here,” he said quietly.

He untucked the corner of his shirt and reached out, dabbing gently at the juice running down my chin. The simple touch sent something sharp and warm through me.

The space between us felt suddenly small. The late afternoon heat clung to the air, and I could see everything — the faint tan line along his collarbone, the flex of his forearm, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His scent — salt, soap, a trace of sun — wrapped around me before I could stop myself from breathing it in.

He was too close. Close enough that my pulse stuttered, that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes when he looked at me.

Something low in my stomach tightened. For one suspended second, I forgot how to move. 

My gaze slipped to his mouth, then back up again.

And that’s when a memory hit — the way his hand once fit against the back of my neck, the warmth of a fire burning low beside us, the sound of his voice when he whispered my name like it was something sacred.

It was easy to fall into it again, just standing here, surrounded by peaches and sunlight, his shirt still brushing my skin.

He didn’t move away right away either. His eyes flickered briefly, like he was fighting some private battle of his own.

Then, with a quiet breath, he stepped back. “There,” he said softly. “You’re good.”

I nodded, but my throat felt tight. “Thanks,” I managed, clutching the peach in my hand.

“Guess they’re sweeter than they look,” he said, smiling faintly.

I tried to laugh, but it came out uneven. “Yeah. Guess so.”

That night, the house was still. The ocean murmured faintly through the open window, the air heavy with salt and heat. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of him.

But the more I tried to push it away, the more it returned — the memory of sunlight on his skin, the gentle scrape of his thumb against my jaw, the breath that had caught somewhere between us.

And when sleep wouldn’t come, I did the only thing I could.

I let myself think of him.

Just once.

His warmth, his scent, his touch. It was the memory of his moans that undid me. And when the shudder finally left me, the guilt rushed in, quiet but absolute.

Chapter Text

The wedding place cards were spread out on the kitchen island like a tiny paper army. I had been trimming ribbons, gluing dried sprigs of lavender, telling myself that if I kept my hands busy enough my mind would quiet down. It wasn’t working, but it was something.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows in warm, gentle squares. It should have felt peaceful. It didn’t. My thoughts kept drifting back to yesterday at the peach stand, the way he looked at me, the way my body reacted before I could stop it. I hated how easily old memories could shake something loose inside me. I felt even guiltier knowing I allowed myself an orgasm at the thought of him. 

I heard the back door open, the familiar thud of it hitting the stopper.

I didn’t turn around.

“Good morning,” I said, keeping my eyes on the ribbon between my fingers.

“Morning,” a low grunt came in response, nothing like his warm greeting. 

It wasn’t like him. I knew he went out for a surf this morning, as usual. He had left a plate of something for me for breakfast and I ate it while working. Everything was perfectly fine between us.

I paused, my scissors hovering over a strip of ribbon. Maybe he was just tired from the waves. That happened sometimes. Or maybe something else was bothering him. Something he wasn’t saying.

A flicker of panic tugged at my chest.

Heavy footsteps crossed the tile. Wet ones. I heard the faint squeak of water pooling under bare feet and then his tread was already on the stairs. He didn’t say anything else. No teasing comment. No sarcastic remark about my “wedding arts and crafts.” Just silence.

Had I done something? Said something? Had last night… been obvious?

Heat crept up my neck. My mind replayed it without mercy, the way I curled beneath my sheets, the way my body reacted to the memory of his hands on me years ago. The way I whispered his name into my pillow when I finally unraveled.

Was it possible he heard? The walls in this house weren’t exactly thick. God, what if he had walked by at the exact wrong moment. What if he knew.

I shook my head, telling myself I was being ridiculous. Everything yesterday was fine. 

But that grunt, that shift in his voice… it scraped against my ribs.

“Are you… okay?” I called over my shoulder, trying to be casual.

No answer.

I frowned and slowly set my scissors down, a knot tightening in my stomach as dread crept in. Something wasn’t right. I turned and found a few puddles of seawater that dotted the floor behind him, but mixed into them was something darker. A faint streak. My stomach dropped.

No.

I stepped closer. The puddle wasn’t just water.

Blood.

A thin trail, uneven, leading toward the stairs like a breadcrumb path of something gone wrong.

“Conrad?” My voice broke around the edges.

Nothing.

I called again, louder, panic climbing my throat. “Conrad.”

Still no answer. 

I followed the trail up the stairs, heart pounding harder with each step. My mind spun through a thousand possibilities. Had he cut himself on the reef? Did something hit him? Was it deep? Why hadn’t he said anything?

His bathroom door was cracked open. I pushed it gently.

He was sitting on the edge of the tub, one leg stretched out in front of him. There was a gash along his thigh, just above the knee, angry and red, blood smeared across his skin. His hair was dripping, his breaths shallow.

He lifted his eyes to me slowly, like it took effort.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice faint.

I knelt beside him. “What happened?”

“Caught a bad wave,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment as if gathering strength. “Board smacked into me or… maybe I hit the rocks. I don’t know. Everything kind of spun.”

He sounded dazed. That scared me more than the blood.

“Conrad, you’re bleeding a lot,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, wincing. “Figured I should… get in the shower or something.”

“You shouldn’t even be sitting upright.” My voice was shaking. “Why didn’t you say something when you walked in?”

“I didn’t want to freak you out,” he muttered.

Too late for that.

He winced as he shifted his leg. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Where’s the first aid kit?” I asked, ignoring him.

“Bottom drawer,” he muttered.

I knelt, trying very hard not to stare at the water dripping down his naked torso. The droplets traced along the lines of his stomach, over the faint cuts of muscle he definitely did not have at sixteen. My throat tightened. Focus, I told myself.

I found the kit and set it beside his knee.

“Move the towel,” I said.

He gave a low grunt but lifted it. The wound was deeper than I expected, maybe from coral or a jagged rock. It wasn’t gushing, but the torn edges made my stomach drop.

“Conrad, you should have come straight to me,” I said quietly.

He gave a humorless laugh. “Was kinda busy trying not to drown.”

“Is your head okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not good,” I said. “You’re pale.”

“That’s just my personality.”

Despite the worry, I almost smiled. “Shut up. Sit back.”

I opened the disinfectant. “This is going to sting.”

“Belly, really. I’m the med student here. I can handle—”

“No.”

I cut him off as I soaked a gauze pad. “You’re the patient. Be quiet.”

He muttered something under his breath but he stayed still.

I pressed the gauze to the wound.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body jerking forward from the pain. Before I could react, his hand shot out and grabbed my waist, fingers digging in, and his forehead dropped against my shoulder.

The contact stole the air from my lungs.

His breath was warm through the thin fabric of my shirt, uneven from both the sting and the effort of staying still. His chest brushed my arm with every exhale, and I could feel the tension rippling through him, muscles tight and trembling.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

He gave a low, strained groan, the vibration of it humming straight through my skin. His grip on my waist tightened slightly as if grounding himself.

“You poured acid on me,” he managed, voice muffled against my shoulder.

“It’s peroxide,” I said softly. “Stop being a baby.”

His laugh was shaky. “Feels like acid.”

“Stay still.”

But I wasn’t still. Not at all. Not with his forehead resting on me, not with his hand warm and firm on my waist, not with his body pressed close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him.

I tried to focus on the wound, but my pulse thundered in my ears.

“Conrad,” I said quietly, not trusting my voice.

He lifted his head just slightly, breath ghosting along my collarbone. “That hurt like hell.”

And the worst part was, I didn’t want him to move. Not yet. Not when everything about this felt so familiar and so forbidden at the same time.. His forehead dropped forward again as he exhaled shakily, and I felt him lean closer, almost against me.

God. I was not prepared for this.

“Just breathe,” I said, but my own breathing was uneven.

“You poured half the bottle on me,” he groaned.

“You’re dramatic,” I whispered.

“You’re sadistic.”

“Hold still.”

I tried to focus on the wound, but his hand remained at my waist, fingers flexing each time I dabbed the cut. Every movement sent a spark up my spine. My mind betrayed me, flashing back to that night by the fireplace, to the way his body moved over mine, to the warmth of his breath on my neck.

Stop it, I begged myself. Just stop.

“You okay?” he asked suddenly. His voice was soft, strained. He must have felt my breath hitch.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“Your face is red.”

“You’re bleeding everywhere. Worry about yourself.”

He gave a weak chuckle. “Still bossy.”

My hands trembled slightly as I reached for fresh gauze. I tried to steady myself with practical steps. Clean. Apply pressure. Try to forget the feeling of his skin against mine.

I smoothed the last piece of tape down, sealing the gauze against his skin. He didn’t move.

His hand slid off my waist, but the warmth of it stayed, like an imprint. I tried to step back. I really did. But he stayed exactly where he was, sitting on the edge of the tub, eyes lifted to mine, face impossibly close.

“Belly,” he murmured, voice quieter than I’d heard in years. “Thanks. Really.”

My throat tightened. “Someone has to keep you alive.”

His mouth curved just slightly. “Guess it’s always been you.”

The words hung in the air, soft and devastating. When I looked at him, his face was already tilted toward mine. His breath was warm against my lips. My heart kicked hard, once, then again, like it was trying to warn me or push me forward. I couldn’t tell which.

He stayed there, unmoving but expectant, like he was waiting for me to make the call. His eyes flicked to my mouth. Mine did the same. My pulse thudded so loudly it drowned out every rational thought.

I should step back.

I should say something normal.

I should remember the text message from Agnes.

I should remember four years of silence.

I should remember how much it hurt.

But none of that mattered when he looked at me like that.

His knee brushed mine. His fingers curled slightly on the tub edge, as if he were holding himself back by the last thread of restraint. And for a terrifying, thrilling moment, that restraint began to slip. He leaned in just an inch, then another. His lips were close enough that I could feel every exhale he let out.

My breath stuttered.

This was wrong. This was stupid. This was dangerous.

But God, I wanted to. I wanted it so badly I could taste it.

He leaned in even closer. Our noses brushed. His hand lifted, slow as a confession, fingertips grazing my leg like he was about to pull me closer. My eyes fluttered shut. His forehead touched mine. I felt the exact moment he decided to kiss me. His breath ghosted against my lips.

And then—

“Where is the birthday bitch!”

Taylor’s voice tore through the house.

My eyes flew open and I jerked back so fast I nearly knocked over the peroxide bottle. Conrad froze in place, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling like he’d just come up for air. The tension between us snapped, but not cleanly. It clung to the air, thick and electric.

I stumbled away from him, brushing imaginary dust off my hands, trying to breathe like I hadn’t almost kissed him in his bathroom while he was half-naked and bleeding.

Downstairs, Taylor shrieked my name again.

Conrad ran a hand through his damp hair, still breathless. 

No kidding. My heart was still trying to crawl out of my chest.

“They… they’re early,” I managed.

He nodded once, jaw tight, like he didn’t trust himself to speak. And in that tiny pause before I stepped out of the bathroom, I knew we were both thinking the same impossible thought.

If the door hadn’t opened.

If Taylor had been five seconds later.

The word echoed in my chest as I forced my legs to move.

If.

-

Within fifteen minutes, Conrad and Steven were already in the car, headed to the ER for stitches. The house went strangely quiet after they left. I stood there for a few seconds, replaying the moment upstairs, replaying how close we had gotten, until Taylor’s voice snapped me back to reality and I realized I was still holding the bloody towel.

The kitchen still smelled faintly of peroxide and panic. Taylor stood beside me with a mop, her expression bouncing between concern and suspicion as we tried to clean the trail of water and diluted blood across the tile.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked for the third time.

“I’m fine,” I said a little too fast, scrubbing at a spot that was already clean.

Taylor paused, leaning on the mop. “Belly… your face is literally the color of a tomato. And not even a cute tomato. A distressed tomato.”

“I’m not distressed,” I said, wiping harder. “I’m just… shaken.”

“Shaken?” She blinked. “It was a cut, not a shark attack.”

“It was a big cut.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you were breathing like you just ran a marathon while Conrad was getting in the car.”

I froze. My spine went straight.

“Oh my God,” she whispered dramatically. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” I grabbed paper towels to avoid eye contact. “Nothing happened. It was just scary. I’ve never had to do first aid like that before. The blood. The… everything. It just… spooked me.”

Taylor narrowed her eyes like she could smell the lie. “You? Spooked by bodily fluids? Belly, you literally watched me vomit four times in a row at prom and then held my hair while lecturing me about tequila.”

“This was different,” I insisted.

Taylor folded her arms. “Different how?”

I scrubbed the floor that absolutely did not need more scrubbing. My heart was still misbehaving in my chest, replaying the moment his forehead rested against my shoulder. The way he leaned in. The way I leaned in.

I swallowed. “It’s just… seeing him hurt caught me off guard.”

Taylor stared at me. “Uh-huh.”

“And then trying to take care of him, trying to stay calm, it was… a lot.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I panicked.”

“Aha,” she said, eyes lighting up. “So you’re lying.”

I choked. “What? No.”

“Something happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Something almost happened.”

My silence was apparently answer enough, because Taylor’s jaw dropped.

“Belly Conklin. What. Happened.”

I pressed the heel of my palm to my forehead. “I–.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered, dropping the mop. “You kissed him.”

My head snapped up. “No. I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your voice went up like three octaves.”

I stared at the countertop. “It wasn’t a kiss.”

“But it was almost a kiss.”

I pressed my lips together and busied myself with throwing out the used towels. 

“It was just… nothing.”

Taylor followed me like a shadow. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” I said again, quieter this time. “He got hurt. I helped him. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” she repeated, unconvinced.

I nodded, even though my chest squeezed painfully around the truth.

“That’s all it was.”

Taylor softened slightly, stepping closer. “Belly… do you want it to be more than that?”

My breath hitched. I stared at the tiles. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Why not?”

Because he might be dating someone named Agnes.

Because four years is a long time.

Because my heart is stupid.

Because I don’t know how to survive losing him again.

I swallowed all of that down.

“It just doesn’t,” I whispered.

Taylor sighed and slid her arm around my shoulders. “He still gets to you,” she murmured.

I didn’t deny it.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I leaned into the counter and let the mop water drip quietly onto the floor, wishing that wanting him didn’t feel so much like drowning and breathing at the same time.

“When they get back, act normal,” Taylor said gently.

“I’ll try,” I whispered.

Inside, though, everything was a mess. And no amount of cleaning would fix it.