Chapter Text
Alec took the exit without checking the sign.
It was muscle memory—wrist turning, foot easing off the accelerator, the car gliding from highway speed into the funnel of a two-lane road. Pines tightened around them almost immediately, branches heavy with snow that clung in patches where the sun couldn’t reach. The December light in Massachusetts always felt thinner than the city’s.
He hadn’t been to Ashbrook in four whole years—the city where he grew up, where he found love, where he lost it.
Unless you counted the half-day drives in and out to check on Maryse when things first went sideways with his parents. Those didn’t count. Those were errands. He hadn’t stayed longer than half a day. He did what he had to do and left.
Alec kept both hands on the wheel and watched the familiar markers return, one by one. The split-rail fence repaired in uneven sections. The stone wall with the crooked mailbox that never got corrected. The old white church with a bell tower that was no longer functional and a mark of the old rail town Ashbrook had been built adjacent to.
Evan shifted in the passenger seat, leaning forward like the view had physically pulled him toward the windshield. He’d been quiet the last few miles, headphones looped around his neck, his audiobook humming in it, fingers tapping lightly on his thigh. It was a strange look on the influencer. He never remained quiet for that long.
“This is it?” Evan asked, peering out at the first cluster of buildings coming into view, the sign Welcome to Ashbrook having just passed them.
“This is it,” Alec said, eyes on the road.
Evan’s mouth opened in a grin. “Wow, it’s… aggressively small.”
“It’s a small town,” Alec replied. “What did you expect?”
“It’s very… Gilmore Girls,” he said, unzipping his camera bag. “Like—I can already picture seeing one woman carrying a pie in a cardigan.”
Alec snorted, unsure of what the reference met. He had never seen Gilmore Girls. “You wanted to be here.”
“Oh, I am not complaining.” Evan said, and lifted his phone to film through the glass. “Look at that. Look at the way the trees frame the road. Look at the—okay, hold on.” He read a banner that called for donations for a rummage sale. Evan was fascinated.
Alec glanced over as they passed the town square. Smaller than he remembered—grass browned for winter, patches of snow from a fresh evening shower, a low fence, two benches with a dusting of snow. Between two lampposts hung a banner: ASHBROOK HOLIDAY MARKET — SAT & SUN. Someone had strung white lights around the poles, and a wreath hung crookedly.
“Quaint,” Evan announced.
Alec didn’t answer. He watched the storefronts slide by.
The brick buildings were still there. The old hardware store was gone—replaced by a café with big windows and chalkboard signage. The bookstore had expanded into the neighboring unit, its front display filled with holiday covers and local author placards. The same diner sat on the corner, renovated brighter lettering on the sign. The post office looked unchanged, as if the world had moved forward but most of the town had stubbornly refused to.
Evan’s head turned constantly—left, right, left again—like he was trying to absorb everything at once. “Do people just… walk into each other here?”
“Yes,” Alec said.
Evan was delighted. “That’s incredible.”
“You say that now.”
Evan dropped his voice into a mock-serious tone. He turned to Alec, leaning over from the passenger seat toward Alec. “I say it always,” he said. “I would’ve been very happy to run into you every day, Al. Like… accidentally on purpose.” He lifted his brows once. “Until you got sick of me.”
Alec kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.
Evan laughed at Alec’s attempt for nonchalance, reached over, and with two fingers tilted Alec’s chin toward him. Alec let it happen for half a second. Evan kissed him then pulled back like it was nothing at all.
“Okay,” he said, patting Alec’s jaw once. “Drive.”
The town wasn’t a single block, but it felt like one. A few main streets, everything orbiting the square—shops, the café, the bakery, the small museum, the community office tucked into a building. Beyond that, the residential roads branched off into quiet neighborhoods where the trees leaned close and the streets were quieter.
Evan tugged his scarf higher around his neck as he realized they would be approaching destination soon. He was a twenty-six-year old vlogger from New York, and he had met Alec on one of his these brand deals he had done for Alec’s company. He was a confident man, in every way that counted. By the way he occupied space. By the way he didn’t care about how anyone perceived it.
He looked like someone who lived out of pockets and chargers and a calendar that was always shifting.
Alec signaled and turned into the hotel lot.
A motel lot, to be precise.
Alec parked, cut the engine, and sighed, taking a beat longer than necessary. He had driven three hours nonstop to a city he wasn’t fully ready to confront. Evan looked at the motel then at Alec. His expression shifted between curiosity and mild offense.
“I thought we were going to your place,” he said.
“I am,” Alec replied, and pushed open his door.
Evan blinked. “Okay. So why are we—”
Alec stepped out into the cold before Evan could complete his sentence, and it hit him across the face like a slap. He shut the door door, walked around the front of the car, and leaned back against the hood. The metal was cold even through his coat.
The air smelled like pine and damp earth and the faint metallic edge of winter. It reminded him of childhood. In a good way. Also, in a bad way.
Evan circled the car, stopping in front of him. “Al,” he said, dragging the vowel like a tease. “Explain.”
Alec stared at him for a second. “You’re staying here.”
Evan’s brows shot up. “Here.”
“Yes,” Alec shrugged.
Evan opened his mouth, then shut it again like he’d swallowed whatever first reaction he’d had. He rocked back on his heels, taking Alec in. “Okay,” he said finally, but the word landed with a question mark.
Alec blinked. “Listen—”
Evan spread his hands, interrupting him, “I mean, I’m not—” he glanced at the building and then at Alec, as if choosing the least dramatic phrasing, “—thrilled to be told that after a three-hour drive, but I’m assuming there’s a reason.”
“There is,” Alec said.
Evan’s eyes narrowed slightly, “Is it a ‘you’re hiding me’ reason or a ‘you’re hiding you’ reason?”
Alec’s mouth tightened. Evan had a habit of cutting cleanly to the bone and then pretending he’d stumbled there by accident.
“I haven’t told my family,” he said, exhaling slowly. “Or anyone else. That I brought someone.”
“You didn’t have to,” Evan’s expression shifted. “I wanted to come here.” And then it dawned on him, “Ah, so… it’s that kind of town?”
Alec shook his head, “No, but it’s just… I don’t know. It’s my parent’s,” he paused. “My mother’s house and I didn’t know—”
Evan’s lips twitched. “—if you could debut your random Brooklyn hookup like the Rockettes.”
Alec shot him a look.
Evan held up a hand. “I mean random with a lot of affection.”
Alec didn’t deny it. Because that’s what this was. He liked Evan. He liked the way Evan made everything feel lighter. He liked the uncomplicated heat of him. He liked that Evan didn’t look at Alec like he was a mystery to be unravelled, like a problem to be solved.
But this wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t anything. And he couldn’t have explained that to Maryse Lightwood over seven days of Christmas.
“I haven’t come back here in four years.” He explained, a little more truthfully. “And I need some time to… exist here first.”
Evan studied him for a bit, then nodded. “Okay. Two conditions.”
Alec’s brows lifted. “Conditions.”
“One,” Evan said, ticking off on his fingers, “you don’t apologize for it fifty times like you’re doing something criminal.”
“I haven’t apologized,” Alec said.
Evan gave him a look that said not with words.
“And two,” Evan continued, “you give me the address of the best breakfast place in town, preferably one that serves pancakes, because if I’m sleeping in a hotel, I’m at least getting content and pancakes out of it.”
Alec felt something loosen in his chest. “There’s a diner,” he said. “But I don’t know if it’s still open. I’ll text you.”
Evan’s face brightened immediately. “Yes. Perfect. Perfect!”
Alec pushed off the car hood, turning toward him. “You’re sure you’re okay being here?”
Evan shrugged, but there was no sulking in it, just pragmatism with a grin. “Al, I came because you said you were driving back to your hometown for Christmas and I thought, wow, a small American town in winter? It’s good for my brand.”
Alec’s mouth twitched.
“And,” Evan added quickly, like he couldn’t help himself, “I wanted to film your grumpy face next to a wreath.”
“I don’t have a grumpy face,” Alec said flatly.
Evan leaned in conspiratorially. “You do. And it’s hot. It’s your whole thing.”
Alec huffed a short laugh.
Evan stepped closer, closing the space. He reached up and caught Alec’s coat lapels, fingers resting there with a familiarity of having done this multiple times in the last two months. There was nothing reverent about it. It was fun. Possessive in the temporary way that belonged to late nights and hotel rooms.
“You’re don’t want to fold me into your family,” Evan said seductively. “Good. I don’t want to be folded. I want to be a tourist.”
Alec’s eyes flicked over Evan’s face… the freckles across his nose, the small scar at the edge of his eyebrow from some accident Evan had told him about like it was background noise.
Then Evan kissed him, the way he always did. Like he lived in the present and didn’t care what happened in the next minute. Alec’s hands came up to Evan’s waist, leaning back on the cold car hood. The kiss deepened for a few moments—before Evan pulled back, grinning.
“Okay,” he said. “Now I’m less annoyed.”
Alec’s hand stayed on his hip. “You were annoyed.”
“I was… momentarily inconvenienced,” Evan corrected. “And now I’m fine.
Alec stared at him. “I am glad.”
Evan beamed. “Thank you for bringing me here.” He leaned in again for a quick kiss. “Come back after dinner. I’ll do a quick edit, post something about ‘discovering hidden gems,’ and then you can come rescue me from the urge to narrate my own life.”
Alec’s mouth twitched. “You narrate your own life.”
“Yes,” Evan said cheerfully. “When I am stuck in cosy motel rooms in small towns.”
Alec squeezed his hip once. “I’ll come by,” he said.
Evan’s grin softened. “Cool. I’m going to check in. Then I’m going to walk around like a menace with a camera. This town has no idea what’s about to hit it.”
Alec watched him turn toward the lobby doors, then pause and glance back. “You good,” he asked.
Alec looked past him, down the street where Ashbrook waited. “I am,” Alec said.
Evan nodded. “Text me if you get trapped in family feelings,” he said. “I’ll send you memes.”
Alec snorted.
Evan slipped inside before Alec could answer, the hotel doors swallowing his energy and leaving Alec alone with the cold and the town.
Alec got back into the car and started the engine and pulled out of the hotel lot, merging onto Main Street. It would have been quicker to stay on it until it fed into the residential roads, but his hands turned the wheel before his brain offered an argument. He wanted to check his town out. See what had changed, what hadn’t. Ashbrook didn’t sprawl; it was little oasis. A few streets that held everything that mattered, stacked tight enough that you could cross the town on foot if you wanted.
He took the first left that cut behind the green and drove the back side of the commercial stretch.
The museum came into view from the side street, its brick front half-hidden by bare trees. A banner hung from the porch railing: WINTER ARCHIVES — ASHBROOK IN PHOTOGRAPHS. Alec’s grip tightened on the wheel as he bent a little to read the banner and find the name of the curator. Indah Bane’s name wasn’t on it. It hit him in a small, strange way—not like loss but like time doing what it did.
He remembered being eleven years old and trailing Indah through those doors, her hand on his shoulder guiding him past display cases. She’d made the past sound like a story you could step into and out of.
He didn’t let the thought stretch and kept driving.
A few yards later sat the Ashbrook Community Outreach Center in a converted old house. The lights were on in the front office, a shadow moving behind frosted glass. Jocelyn Fray. She was still there. Alec felt a brief pang of fondness, and then it hit him. Jace: his best friend, was marrying Jocelyn Fray’s daughter. The world was indeed small in Ashbrook.
He drove another block and passed Herondale Auto & Restoration. The sign was bigger than it used to be. The shop itself had expanded, two bays now, and a third garage door painted to match. One bay was still open, light spilling onto the pavement. He caught a glimpse of Jace’s silhouette inside, shoulders bent over something, and he smiled in pride.
The commercial strip finally fell behind him, as Alec kept driving. The buildings spaced around, trees arched overhead and roads narrowed. He slowed without thinking, and turned into the familiar lane: WOLF LANE.
He rolled down it, tires crunching on a thin layer of gravel and ice. The houses here sat back from the road, yards widening into huge lawns covered in snow. When he pulled into the Lightwood drive, the motion sensor near the garage clicked on, washing the front of the house in warm white light.
The nameplate at the end of the drive caught his eye. LIGHTWOOD’S
He’d hung it himself when he was 15. He could still picture it: Isabelle steadying the ladder like a foreman, Max in his stroller making indignant noises, Robert standing behind them holding the drill and too much pride in his eyes. Alec had been young enough then to believe families were fixed points.
He got out of the car, the cold cutting clean through his coat, and went to the trunk. He pulled out his bag, pulled the handle, and walked up to the front door.
He knocked once.
The door opened almost immediately.
Max stood there, taller than Alec remembered, shoulders bony under a hoodie, hair messier and rough. Fourteen, in the middle of the phase where kids tried to pretend they were too old for emotions while still needing it. For half a second, Max stared as if he had to confirm it was real.
Then he moved fast and grabbed Alec around the middle, face pressed into Alec’s coat like he’d done when he was small.
Alec laughed and wrapped both arms around Max’s shoulders. “Hey.”
Max didn’t let go right away. “You’re here,” he said, voice muffled.
“I’m here,” Alec repeated, his throat locked with emotions. Max didn’t deserve to be so happy over his brother visiting home. He should have done better. He should have visited more often.
Max finally pulled back, trying to look casual. He failed. His eyes were bright. “You look older.”
“So do you,” Alec said.
“I am taller,” Max rolled his eyes. He grabbed Alec’s bag without asking. “How was your drive?”
“Good!”
“Did you see the new cafe?” Max asked.
“I did.”
“It has the best coffee in town. I am taking you there.”
“Done!” Alec promised. “Where’s mom?”
“Mom’s in her office,” he said, moving down the hall. “She said not to bother her unless it was important, but I think you count.”
Alec shut the door behind them and set his keys in their old place by the small bowl. The house smelled like childhood—cleaner that Maryse liked, something savory from the kitchen, and faintly like pine from whatever candle was Maryse’s seasonal favorite.
He followed Max down the hall.
Maryse’s office door was open. Alec paused at the threshold and looked in.
The room had been Robert’s once. His drafting desk. His studio corner. Maryse had stripped it down and rebuilt it into something that fit her new life. A life without him. The desk had been refinished. The chair was new. The bookshelf held policy binders and reports where architectural magazines used to sit. The walls were softer now—dimly lit in warm yellow as opposed to the overhead white.
Maryse looked up and her face changed. The way a mother’s expression softened into the version it only wore for her children.
“Alec,” she said, standing, her eyes lighting up.
“Hey!”
He stepped in and hugged her. She held him firmly, one hand at the back of his neck, the other on his shoulder, like she was checking he was real. She kissed his cheek, then pulled back far enough to look at him.
“You look tired,” she said, pushing hair from his forehead.
“I am not—” he revolted.
Her mouth curved. “Fine. Sit. Or don’t. Just—” she gestured vaguely, as if the word stay was too loaded.
“I’m staying,” Alec said, and watched the relief flicker through her eyes.
Max leaned in the doorway, pretending he wasn’t listening. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he announced. Then, because he was fourteen and couldn’t help himself, he added, “If you want to eat like a normal person and not like… a New York person.”
Maryse rolled her eyes like it wasn’t the first time he had made that joke.
Alec looked at him. “What does that mean.”
Max shrugged. “Smaller, sadder portions.”
Maryse made a sound that might have been a laugh and might have been a warning. “Max.”
“What,” Max said.
Alec shook his head, amused. “I eat.”
Max’s eyes narrowed. “Do you.”
Alec didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. Maryse had heard enough of his work schedule over the years to know how he survived.
They moved into the kitchen. The table was set. Three sets of cutlery. A mother’s efficiency was a comfort. Max talked while he helped about school, a teacher who assigned too much reading, and a friend who’d gotten suspended for something that sounded stupid and maybe was.
Alec listened. He washed his hands, splashed water on his face, and watched his reflection for a second. Same face. Slightly different edges. An incorrect image in the mirror that had seen different versions of him, not this thirty-seven-year-old, sleep-deprived architect from New York.
Maryse brought food to the table. Alec didn’t realize how hungry he was until he started eating and the room went quiet except for forks and Max’s occasional commentary.
“How was the drive here?”
“Fine,” Alec said. “Traffic wasn’t bad.”
She watched him over the rim of her glass like she could see what he wasn’t saying. “Good,” she replied, and let it rest.
Max picked at his food and then said, “Izzy texted. She and Simon get in the day after.”
Alec nodded. “I know. I read the family chat.”
“Apparently Simon’s parents are doing some impromptu pre-holiday thing and he can’t say no.”
“Hmm, some Hanukkah thing,” Alec said.
Max smirked, then tried to hide it by taking a drink, “Ah. The annual guilt summons—attendance mandatory, joy optional.”
Maryse glared. Max shut up.
When they finished, Alec helped gather plates. Max stood and hovered, then said, “So.”
Alec glanced up. “So.”
Max looked at him like he wanted to ask something but didn’t want to be obvious about caring.“How long are you staying.”
“I haven’t decided,” he said, honest. “But I’m here for Christmas.”
Max nodded, satisfied enough to pretend he wasn’t. “Okay.”
Maryse wiped her hands on a towel. “We’ve cleaned up Max’s old room for you,” she said, matter-of-fact.
Alec paused. “What about my room.”
Max’s shoulders lifted, unrepentant. “Your room is now mine.”
Alec stared at him, slightly offended. “You took my room?”
Maryse’s expression softened. “Max needed a bigger space for his books, and you’re not around too much so—”
“It’s fine,” Alec said quickly. It was. It really was. He was just messing with his younger brother.
Alec grabbed his phone and went upstairs. Max’s room had been a repurposed store room, hence smaller. And now it was where he would stay while he was in town. Maryse had moved some of his stuff into this room, Max’s smaller desk holding frames and faux-plants. Max had already left his bag near the bed.
Alec sat down on the edge of the bed, took his phone out, and typed a message to Evan. You good? Did you eat something? I’ll come by in an hour.
A reply came fast.
Evan: Bossy. Room service acquired. Also your town is cute. I’m going to film a TikTok near the waterfall tomorrow.
Alec exhaled through his nose, amused, and set the phone down. He pulled out his charger and plugged it in and returned to the living room. Max was on the couch, his legs tucked up, shuffling through Netflix to watch something. Maryse stood by the kitchen counter, wiping it clean, closing the kitchen for the night.
She noticed him come back and smiled, “Are you okay?”
Alec understood what she meant: Are you settled. Are you carrying something. Are you going to disappear again.
“I’m good,” he replied.
“How is New York?” She asked.
Alec rested on the edge of the counter, watching her move. “Like it has always been.”
Maryse nodded once then finally looked at him. “I’m glad you’re home,” she said.
Alec’s throat tightened. He gave a small nod, because anything more would turn into something he wasn’t ready to spill.
He grabbed a wipe from the counter and helped her clean the stove. Once they were done, they turned off the lights and walked into the hallway. Max was watching Interstellar. Again. Alec turned on the hallway lights, and the frames along the wall lit up. Alec hadn’t planned to stop there. He wanted to head to the door, grab his keys, and go meet Evan. But the photos pulled him short.
They were arranged chronologically. Childhood first—Alec’s, Izzy’s, and then Max’s. Birthday cakes, crooked smiles, summer sunlight caught mid-laugh. Alec at seven, missing a front tooth, standing stiffly beside Isabelle who already knew how to tilt her head for a camera. Max appeared later in the memories, a ball of cuteness tucked into Maryse’s arms, eyes bright and curious even then.
Robert was there too. But only with the kids.
Alec noticed it immediately, the absence as deliberate as the presence. No photos of his parents together anymore. No wedding portrait, no anniversary dinners, no candid moments where his mother’s hand rested on his father’s arm as if that were simply where it belonged. Robert remained in their lives—not hers.
Alec stopped in front of one frame. He remembered the day it was taken: a fall festival, the smell of fried dough and leaves, his father crouched to be level with him, explaining something seriously. Alec hadn’t known then what it meant to watch someone choose anything over family. But he did now, and his family had chosen.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
“Something catch your eye?”
Maryse’s voice was gentle. Alec didn’t turn right away.
“No,” He exhaled, the word trailing off. “Photos have a way of pulling you back into that time.”
Maryse smiled, not at the comment, but at the recognition of it. She came to stand beside him, leaning lightly against his arm, her shoulder fitting there. Alec didn’t move away.
“They do,” she agreed. “That’s why I keep them where I can see them.”
He glanced down at her. “You okay?”
Maryse smiled. “I am okay.”
They stood there for a moment longer. Alec traced the edge of the frame once more, then dropped his hand.
“Have you heard from Dad recently?” he asked.
Maryse sighed softly. “Not really,” she said. “He calls Max sometimes, and that’s about it. You?”
“He called,” Alec said. “A couple of months ago. He was in New York for a night. Asked if I wanted to meet.”
“And?”
“I was busy,” Alec said simply. “So we didn’t.”
Maryse hummed. She didn’t ask what he’d been busy with, or if he knew why Robert was there.
“I’m so happy you’re home,” she said instead.
Alec turned toward her fully then, “You said that already.”
Maryse smiled. Alec bent and kissed her forehead, then stepped back and reached for his coat from the hook by the door. He slipped it on. “I am just going to head off for a bit.”
Maryse watched him without comment until he grabbed his keys from the bowl. “Where?”
Alec hesitated, “Just… the lakeside.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “It’ll be freezing.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll be back. Soon.”
“Take another jacket?”
“It’s fine.”
He reached for the house keys as well, the metal cool against his palm.
Maryse watched him go, and then she said, “Be safe.”
“I will.”
Alec closed the door behind him and stood on the porch. He looked around for any moose that often wandered off in the area at night. He exhaled, white breath fogging in front of him, then walked to his car, snow crunching under his boots. The garage light came on again.
The lake sat just beyond the edge of town, a short drive down a road that narrowed even further as it wound away from the houses. Alec drove with the window cracked, letting the cold air bite, grounding him in the present. He parked near the trailhead and stepped out, boots crunching softly over gravel and frost.
He didn’t intend to be here. Not really. It had been a decoy, to go meet Evan.
But as soon as the word left his mouth, he felt like he needed to be there.
The path was empty, the lake a dark, glassy expanse, with moon light dancing on it, reflecting the bare trees that ringed it. Alec walked for a few minutes, not too far from his car so as to run into a bear or coyote, hands tucked into his pockets, watching the water lap gently against the shore.
This lakeside alone held so many memories. This was where he’d come as a teenager to study—with Jace or Magnus. Where he’d come later to hold hands with the boy he loved. Where he’d sat for hours, thinking, crying when the relationship ended.
Eventually, Alec turned back toward the car, fingers stiff, cheeks numb, and drove back into the town. It took him twenty minutes to get back to the motel, where he parked, cut the engine, and walked inside.
The lobby was warm and quiet, Christmas carols playing softly, the desk clerk barely glancing up as Alec crossed the floor. He took the stairs, found Evan’s door, and knocked once.
“There you are,” Evan said.
He was leaning in the doorway like he’d been keeping watch without making a show of it—one shoulder against the frame, the other hand up in the air, one brow arched. The room behind him was dimly lit and smelled of damp air. Evan had showered.
Alec could smell the lemony hotel soap even before stepping inside cutting through the hotel’s room freshener smell. His hair was still damp, curls darker at the end, water drops dripping on his sweatshirt.
Alec stood there for a beat with his keys still in his hand, coat folded over his arm. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” Evan stepped aside so Alec could pass, then swung the door shut with his foot. He turned the latch to lock it, and they were alone. “How was family time?”
Alec set his keys on the dresser, hung his coat on the chair, and rolled his shoulders once like he was shrugging off the last few hours. “Fine,” he said.
Evan stared at him. “Just fine.”
Alec turned back. “Good.”
“Fine or good.” Evan pressed, coming closer, wiggling his brows. “Did your mom feed you?”
“Yes.”
“Did your brother ask you twenty questions?”
“Also yes.”
Evan nodded, as he closed the distance between them, his hands gently landing around Alec’s neck, lifting himself on his toes. “Good. That means I don’t have to feel guilty of tearing you away from them.”
Alec smiled. “Funny way of saying you missed me.”
“I missed having something to do,” Evan corrected. “This town looks deserted at like 7 pm.”
Alec huffed a short laugh. He knew that about Ashbrook already. “So, what did you do?” He lowered his voice, leaning into Evan’s embrace.
“Oh, something something.” Evan smiled. “Edited a reel in the lobby and then convinced the front desk guy to tell me where the ‘best view’ was, and he sent me to a trail right behind the motel. Was actually very pretty.”
Alec’s gaze sharpened. “You went out alone.”
Evan lifted his brows. “Yes, Dad.”
Alec’s jaw tightened. “It’s cold. You don’t know the area. There are bears, moose.”
Evan watched him for a second, then smiled. “There it is,” he said.
Alec blinked. “There what is.”
“The part of you that cares,” Evan pulled away and reached out to tug lightly at the hem of Alec’s sweater like it was a string he could play with. “Relax. I didn’t die. I filmed a dramatic shot of a streetlight and some trees and then came back.”
“And dinner?”
“Ate chips from the vending machine.”
“Evan,” Alec sighed.
“Relax. I am kidding. I had room service.” Evan laughed, “And then I had chips.”
Evan adjusted Alec’s collar and tugged the man closer, his thumb pressing down the nape of Alec’s throat. “You look like you’ve been holding yourself tough all day.” He massaged his neck. “Like… with screws.”
Alec pursed his lips, “Screws?”
Evan shrugged. “Industrial ones, the good kind. But still… screws.”
Alec’s hands came up and settled at Evan’s waist, “I am fine.”
Evan hummed, as if he didn’t believe Alec.
Alec wouldn’t believe Alec either.
Then, he leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t the earlier parking-lot kiss. It was open-mouthed and passionate, Evan’s hand sliding behind Alec’s neck, fingers curling into his hair, pulling him in like he’d been waiting, soft moans escaping his mouth. Alec responded without thinking, mouth opening, breath catching as Evan deepened the kiss.
Evan tasted faintly of mint and something sweet he’d probably stolen from the lobby tray along with the chips. Alec’s fingers tightened at Evan’s hips through the sweatshirt. Evan made a small sound into Alec’s mouth—approval, maybe encouragement—and pressed closer until Alec felt the line of him, chest to chest.
Alec broke the kiss just long enough to inhale.
Evan kissed him again before Alec could say something.
Alec backed them a step, then another, until the backs of Evan’s knees hit the bed. Evan let himself go down, hands never leaving Alec, gripping fabric and skin like it was an anchoring point. Alec followed him, leaning over, kissing him slower now, but louder.
Evan’s mouth curved against Alec’s. “Your town is so cute,” he said between kisses, when Alec’s mouth left his mouth and trailed his jawline, breathless. “Very wholesome.”
Alec reached back to Evan’s mouth, laughing into it. Evan’s hand slid under Alec’s sweater, palm warm against his back. Alec’s hand framed Evan’s thigh, tugging at it. Evan wrapped the leg around his back, Alec’s fingers digging into Evan’s sweatshirt.
They parted for a second, catching their breaths. Evan’s palms cupping Alec’s face. “Still worried about me walking around unattended?” He murmured.
“Yes,” Alec said bluntly.
Evan’s eyes flashed. “Hot.”
Alec rolled his eyes and kissed him again, and Evan laughed into his mouth, then pulled Alec closer by the back of the neck. Alec eventually tugged his sweater up and over his head and tossed it aside. The hair follicles on his back stood straight up, the air cool against his skin.
Evan sat up and shoved his own sweatshirt off in one motion, hair falling forward, damp curls brushing his brow. His gaze dropped to Alec’s chest with open appreciation.
“Yeah,” Evan said, like he’d reached a conclusion. “Very hot.”
Alec leaned down and kissed him again on his mouth, along his jaw, then found the spot below Evan’s ear that made the young man’s breath hitch. Evan’s fingers slid down Alec’s sides, then around his waist, pulling him closer, impatient in the way Evan always was when he wanted something.
Alec’s mouth grazed Evan’s throat. Evan tilted his head back and let him, eyes half-lidded, hands gripping Alec’s hips. “This,” Evan said, words breaking, “was one of my bucket list items.”
Alec paused. “What.”
Evan’s mouth curved. “You. Here. In this bed. In your hometown.”
Alec stared at him for a second, then pressed a kiss to Evan’s mouth, “You are stupid,” he said.
Evan’s eyes flicked, sharp. “Yeah,” he murmured.
Alec didn’t turn it into a conversation. He wanted the simplicity of this room, this bed, this boy who didn’t demand Alec’s history. He kissed Evan again and let his hands roam—Evan’s shoulders, his back. Evan tugged at Alec’s belt with impatient competence, then laughed when Alec caught his wrist and removed his belt himself.
Alec undid Evan’s jeans and shoved them down, then pushed his own off. The hotel lamp made their skin look warmer than it was. The sheets twisted under them as they shifted, bodies finding the rhythm they already knew.
Alec didn’t think about Ashbrook. He didn’t think about the hallway of family photos or Maryse’s office or the way his chest had tightened looking at his father’s absence. Or the way the town had changed in his absence. He thought about Evan’s mouth, Evan’s hands, Evan’s sounds—bright and unfiltered, a little greedy, a little amused.
The makeout turned messy and hot, breath and teeth and the way Evan kept pulling Alec back in like he didn’t want the kiss to end. Alec braced himself over Evan, one hand planted beside Evan’s head, the other hand sliding down Evan’s side. Evan’s nails scraped lightly over Alec’s back and Alec swore under his breath, and Evan laughed like that pleased him.
“Very productive use of my vacation,” Evan murmured against Alec’s throat.
Alec bit back a smile and kissed him until Evan stopped talking.
They moved together until the edges of the world blurred.
The bed creaked softly.
The sheets got tangled.
When Alec finally slowed and dropped his forehead to Evan’s shoulder, breathing hard, Evan’s fingers slid through his hair. “See,” Evan said, voice rough. “So good. Did you have fun?”
Alec laughed once. “Yeah.”
“Good,” Evan said.
They stayed tangled for a while, the room quiet except for their breathing and the heater clicking faintly in the wall. Evan lay with his head on Alec’s chest, fingers tracing idle lines along Alec’s ribs like he didn’t know what to do with his hands when he wasn’t filming something or fucking Alec.
Alec stared at the ceiling. “I’ll have to go back,” he said, eventually.
Evan shifted up onto one elbow and looked at him. “Yeah,” Evan said. “I figured.” As a matter-of-fact. “You have that look,” he continued. “The one where your brain is already halfway out the door.”
Alec exhaled. “I don’t.”
“You do,” Evan said, pleased to be right. “You’re very… transitional.”
Alec shot him a look. “That’s not a word.”
“It is now,” Evan said and then smiled. “And it doesn’t matter. You promised you’d come by. You came. That’s it.”
Alec’s throat tightened a fraction. “I am not going to ghost you.”
Evan shrugged lightly. “I know you won’t. You’ll text. I’ll send you something dumb. We’ll be… this.” He gestured between them, “Until we’re not.”
Alec didn’t argue. There was nothing to argue. It was exactly what it was meant to be. Evan’s eyes flicked down and his smile turned wicked. “Also,” he said, “one more time.”
Alec scoffed, breath catching into a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I think you mean focused,” Evan corrected. “Goal-oriented.”
Alec shook his head, but he leaned back in and kissed him again.
Later—later enough—Alec dressed while Evan lay sprawled against the pillows, eyes half-lidded, watching him like he was amused by the concept of clothing. Alec pulled on his sweater, then his coat.
Evan reached out when Alec passed to grab his phone, fingers curling around Alec’s wrist and tugging him down just enough to steal another kiss.
“Drive safe,” Evan murmured.
“I will,” Alec said.
Evan let him go without ceremony and rolled onto his side, already drifting. “Good night, Al.”
Alec stood for a beat, looking at him. Then, he stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. The drive back to Maryse’s house took minutes. At this time of the night, the town was completely deserted.
Alec called Maryse who buzzed him in. He went up to Max’s old room, showered, letting hot water rinse the night from his skin. He changed into the only pair of sweats he’d packed, then slipped into the bed.
The bed was smaller, fit for his younger brother. But he was too tired to do anything.
…
Alec woke up sore.
For a moment he didn’t know where he was. The ceiling was unfamiliar, lower than the one in New York, the light different, whiter. The bed was smaller, the phone stand was on the wrong side, the floor was carpeted, not cold like New York.
And then, a second later, the smells reached him and made sense of everything: coffee, strong and dark; butter warming in a pan; eggs.
Home. Mom. Christmas.
He rolled onto his side, tugging the blanket up with him. Every muscle registered protest in a pleasant, dull way from exertion. He stretched carefully and then lay still for a few seconds, listening. He could hear Maryse’s voice, mixed with Max’s. They were arguing over something Alec couldn’t make sense of. Maybe Max’s school. Maybe something else.
Right on cue, his phone buzzed against the nightstand.
Alec squinted at the screen, blinking himself fully awake. A string of messages waited for him, all from Evan, time-stamped earlier than any sane person should be texting.
Evan: Good morning, Al. You never did tell me about the pancake place!
Evan: I’m taking this personally
Evan: Went for a run; before you ask, the same trail behind the motel.
Evan: Such a vibe
Alec huffed.
Another set.
Evan: Found coffee
Evan: Quaint café ✔️
Evan: They do latte art here and I think it’s beautiful, what do you think?
Evan: But I still deserve pancakes. You owe me.
A picture followed: a ceramic mug on a small wooden table, foam shaped into something vaguely leaf-like, a window behind it fogged, blurred white snow visible behind. Another image came immediately after—Evan grinning into the camera, hair damp with sweat, scarf looped messily around his neck.
Alec rolled his eyes and typed with one thumb.
Diner on Main. Pancakes.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Evan: Too late
Evan: Make it up to me, later 🫦
Alec stared at the screen, amused. As the silence grew once more, Maryse and Max’s voices took over.
“Not like that, Max, stop!” Maryse yelled.
“I am telling you that’s not how it works!” Max replied.
Alec sighed, pushed himself upright, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on a sweater and jeans, ran a hand through his hair, and headed out. The smell of food intensified as he descended. Maryse stood at the counter with a coffee cup in hand, watching Max gesture at the table like he was presenting evidence.
“You need to listen to me,” Max continued.
“Good morning,” Alec cut in.
They both turned.
Max’s face lit up immediately, “Hey, tell mom she’s doing it all wrong.”
Alec smirked, crossed over to the counter, and poured himself coffee without asking, without getting into whatever argument his mother and brother were indulged in.
Maryse watched him over the rim of her cup, ignoring Max. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” Alec smiled, and it wasn’t a lie. “As a matter of fact, I slept really well.”
She turned back to the stove. “Eggs for breakfast?”
“Thanks,” Alec hummed.
Max leaned his elbows on the table. “Alec… listen to me.”
Alec raised an eyebrow. “What!”
Maryse intervened, “Don’t listen to him.”
Alec took another sip. Quietly. Watching. He’d learned over the years when to step in and when Maryse didn’t need backup. Maryse plated the eggs and set them down. Max reached for them like he was starving. Alec sat down, nursing his mug, while Maryse made eggs for him.
As she plated them for him, she looked up. “I have to be at work for a few hours,” she said. “What are you two doing today?”
“I’m meeting Jace,” Alec said automatically.
Max glanced up. “I have stuff to do.”
Alec looked at him over the rim of his mug. Max shifted, suddenly fascinated by the salt shaker.
“Stuff?” Alec couldn’t help himself.
Maryse scoffed rolling her eyes. “We call it stuff now.”
“It’s multifaceted,” Max muttered.
Alec smirked. “Is it secret?”
“No.”
“Is it illegal?”
Max shot him a look. “Also no.”
“Then you’re fine,” Alec shrugged.
Maryse smiled, “All right. Dinner together, then? We regroup.”
Alec hummed. “Sounds good.”
Maryse took a sip of coffee and then, as if it had just occurred to her, said, “Oh. Alec—could you stop by Mrs. Kaplan’s later? I made a list.” She rummaged through the extra things drawer, and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Alec picked it up and scanned it. Challah, sticky buns, eclairs, something labeled those custard things Max likes with a small aggressive underline. He nodded. “Sure.”
Max leaned in to peek. “What’s on it?”
“Things you’ll eat,” Maryse said, immediate. “And some stuff for Simon.”
“I love you.”
Alec laughed softly and folded the list, tucking it into his pocket. His phone buzzed. Evan, again. I found the diner. Pancakes secured. I forgive you.
Alec didn’t answer. He drained the last of his coffee and listened to his mother bicker with his younger brother.
…
Mrs. Kaplan’s occupied the corner of the Main Street. Warm windows, hand-lettered specials, old fall vibe. Straight out of a Christmas movie. Alec pulled his Audi into the narrow curbside space and cut the engine. The shop windows were fogged, silhouettes moving behind them. He hoped there wouldn’t be too many people in there—correction: too many people he knew and wanted to avoid.
He pulled out his phone, and sent a text to Evan: It’s called Mrs Kaplan’s. Very prominent. I should be done in 30 minutes.
Evan was meeting him at the shop because Evan wanted to see the waterfalls up close, and Alec had told him to not go there without him. That trail was treacherous.
Alec checked Maryse’s list again, unfolding the paper on his thigh.
Mrs. Kaplan’s
challah (1 loaf, for simon)
almond croissants (4)
sticky buns (enough for me and izz)
eclairs (for Alec)
custard donuts for Max
holiday bread (ask)
Alec smiled at the paper. She had written something for all four of them. He refolded it, tucked it into his pocket, and got out. The bell over the door jingled as Alec stepped inside. Heat wrapped around him, and his lungs filled with the smell of yeast, butter, sugar, cinnamon, citrus peel, something spiced. His mouth watered.
He loved Mrs Kaplan. He loved what she’d done to this little shop. He remembered the many times he’d sneaked into her shop to get free samples for when she was testing new recipes. Mrs Kaplan had adored him. He hoped she still did.
Nothing in here had really changed. The shelves were still crowded with loaves wrapped in brown paper and twine. Cookie tins were lined up, with the front spaces empty. People had already been to the shop and bought her fresh cookies.
The chalkboard specials were written in the same handwriting Alec remembered from childhood.
He shrugged out of his coat and took a basket.
The bell jingled once more, someone stepping in behind him, as Alec made his way back into the aisle, towards the challahs.
He found the braided loaves on the end shelf, glossy tops, still warm. He lifted one and set it in the basket, pausing there to assess if he should take another, considering Izzy and Simon would be joining them tomorrow. And Simon loved those challah. But he could have gotten a fresh challah tomorrow again, and he decided against it.
Sticky buns and eclairs.
The tray behind the glass case was half full, the sticky buns glistening and tempting him. He chose the plain sticky buns and chocolate ones, added them to his basket. He packed a few extra ones, for himself. Then he went for eclairs.
He was reaching for the almond croissants when he heard the voice.
Not Mrs. Kaplan’s.
Someone else’s.
Alec froze with the tongs in his hand.
His heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t what the words were. It was the voice. The way his body recognized the sound before his brain fully processed it. He didn’t want to look, but he did anyway.
Magnus Bane stood near the register, angled toward Mrs. Kaplan, mid-conversation. Mrs. Kaplan had one hand on her hip, the other tapping the counter with a receipt as she scolded him about something. About something he had forgotten to mention to her. Magnus listened patiently, amused but fond of Mrs Kaplan. He nodded once, then held up two fingers.
“Two boxes,” he said, “and yes, I will actually label the one for mom this time.”
His coat was draped over one arm. He wore black—head to toe, sharp enough to look out of place and somehow make the room adjust around him. A high-collared shirt, fully sheer, bell sleeves. Tailored trousers. Polished boots. Hair styled back, clean lines, not a strand out of place.
Alec’s throat went tight.
Magnus looked nice.
He hadn’t been prepared for this kind of seeing. Not because Magnus looked different—he didn’t. He looked like Magnus had always looked: like he had decided who he was and didn’t negotiate with anyone about it. Older, yes, but settled. Comfortable in his skin in a way Alec still sometimes had to work for.
Alec’s first instinct was to move away. He considered ditching his purchase and walking out the back before anyone noticed. And then he realized he wasn’t twenty-five anymore. He did not have to run from his problems. He turned back toward the croissants, suddenly very interested in picking them up. Maybe he would spend enough time here, and Magnus would be done with the conversation and leave.
But he didn’t.
Their conversations drifted to an engagement party order.
So Alec grabbed a croissant, then another. Then two more. Four.
Then one more.
The bell jingled again when someone else entered.
Magnus turned at the sound. Alec held his breath. Magnus’s gaze swept across the store, since there weren’t too many people to begin with and it was obvious to look and greet, if it were an old friend. His eyes landed on Alec, and he exhaled. His frame going still, his Adam’s apple working up and down.
Their eyes met.
Alec blinked and tried to look down at his basket, then the order, evade his gaze.
For a second the bakery felt too small and too inconvenient.
And so the gaze landed back on Magnus. His expression flickered from surprise to happiness to nervousness, sadness—and then like a snap, control back into place. Alec felt the warmth in his chest fade away as soon as Magnus composed himself.
“Alec?” Magnus said, his voice a little shaky.
“Magnus,” Alec replied.
They stood like that, a few steps apart, the pastry case between them like a barrier.
Alec looked to where Mrs Kaplan had been standing, and she had stepped inside her home for a minute. He wasn’t sure if this was deliberate. Could have been. Everyone in the town knew their history. And they respected it.
Magnus seemed to take a small breath, then fisted his hands together. “It’s… a surprise.”
Alec swallowed. “I guess so.”
“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here today.” Magnus swept his gaze across the shop.
Alec managed a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I didn’t think I’d see you at all.”
Magnus’s mouth curved. It was a smirk that hid the fact that he was hurt. “Fair.”
Alec’s hands tightened around the basket handle. He looked at the counter, the pastries, the floorboards, anything that wasn’t Magnus’s face. “Are you… visiting?” he asked, because it was the only thing that made sense.
Magnus lived in New York too. That’s what he knew.
Magnus hesitated. “I…am here now. In Ashbrook I mean, I moved here.”
Alec’s spine went rigid. “Oh,” he said, his brain offering him several counter questions for Magnus. “You moved here?”
Magnus nodded again.
“Work?” Alec asked.
“Still employed.” Magnus smiled.
“All good?” Alec grew concerned.
“Yes,” Magnus nodded once.
Alec waited, for more explanation. Almost like as his former best friend, he deserved to.
“My parents… are getting older,” Magnus recognized the curiosity and continued. “Maa’s health has been… up and down. Not serious. Just enough to make me stop pretending I can do it all from the city.”
Alec blinked. “Mrs Bane’s sick.”
Magnus’s expression softened. “Not sick. Not like that. Just… she gets tired. She doesn’t bounce back as fast. And my dad isn’t getting younger, so I thought I’d come back and deal with them here.”
Alec swallowed. He didn’t know what to do with the sudden tenderness in his chest. “I didn’t know,” he said again.
“You wouldn’t,” Magnus replied. “I didn’t… broadcast anything.” That felt like old Magnus, the one who kept some things close even when he looked like an open book.
Alec nodded, his mouth felt dry. “How is Mr Bane?” he asked.
Magnus’s eyes warmed a fraction. “Still dramatic,” he said. “Still not convinced he is not thirty anymore and needs rest, but I am doing my best.”
Alec huffed a breath. “That tracks.”
Magnus’s smile widened just slightly, “How is Maryse?”
It sounded formal, like both of them were checking boxes of things to ask before it was decent enough to walk away from each other.
“She’s good. Busy, tired. But… she looks good.”
Magnus held his gaze. “Good,” he said quietly. “She deserves good.”
“Alexander Lightwood!” Mrs Kaplan gasped from the door. Alec’s attention turned to her. She was beaming. “Look at you.”
Alec turned toward her like she was a rope he could grab. “Hi, Mrs. Kaplan.”
“Don’t ‘hi’ me,” she said, and reached out to hug him tight over the counter. Flour dusted her fingers. “You disappear for years and think you can walk in and get away with a hi.”
Magnus swallowed and looked away.
Alec blinked, caught off guard. “I’ve—”
“I know,” she cut in. “Those visits don’t count.”
He nodded once, unable to make the words come out in the right order.
Mrs. Kaplan looked at the basket. “Maryse sent you.”
“She did,” Alec said. “With a list.”
“Of course she did,” Mrs. Kaplan muttered, and then her mouth softened. “Tell her I have that orange-glazed holiday bread she likes. And I made custard donuts this morning. For Max.”
Alec’s smiled. “They’re on the list.”
Mrs. Kaplan smiled back, and started scanning items from behind the counter.
Alec unloaded the basket at the register—challah, sticky buns, croissants—keeping his hands busy because his mind was doing too much. Magnus stayed close enough for Alec to smell his perfume and feel his movement beside him. He was nervous. Just like Alec was. Mrs Kaplan spoke to both him and Magnus, but never addressed them together.
Magnus leaned on the counter, inspecting the holiday bread Mrs Kaplan had made. “This is so good, Anne.”
“Thank you, love.” Mrs Kaplan smiled.
Alec instinctively looked at Magnus, and Magnus cordially smiled back. Alec hated that smile. It should have been for Magnus’s clients. Not him. Never him.
Magnus sensed the silence, then said: “So Christmas in Ashbrook?”
Alec’s eyes exhaled. “Yeah.”
“Nice,” Magnus focused on his coat, adjusting it a little.
“Aren’t you cold?” Alec blurted, and immediately hated himself.
Magnus looked up, the ice breaking even if for a few seconds. He gave him his best friend Magnus smile. “Cold is psychological.”
Alec rolled his eyes. He could see Magnus’s hands and the goosebumps.
“Jonathan must have been thrilled, to see you.” Magnus continued, to not let silence govern their conversation. Mrs Kaplan was hunting for the right packaging to keep the goods from mixing into each other during the drive.
Jace. Alec rolled his eyes. Magnus had always refused to say Jace’s name the way he preferred. He said, and Alec remembered it so vividly, that he liked to make him suffer. “I am on my way to see him, actually.”
“Right,” Magnus helped Mrs Kaplan as she packed the rest of Alec’s purchase, almost like he was too comfortable here.
“How long are you here, Alec?” Mrs Kaplan asked. “In Ashbrook, I mean.”
Alec pulled out his card to pay her, “I haven’t decided.”
“But you’re here for Christmas?”
“I am.”
“Good, she doesn’t say but she misses you and Izzy.”
Alec simply smiled in response. Silence fell into their conversation again, and he felt the need to ask something back lest Magnus felt that he was in a one-sided curiosity competition when Alec wanted to talk to Magnus just as much.
“You’ve been staying with Mr and Mrs Bane then?” He asked.
“Nope.” Magnus’s gaze flickered to him. “Remember the old carriage behind my parents’ house.”
“Yeah.”
“I made an offer a years ago. Got it. Renovated it. Moved in.”
Alec’s brows went up, “Congratulations!”
Mrs. Kaplan slid the bag toward Alec. “Tell Maryse it’s ok to not watch her sugar intake for a few days. It’s Christmas!” she said.
Magnus muttered a thanks.
Alec nodded. “I’ll pass the message along.”
Mrs. Kaplan’s gaze moved to Magnus, then back to Alec. She smiled at them, with as much empathy as she could. “Good to see you back, Alec,” she said with a finality as she noticed him grab the bags and look at the door.
“Good to see you too, Mrs Kaplan.”
He took the bags, and turned slightly, and then he wondered if it would be rude to leave without saying the last word to Magnus, so he turned. “I’ll…” he paused. No. “Um… it was really nice to see you too, Magnus!”
“Likewise, Alec,” Magnus responded in kind. “Welcome home.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Not because they were dramatic, but because they sounded like something Magnus had once said to him late at night, when Ashbrook had still been theirs.
Alec nodded once. Then he turned and walked out.
The bell jingled overhead. Cold rushed in and wrapped around him. Alec stepped onto the sidewalk and let out a breath that fogged in front of his face.
He didn’t look back at the door. He wanted to, but he didn’t.
“Al!”
Evan’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He didn’t know how long he was frozen in place before the young man found him. Alec turned. Not toward Evan, but the bakery, horrified at the prospect of Magnus walking in on him and Evan.
Evan—unaware of the storm that Alec had chase—rushed toward him from farther down the block, moving fast, cheeks flushed from the cold, beanie pulled low, camera strap across his chest like a seatbelt.
There was no one outside the bakery. Silhouettes suggested Magnus and Anne Kaplan were still talking. Alec’s attention flicked to Evan then, who was studying him. “You look like you’ve seen a winter ghost.”
“No,” Alec refuted.
Evan followed his gaze immediately. His brows lifted. “Yes?” he pressed.
Alec rolled his eyes.
“Is everything okay?” Evan asked.
“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”
Evan’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what people say when they usually aren’t.”
Alec shifted the bags. “Help me.”
Evan grabbed one without complaint, then stepped in close like he couldn’t help himself. He looped an arm around Alec’s shoulders in a quick hug. Alec stiffened for half a second, then let himself hold him back briefly, careful not to crush the pastries.
Evan pulled away and kissed him. Alec’s pulse jumped, and he glanced toward the bakery again, stupidly hoping Magnus hadn’t chosen that exact second to step outside.
Nothing.
Evan smiled, reading him too easily. “Relax,” he murmured, amused. “There’s nobody there. Whoever you’re afraid of.”
Alec shot him a look. “I am not. This is not—”
“Shush,” Evan corrected. “Anyway—what’s in the bags.”
“Things my mother asked for,” Alec said.
Evan peeked. “Challah,” he looked impressed.
Alec started walking toward the car. Evan fell into step beside him, talking as they went—about the morning walk, about the diner with pancakes, about how Ashbrook looked like it had been built for slow mornings and baked goods.
Alec listened just enough to answer.
He loaded the bags into the back seat, then slid into the driver’s side. Evan kept talking while he buckled in, and Alec let the sound fill the space because it was easier than sitting in the quiet and feeling how hard Magnus’s “welcome home” had landed.
As he pulled away from the curb, Alec let himself glance toward Mrs. Kaplan’s window.
He didn’t see Magnus.
He wanted to.
And he hated that.
Evan leaned back in the passenger seat, camera resting on his thigh, thumb flicking idly over the edge of the lens cap.
“So are you going to tell me why were you so pale outside Mrs Kennedy’s?”
Alec pursed his lips. “Mrs Kaplan’s.”
“Right, yes.” Evan waved. “What happened?”
Alec kept his eyes on the road. “Nothing.”
Evan hummed. “Try that again, Al?”
Alec tightened his grip on the wheel, his knuckles turned white. “I ran into someone I wasn’t expecting at the bakery.”
Evan looked at him, then rested his temple on the backrest, “Small towns, they do that.”
They pulled up near a café. Jace’s mechanic shop next door sat open and loud, a sharp contrast to the café’s quiet bustle. Evan gasped, as if he just remembered something important. “Oh… so I did a thing I completely forgot about.”
Alec eyed him warily. “You always do things you forget about.”
“Yes,” Evan agreed. “But this one’s benign. Just a bit careless if you may.”
Alec waited.
“I booked a walking tour,” Evan said.
Alec stared at him. “You booked a walking tour of Ashbrook.”
“Yes.”
Alec exhaled slowly. “Why.”
“Because,” Evan said, leaning over and kissing him, quick and apologetic, “I’m here for forty-eight hours, and I refuse to leave without knowing which building was allegedly haunted and which scandal still hasn’t died.”
Alec shook his head, lips twitching despite himself. “And lunch.”
“I know… which is why I started with I forgot. Rain check?” Evan sighed. “I promise… let’s do something tonight?” He opened the door before waiting for Alec’s answer, then leaned back in, fingers hooking briefly into Alec’s collar to steal another kiss, slower this time. “Text me when you’re done,” he added.
Alec snorted. “I’ll do my best.”
Evan flashed him a grin and headed down the sidewalk, already absorbed in his phone, leaving Alec alone in the car with the engine idling and the shop’s noise bleeding into the street. Alec killed the engine and stepped out, straightening his jacket as he crossed the few steps to Herondale Auto & Restoration.
He was going to surprise Jace after lunch with Evan, but this was good too.
The garage smelled like oil and metal and heat, the sound of tools clattering, warm air escaping engines, revving, and incessant knocks. Alec walked in carefully, not to touch anything and get motor oil and grease all over his hands. “Jace!” He called, when he got nearer to where he could see the man.
“Alec?”
Jace looked up from behind an open hood, grease smudged across his hands, a rag looped through his hand. He froze for half a second, as if he had imagined Alec’s voice, then broke into a grin so wide it was almost ridiculous.
“Alec,” he repeated and then he was there, pulling him into a hug that knocked the air from Alec’s lungs.
Alec laughed. “You’re crushing me.”
“You idiot!” Jace grinned into the hug, clapping him on the back before pulling away. He looked Alec over openly, head tilting.
Alec pressed his fingers on Jace’s neck.
Jace sighed. “You look old.”
“Rude.”
“Less angry,” Jace added thoughtfully.
Alec snorted. “Debatable.”
“Are you passing through or—?” The question was simple, but Alec realized just how no one in this town had expected him to stay for more than a few hours. When had he developed that relationship with Ashbrook?
“I am… staying.”
“Good! I can pretend to work while we catch up.”
They moved deeper into the shop, dodging equipment and half-dismantled vehicles with practiced ease. Jace leaned back against a workbench, folding his arms. “Clary told me she saw you yesterday.”
Alec stiffened. “Where?”
“She said someone who looks exactly like the man in my photos was getting out of an Audi.”
Alec rolled his eyes. “Must have been me.”
“Must have been. Clary remembers faces!” Jace said proudly.
Alec saw the slight twinkle in his eyes when he spoke of his girlfriend—now fiancée—and couldn’t believe that his friend, the one who had sworn off relationship as a teen was getting married after all.
Jace’s eyebrows shot up suddenly, as if he recalled something. “You’d be here the day after?”
Alec tilted his head, “I think that’s what it means to stay.”
“Well,” Jace said, grin returning, “then, you’re coming to my engagement party.”
“I am?” Alec said.
“Yes,” Jace said immediately. “I knew you were coming for Christmas, but you came early. So, now you have to be there for the party. I really want you to meet Clary.”
Alec nodded. “You’ve mentioned.”
“She’s amazing,” Jace said.
“I look forward to it.”
“Oh and before I forget,” Jace continued. “Tomorrow afternoon, prep.”
Alec groaned. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I just got here.”
“No excuses.”
Alec dragged a hand down his face. “Fine.”
Jace grinned. “Also—” He leaned in, voice dropping conspiratorially. “You can bring a plus one.”
“To the prep?”
“The party!”
“I don’t have one.”
“Clary… thinks otherwise.”
Alec paled. “What?”
“She saw a kid kissing you.”
Alec felt heat rush to his face. “She did not.”
“She absolutely did.”
“Evan’s not—” Alec cut himself off.
“Evan!” Jace raised his brows. “Is he eighteen?” Jace asked.
“No!” Alec smacked his arm. “He’s twenty-six.”
“So, Clary was right. As always,” he said with pride. Then he paused and processed what Alec told him. “Twenty-six? Really?”
Alec raised his hand threateningly. A customer cleared their throat loudly. Jace straightened instantly, professionalism snapping into place.
“Be right with you,” he said, then glanced back at Alec with a grin. “This conversation is not over.”
…
Alec waited as Jace catered to the last of his customers before ordering lunch. “Two large pies,” he said into the phone, already pacing the narrow strip of clear floor near the back wall. “One pepperoni, one whatever-you-call-that-thing with mushrooms and olives. Yeah. And garlic knots. Two of the pack of six. I’m feeding an architect who looks like he hasn’t eaten in months.”
Alec leaned against the workbench, arms folded, watching him with an expression that sat somewhere between fondness and resignation. Jace muttered a thank you and cut the call.
“You act like I don’t eat.” Alec arched a brow.
“You eat.” Jace shrugged. “But not until your body stages a protest.”
Alec opened his mouth, then closed it again. Jace was right.
Jace smirked, “Beer?”
“It’s barely noon.”
“Beer,” Jace repeated, already reaching into the small fridge wedged between a filing cabinet and a shelf stacked with spare parts.
Alec sighed but took the bottle when Jace handed it to him. The cap hissed softly as he twisted it off, and he took a long pull—a sharp familiar pain erupting in his jaw from the drink. They ate in the break area once the food arrived—pizza boxes spread across the folding table. Jace had pulled the shutter down to not be disturbed.
“So,” Alec said after a few minutes, rubbing his palms together to remove the crust crumble. “How’s the shop doing?”
Jace leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. “Really good,” he said. “Better than I expected, honestly. We expanded last year—took over the space next door. Got a couple of long-term restoration contracts. Turns out, I am really good at fixing people’s cars.”
Alec smiled faintly. “You are. And I am really proud of you.”
Jace mock-bowed, making Alec scoff. “And you? Any new humanity-saving projects?”
Alec took another sip of beer. “Community housing projects. I like it so far, but there are too many meetings.”
Jace made a face. “You hate meetings.”
“I hate bad meetings,” Alec corrected. “Good ones are fine.”
Jace hummed, and they resumed eating. Eventually, Jace set his bottle down and cleared his throat. “So. I should probably tell you how I proposed.”
Alec looked up, downing the remainder of his beer. “I was wondering when you’d stop pretending that wasn’t the headline.”
Jace grinned, “I tried.”
Alec shook his head. “Go on.”
Jace began, “so…we were at the lake. The one past Miller’s Ridge. Clary was sketching. She does that thing where she gets quiet and forgets time exists. It’s one of the many things I love about her.”
Alec could almost picture it. The lake, not Jace and Clary.
“I’d had the ring in my jacket pocket for, like, two weeks,” Jace continued. “Kept waiting for the right moment. Sunset, speech, all that nonsense. And she starts talking about this mural she wants to do for the community center,” Jace said. “About how she wants it to feel like the town is… like it belongs to people even if they don’t stay.”
Alec swallowed, the words landing deeper than he expected.
“I realized that this is it. There is no need to do a speech or a grand declaration when I love these simple moments with her,” Jace’s voice grew calmer and fonder. “So I took the box out and I said if she would want to paint the mural while planning the wedding. If she would want to keep doing this… us. She said yes.”
Alec smiled, struggling to keep his eyes from glistening because he would never hear the end of it from Jace. “That’s perfect.”
Jace ducked his head, pleased. “Yeah. It was.”
Alec picked at the crust of his pizza. “I am so happy for you Jace.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Clary sounds amazing,” Alec commented. “Although, I don’t remember her from school at all.”
“That’s because she didn’t go to school with us,” Jace said. “She went to Briar Glen. Her dad worked there.”
Alec nodded slowly. “Ah.”
They talked for a while after that—about Isabelle and Simon, about Max, about the town. Alec listened more than he spoke, realizing how much life had happened here without him, how naturally it had kept moving.
Eventually, he checked his watch. “I should go. I need to bring stuff back for my mom.”
Jace brushed his hands and got up. “Right, but I am seeing you tomorrow?”
Alec rolled his eyes, “Begrudgingly, yes.”
Jace smiled. Then: “Oh… also, if you’re free, we could grab drinks tonight. Just you and me. Hunters’ Moon.”
Alec hesitated. “I have dinner plans.”
Jace arched an eyebrow. “With the kid.”
Alec smacked his arm. “Evan.”
Jace laughed. “Bring him.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because… he’s not the bring-along type. It’s simpler like that.”
Jace studied him, then nodded. “Fine. But if you change your mind, drop me a text. And Evan is welcome.”
Alec nodded, stepping out of the garage. He drove back quietly, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gearshift, the road unfolding in familiar increments beneath him. The late afternoon light sat low and pale, slipping between bare branches, catching on shop windows and parked cars.
His phone buzzed against the console.
He ignored it for a block.
Then another buzz.
Alec sighed softly and glanced down at the screen at the next stop sign.
Evan.
He tapped the notification open.
The first photo loaded slowly. It was the waterfall behind Mrs Kaplan’s, water caught mid-fall, the rocks darker, trees pale white from the snow. Evan had angled the shot just so, making the drop look grand. Ashbrook was a town of waterfalls. One in every nook, the town built into nature. And the falls behind Mrs Kaplan’s, one of the prettiest ones.
Another photo followed. The museum façade, banner fluttering overhead. Evan had taken it from below, making the building loom.
A third photo. The café. The green. The crooked lamppost near the outreach center that Alec had passed a thousand times without seeing.
There were captions. Details he had found out on the walking tour.
Apparently this was built in 1894 and everyone is very serious about it.
This bench is haunted. I don’t know why. I can feel it.
Your town is aggressively charming. I feel manipulated.
Alec smiled despite himself. For Evan, Ashbrook was a collection of moments. Aesthetic. Curious. Temporary. For Alec, it was muscle memory. He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, sitting for a second in the quiet. The garage light clicked.
Inside, the house was empty.
Maryse must still be out—work, errands, obligations that didn’t pause just because her eldest son was home. Alec locked the door behind him and kicked off his shoes. He carried the bags from the bakery straight to the kitchen, setting them on the counter with care.
He unpacked methodically. Challah first, wrapped and placed gently on the shelf. Almond croissants slid into a container. Sticky buns stacked neatly. Holiday bread—whatever that meant—tucked in last. The fridge door closed with a quiet seal.
Alec leaned back against the counter, then sat up on it without thinking, one foot dangling, the other braced against the cabinet. The house felt bigger when it was empty. And, inevitably, his mind went where it had been skirting all afternoon.
Magnus.
The image surfaced without effort: the sheer black shirt, the coat draped over his arm like an afterthought, his hair immaculate. He’d looked good. Still did. Always had. There had never been a version of Magnus that didn’t command attention simply by existing in a room.
But it wasn’t the clothes that lingered. It was the man himself. His smile.
That careful, restrained curve of his mouth when he’d spoken to Alec. The way it had flickered between familiar and unfamiliar, before settling back into politeness. Alec closed his eyes briefly, exhaling. He loved that smile. Loved it in the past tense, maybe. Loved it as a fact that had once been central to his life. Or maybe loved it the way one loved a song they hadn’t heard in years but still knew by heart.
His phone buzzed again.
This time it was Maryse.
Mom: Running a little late. Should I pick up lamb or chicken for dinner?
Alec stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary, then typed back, not having the heart to tell her he won’t be joining her for dinner yet.
Chicken. Max likes it better.
A pause. Then:
Mom: Perfect!
Alec smiled and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He pushed off the counter and headed upstairs to Max’s old room, now his. The hallway light was off, the photos lining the wall half-submerged in shadow now. He didn’t stop this time.
He closed the door behind him and sank down onto the carpet, back against the bed. He leaned his head back until it rested against the mattress, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He counted the cracks on the ceiling. Hairline fractures in the paint that no one bothered to fix. Alec traced them with his gaze, following their familiar paths.
Then he closed his eyes. He knew it would be overwhelming to come back, but he didn’t anticipate just how overwhelming. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, and Alec had gone through so many emotions.
He didn’t know how long he’d stay. He didn’t know what this visit would unearth or set in motion.
All he knew was that he was here.
And he had to deal with whatever came next.