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The screen door slams behind Parker as she ushers Jack and Maddie onto the weathered porch of her parents’ house, the humid Hilo air thick with the scent of plumeria and damp earth. Her fingers flex against Hardison's lower back—protectively, nervously—as Parker steps forward, her rounded belly preceding her. Eep leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes flickering between them with the sharpness of a hawk. Guy lingers behind her, wiping his hands on his shirt, his gaze warm but assessing. Thunk, halfway through untangling himself from a knot of enthusiastic mutts, beams like the sun itself. Sandy stands slightly apart, arms folded, eyes narrowed.
Hardison clears his throat. "Hi, I’m Alec Hardison," he says, voice smooth, practiced. "This is Eliot. We're really excited to meet you. Parker has told us so much about you."
Sandy snorts. "You sound like a recording," she mutters, barely audible over the panting dogs.
Eliot awkwardly bounces on his toes. "Can I play with your dogs?" he blurts, already crouching as the pack surges toward him, tongues lolling. Thunk lets out a delighted laugh, nearly toppling over as a particularly enthusiastic husky barrels into his knees.
Eep’s mouth quirks. She steps forward, gripping Hardison's shoulder—too tight, but not unkind. "Kids, relax," she says, voice rough. "You’re not auditioning."
Guy chuckles, adjusting his glasses. "She means welcome," he translates gently.
Parker exhales, tension bleeding from her shoulders as Hardison takes her hand and the dogs swarm Eliot, Thunk cheerfully narrating their names and tragic backstories. Sandy watches, silent, but her posture loosens—just a little. The evening kindles from there.