#piage bueckers series

[sweettu1ips]

PAIGE BUECKERS x FEM!READER

SYNOPSIS: Two souls, separated by time, find their way back in a quiet moment, where unspoken words flicker like stars between them, a promise that they were never truly apart.

WARNING(S): fluffy ⋮ reunion ⋮ reader is brunette ⋮ not seeing/ speaking to Paige for three years ⋮ tension ⋮ slow-burn ⋮ childhood friends-to-lover ⋮ readers last name is LEXINGTON ⋮ changed Paige's siblings names for a good reason but her parent's names remain the same ⋮ FYI, I'VE NEVER BEEN TO MARTHA'S VINEYARD. THEREFORE, I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S THERE. ALSO, MOST PLACES ARE MADE UP HERE :)

WORD COUNT: 16.7K ( another long one :p )

| P. TWO ⋮ WOTVB SERIES ⋮ MAIN MASTER LIST |

MARTHA'S VINEYARD—an island suspended in time, steeped in golden summers and salt-laced laughter, a sacred place woven into the fabric of the Bueckers and Lexingtons.

 It was never just a destination; it was a ritual, a tether, a second home built not of walls and roofs but of traditions and tangled histories. Every year, without fail, we returned—drawn back by something deeper than obligation, something stitched into our very marrow. 

A legacy carved from decades of sun-drenched Julys and twilight bonfires, from fathers who once met as high school boys and forged a brotherhood strong enough to span generations.

Except, I hadn’t set foot on its familiar shores in nearly three years. Three summers lost to the unrelenting tide of distance, of duty, of a life that had gradually reshaped itself into something unrecognizable. Washington—the state of endless pines, of mist and mountains, of cold rain drumming against my dorm window—had claimed me.

 College had swallowed me whole, my days consumed by the relentless pursuit of knowledge, my nights tangled in the exhaustion of work and deadlines. The thought of leaving, of carving out time for something as indulgent as nostalgia, had always felt impossible.

Until now.

Because Wren would not have it.

"If you don’t show up to my wedding, I’ll come to Seattle myself and drag you down here."

The words, scrawled in bold, unwavering black ink, were etched at the bottom of the invitation box—the one that held the ultimate question, poised to demand my presence: Will you be my Maid of Honor?

Three years. Three years since I had last seen the Bueckers, the people who had once been as constant in my life as breath itself. But most of all—three years since I had seen her. Paige.

The others, I had managed to hold on to in some way or another—occasional messages, late-night check-ins, moments stitched together with just enough care to keep the thread from snapping completely. But Paige and I? We had unraveled. And it was my fault.

Once, she had been my shadow, or maybe I had been hers. Two girls moving in synchronized rhythm, seamlessly intertwined, never questioning the certainty of each other’s presence. But distance is a cruel, insidious thing. It starts slow—missed calls, unanswered texts—until one day, you wake up and realize the silence has settled in like an old tenant, comfortable and unchallenged.

I had gotten too busy with life. Too caught up in the deadlines, the obligations, the relentless forward motion of everything. Until, before I even knew it, the space between us had stretched too far to reach across.

We had gone from next-door neighbors in Minnesota, where our lives bled together in a seamless blur of backyard games and whispered secrets, to existing in entirely different worlds. 

She was in Connecticut, chasing the dream she had been born for, carving her name into UConn’s legacy one game at a time. 

And I—thousands of miles away in Washington, buried beneath textbooks and the intricate calculations of an engineering degree—had let the days slip through my fingers like sand, until Paige was nothing more than a memory softened at the edges.

And now, I was going back.

Back to the island where our laughter still echoed in the dunes, where our past selves still lived, preserved in the salt-stung air. Back to the place where it had all started.

But the question lingered, heavy and unspoken:

Would we still know each other?

The summer sun dripped gold through the open sunroof, sinking its warmth deep into my skin, coaxing a slow, lazy heat that stretched through my limbs. 

The salty breeze curled through the car like an old friend, thick and briny, laced with something sweet—maybe the distant scent of waffle cones from the ice cream shop or the faint perfume of beach roses growing wild along the shore. 

The road hummed beneath the tires, the distant cry of seagulls weaving through the melody of Surf Curse thrumming from the speakers.

Martha’s Vineyard.

A place stitched into my bones, etched into the softest parts of my childhood, my adolescence, my becoming. 

A place where salt clung to bare skin, where the air was always rich with the scent of melting sunscreen and freshly brewed coffee, where the rhythm of the waves was a constant lullaby, steady and unchanging. 

It had been three years, yet as I drove these familiar streets, it felt like no time had passed at all. And still, everything had changed.

Everyone had arrived yesterday—well, not quite everyone. Wren had insisted on a week of just us, just like old times, carving out a pocket of quiet before the storm of the wedding swept through.

 No chaos, no rehearsals, no distant relatives lingering like ghosts at the edges of the house. Just us. The way it had always been.

Except this time, Carson—the man who would soon be my brother-in-law—was folded into that sacred space, a new presence settling into the history we’d built here.

And me? I was late. A day behind.

A crumpled UW sweatshirt lay forgotten in the back of the rented Bronco, abandoned in favor of the striped blue tube top clinging to my sun-warmed skin. 

My hair, heavy with the day’s heat, was twisted into a claw clip, though a few stubborn strands had slipped free, framing my face in loose waves. 

The weight of exhaustion pressed into me—seven hours of travel, a ferry ride that rocked me into something close to sleep, the ache of a body that had spent too much time folded into cramped seats and airport terminals. But it didn’t matter now.

I was here.

I slowed as I passed the places that had once been second nature, my gaze tracing their outlines like reading the pages of an old, beloved book. 

The little bookstore, its sun-faded awning drooping slightly at the edges, its wooden sign still creaking softly in the breeze. The café with its sprawling deck, where people sipped iced coffee and watched the world pass by, their faces kissed by the golden light of late afternoon. 

The weathered ice cream shop, where Wren and I had once pressed sticky fingers to the glass, deliberating between flavors as if it were the most important decision of our lives.

And then—there it was.

The Honeycomb Garden.

It stood just as I remembered, its cream-colored façade softened by years of salt air, its windows spilling over with cascading blooms in every shade imaginable. A riot of color, a symphony of scent.

 Every summer, without fail, my mother, Wren, and I had made this stop—a quiet ritual, an unspoken promise. We would step inside, breathing in the floral air, fingers trailing over delicate petals as we searched for the perfect bouquet to bring home. 

The scent of it would fill the beach house, settling into its walls, marking the official start of summer.

I pulled onto the curb, the tires crunching softly against the pavement, and turned off the engine. The absence of music made the world feel suddenly still, the only sounds the distant cry of gulls and the faint hum of life moving around me.

With a sigh, I stepped out, stretching my arms overhead, letting the tension slip from my body as the sun pressed hot and unyielding against my skin. 

The breeze carried the scent of flowers and saltwater, a combination so achingly familiar that it made something in my chest tighten.

The little brass bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside, a sound so deeply ingrained in my memory that it sent a shiver down my spine.

And then—

“Well, if it isn’t little Y/N!”

Kristy’s voice rang across the shop, warm and rich with familiarity, as if no time had passed at all.

She stood behind the sage-green counter, her green eyes crinkling at the edges as she set down a bundle of pale pink peonies. The scent of them curled through the air—delicate, sweet, tinged with something almost honey-like.

“Miss Kristy.” I grinned, stepping forward just as she rounded the counter, her sunflower-printed sundress swaying gently with each step. White sandals. A brown apron dusted with tiny petals. The same, yet different.

“Oh, my dear,” she sighed, her arms opening before I could say another word.

The hug was tight, the kind that settled deep into the bones, the kind that felt like home. She smelled of lavender and sun-warmed earth, of afternoons spent here, hands buried in stems and petals. I held onto her just as tightly, letting the moment stretch.

Her hair, once long and cascading over her shoulders, had been cut into a neat bob, silver strands glinting in the light. She pulled back slightly, her hands resting on my arms as she studied me with an almost motherly softness.

“How have you been?” she asked, eyes searching mine. “It’s been, what? Three years?”

I nodded, exhaling a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah… a long time, huh?”

My gaze flickered around the shop, tracing every familiar corner, every vase overflowing with fresh blooms.

As if anything had changed.

As if everything had.

Her smile unfurled like the petals of a morning bloom, soft and familiar, her laughter laced with warmth as her fingers lingered in a gentle squeeze against my elbows. 

Fine creases gathered at the edges of her eyes, a quiet testament to years of sun and salt and soft, knowing glances. She studied me once more, head tilting slightly, the corners of her mouth tugging upward in that effortless way only she could manage.

“A little too long,” she murmured, a teasing lilt threading through her words, though there was something wistful beneath it. “Look at you! I think that Washington rain has washed away your sun-kissed glow.”

I huffed a small laugh, rolling my eyes even as I reached up instinctively to push back a loose strand of hair. “Unfortunately,” I admitted, a breath of a chuckle escaping me.

And then—something shifted. A flicker of recollection sparked in her gaze, her brows arching in sudden remembrance as her ears seemed to perk up.

“Oh! I just remembered—”

She released me, already turning on her heel, her sundress swaying with the movement. The scent of her floral perfume—jasmine and something faintly citrus—whispered through the air, lingering even as she disappeared behind the counter.

Her voice, ever honeyed and rich with familiarity, carried through the small shop, weaving through the blooms and filling the space with its warmth.

“Your mom placed an order yesterday—well, last night, actually,” she called out, her tone softening as she rummaged for something unseen. “Your dear brother was supposed to pick ‘em up.”

A knowing pause.

I could almost see the amused tilt of her head before she even emerged.

“But, I’m sure he’s still asleep.” A quiet laugh followed, a sound like wind chimes caught in a summer breeze.

My gaze flicked to the old clock mounted on the wall, its delicate hands frozen at 12:14 PM. My lips pressed into a thin, bemused line.

“Yep. Definitely still asleep.” I exhaled, shaking my head with a small smirk.

Miss Kristy reappeared, carefully cradling a bouquet wrapped in brown kraft paper, her fingertips gently smoothing over the edge as if the flowers themselves deserved the kind of tenderness only she could give.

It was so my mother.

A sunlit embrace of yellow dahlias and crisp white begonias, the colors as familiar as home itself. I reached forward, drawing the bouquet closer, my fingers brushing against the delicate petals as I traced the softness beneath my touch. The scent—fresh, bright, subtly sweet—bloomed in the air, stirring something deep in my chest.

Miss Kristy let out a knowing chuckle, shaking her head with a sigh.

I glanced up at her, hesitating for just a moment before clearing my throat.

“Uh—actually…” I started, shifting my weight slightly. “Do you maybe have any purple tulips?”

Her head tilted, her brows knitting together in quiet surprise.

“No lilies today?” she mused, her voice touched with curiosity, knowing well that lilies were my usual choice.

I smirked, shrugging. “Gotta expand my taste, right?”

A breath of laughter passed through her lips, the kind that was light and effortless, like the rustling of leaves in a soft breeze.

“Well,” she mused, tapping a finger against her chin, “I believe I have some tucked away in the back. I don’t think I’ve put them out yet.”

With that, she turned, vanishing once more into the depths of the shop.

The air seemed to hum in her absence, thick with the scent of blooms and the weight of nostalgia pressing gently against my ribs. I leaned an elbow against the counter, my fingers grazing the rim of a nearby vase as I waited, my gaze sweeping over the kaleidoscope of flowers before me.

Even after all this time, even after three years away, this place still felt like an inhale after a long-held breath.

Miss Kristy emerged from the back, her presence as effortless as a petal drifting on a summer breeze. She cradled the bouquet in her arms as if holding something sacred, her fingers gently adjusting the delicate stems before offering them to me with a warm, knowing smile.

“Ah! Here you are,” she hummed, her voice carrying that familiar lilt of affection. She tilted her head, the corners of her lips curling as she reached down, pulling a sheet of brown kraft paper from beneath the counter. “Just the tulips, sweets?”

I nodded, the scent of the shop thick around me—roses in full bloom, the crisp, green sharpness of eucalyptus, and the soft, honeyed whisper of baby’s breath. The air felt heavy with nostalgia, pressing against my ribs in a way that made my chest ache.

“Yes, please,” I murmured, slipping my hands into the deep pockets of my linen pants, fingers brushing against the leather of my wallet as I moved to fetch it.

But before I could pull it free, the warmth of Miss Kristy’s hand settled over mine—gentle, firm, a touch that spoke of quiet insistence. I stilled, glancing up to find her shaking her head, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

“This one's on the house, dear,” she said, her voice soft but resolute, a grin tugging at her lips. “A welcome home gift.”

I blinked, caught somewhere between gratitude and protest, my brows furrowing as I opened my mouth. “What—no—Miss Kristy, I can’t—”

But she leveled me with a sharp, playful glare, the kind that had the power to silence even the most stubborn of arguments. I shut my lips so tightly they barely parted when I exhaled.

“No buts,” she said, her tone firm, her gaze unwavering. “I insist.”

“Miss Kristy—” I tried again, shaking my head, the start of another argument forming at the tip of my tongue.

And so it began—the back-and-forth, me refusing, her countering with the patience of a woman who had won this battle many times before. A well-worn dance, choreographed by years of familiarity.

But in the end, I caved.

With a sigh and a slow, yielding smile, I raised my hands in surrender, cradling the dahlias in one arm. “Fine,” I exhaled, the breath leaving my lips like a quiet breeze. “But next time, I’m paying, m’kay?” I arched a brow at her, my voice teasing but lined with sincerity.

Miss Kristy chuckled, shaking her head as she carefully handed me the tulips, their petals soft as silk beneath my fingertips. She turned to tidy the counter, momentarily distracted—and that’s when I moved.

With careful precision, I tucked a crisp $30 bill beneath the register, sliding it out of sight just as she turned back.

“Alright, off with you now,” she teased, waving a hand as if shooing me away.

I grinned, stepping backward toward the door, my hands full of blooms, my heart full of something unspoken.

“See you later, Miss Kristy.”

But just as I pushed open the glass door, her sharp intake of breath reached me, followed by a voice laced with exasperation.

“Y/N Lexington!”

I turned back just enough to catch her incredulous expression, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the money beneath the register.

But by then, I was already slipping out onto the sunlit pavement, my laughter bubbling up like champagne, light and airy, carrying on the breeze.

“Bye, Miss Kristy!” I called over my shoulder, quickening my pace as I hurried toward the waiting bronc, my feet barely touching the ground.

Through the shop’s wide windows, I caught one last glimpse of her, standing behind the counter with a mix of amusement and feigned frustration painting her face.

The moment felt so fleeting, so tender, like a whisper of summer wind through the trees. I hadn’t even realized how much time had slipped through my fingers until I glanced at my phone, its screen glowing with missed calls and unread messages—most of them from Wren and my mom, though Amy and Lilly had their fair share, too.

Lilly’s texts stood out.

“dude hurry.”

A second one, only minutes later:

“ur moms goin’ crazy ‘cause ur not answering ur phone.”

I sighed, shaking my head as I finally slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar worn leather cool against my palms. The scent of salt lingered in the air, seeping through the cracks of my rolled-down window, mingling with the distant echoes of seagulls and crashing waves. 

I turned the key in the ignition, the soft rumble of the engine grounding me as I set off toward the place that had lived in my memories for far too long—the beach house.

The drive felt surreal. Every turn, every street, every landmark was steeped in nostalgia. The docks stretched out into the water, boats rocking gently against their moorings, their white sails like ghosts against the cerulean sky. People bustled along the boardwalk, laughter spilling from sun-kissed lips, the scent of fried seafood and sunscreen thick in the air.

And yet, as much as I drank in the familiarity of it all, my mind wandered elsewhere.

To her.

The way she used to chase the waves, shrieking as the cold water lapped at her ankles. The way the freckles on her nose darkened in the summer sun, how she always smelled like coconut lotion and salt. The sound of her voice, soft but sure, teasing but kind.

God.

I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away as I rounded the final corner. The beach house stood before me, untouched by time yet somehow different. The long driveway stretched ahead, gravel crunching beneath my tires as I slowly pulled in.

And then—before I could even shift into park—chaos erupted.

The front door burst open, figures spilling out onto the porch like a tidal wave of familiarity.

First, Wren, right on my mom’s heels, her dark curls bouncing as she ran. Then my dad, his usual calm expression cracked open with relief. And behind them, the Bueckers siblings—Diego, Lilly, and Reece—all pushing past one another, racing toward me.

Except for one.

A certain Bueckers kid was missing.

A certain blonde who had been haunting my thoughts more and more with each passing day.

Before I could fully process it, the younger ones broke into a full sprint, feet pounding against the sun-warmed planks of the porch, their laughter spilling into the thick summer air like a song I hadn’t heard in too long. The sound wrapped around me, sweet and familiar, tangled with the scent of salt and sunscreen, of grass crushed beneath bare feet.

"Y/N!"

I barely had time to draw a breath before they crashed into me—a tangle of limbs and warmth, their bodies colliding with the force of a rippling wave, pulling me into the undertow of their embrace. Arms wove around my waist, my shoulders, my back, each squeeze desperate, filled with the kind of unspoken longing that only distance could create.

“Woah—Jesus,” I gasped, stumbling back a step, their collective weight nearly knocking me off balance. My laughter burst out, breathless and tangled with disbelief.

Diego—who had once been small enough to balance on my hip—was now pressing his face into my ribs, arms banded tight around my middle as if afraid I might disappear again.

 Lilly, my little shadow, was suddenly face-to-face with me, her chin digging into my shoulder, her embrace unrelenting, as if trying to pour every ounce of her missed time into this single moment.

 And Reece—once my short, scrappy sidekick—stood taller than me now, his arms hooked firmly around my back, his grip solid and steady, grounding me in the weight of their presence.

I pulled back just enough to take them in, my hands grasping their shoulders, my fingers brushing over the sun-warmed fabric of their t-shirts, the scent of ocean air and childhood summers clinging to them like something sacred. My chest ached with the sheer force of it—of them, of this moment, of home pressing itself back into my bones.

I let out a shaky laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “What the hell have y’all been eating while I was away?” My eyes darted between them, scanning their faces, trying to reconcile the past with the present. “Seriously—growth hormones? Miracle-gro?”

Lilly giggled, her smile wide enough to crinkle her nose, swiping at her sun-drenched cheeks. “We missed you, dummy.”

Diego nodded so fast it made his dark curls bounce. “So much.”

Ryan smirked, clapping a hand against my shoulder, his grip firm, steady. “Took you long enough to get here.”

I swallowed hard, something warm and unshakable swelling in my chest, curling around my ribs, settling deep in my bones.

"Yeah," I murmured, glancing past them—past the porch, past the gently swaying wind chimes, past the years I had spent away.

"I’m home."

As soon as the words left my lips, something deep within me exhaled—like the tide finally surrendering to the shore, foam-kissed waves melting into the sand after being held away for too long. 

The weight I hadn’t even realized I was carrying settled, dispersing into the thick summer air, where the scent of salt and sun-warmed cedar clung like a second skin.

But before I could fully sink into the feeling, my mother’s voice cut through the moment, warm but edged with that familiar exasperation—the kind laced with love, the kind that had followed me through childhood like a shadow.

"Alright, alright—let her breathe, for God’s sake."

The younger ones groaned but obeyed, their arms unraveling from me with reluctant slowness, like they feared I’d disappear if they let go too soon. 

Diego lingered the longest, his small hands gripping the fabric of my shirt at my waist, fingers tightening as if committing the moment to memory before finally, with a deep breath, stepping back.

And then, there she was.

My mother stood poised on the porch, arms crossed, the setting sun catching on the fine lines near her eyes—the ones carved from years of laughter, worry, and love. Her lips were pressed together, and for a second, it looked like she was about to scold me, but then I saw it—relief, warm and brimming, pooling in the depths of her deep brown eyes like a tide held back too long.

Beside her, my father stood in his usual ease, a lopsided grin stretching across his face. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his faded cargo shorts, as if keeping them there would stop him from pulling me into a hug too soon. 

He rocked back slightly on his heels, his gaze steady, as if reassuring himself that I was really standing here.

And Wren—Wren stood slightly apart, just behind them, arms loosely folded, her expression unreadable at first. But I knew her too well. I knew that tilt of her head, the way her eyes traced me like she was searching for something beneath the surface. 

Wren never just looked at people—she saw them. And right now, she was seeing me, reading between the lines of my posture, my expression, the way my fingers twitched at my sides.

She always saw too much.

I swallowed hard, the weight of it all pressing into my ribs—the porch where barefoot summers had stretched endlessly, where late-night whispers and childhood laughter had been carried off by the wind. 

The people who had filled those summers stood before me now, their faces aged by time but still achingly familiar. 

The scent of salt and sun-warmed cedar curled through the thick, golden air, wrapping around me like an embrace from the past, like something stubborn and unyielding, something that refused to be forgotten.

My mother was the first to move, stepping forward with a slow shake of her head, her expression wavering between exasperation and something far more fragile. Like she was still convincing herself I was real, flesh and bone and not just some distant memory come home to haunt her.

"You didn’t answer your damn phone, Y/N." Her voice cracked, just barely, a thin fracture in the frustration she was trying to hold together.

Guilt crept in, pooling at the edges of my relief. "I know, I know—I got caught up, I—"

I didn’t get the chance to finish before she was pulling me in, her arms a fortress, steady and unshakable, the same way they had always been. The scent of lavender and sun-warmed cotton enveloped me, the press of her fingers threading through my hair, resting at the nape of my neck—gentle, familiar, grounding.

"Next time, answer," she murmured, her voice muffled against my hair, the edges of it frayed with worry. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

A lump formed in my throat, thick and aching, but I forced a smile, my grip tightening around her. "I promise."

She lingered, holding on like she wasn’t quite ready to let go, like she was memorizing the feeling of me in her arms. And then, with a deep breath, she stepped back, her warmth slipping away just as my father pulled me in.

"It's good to see you, kiddo," Dad murmured, pressing a kiss against my temple. His hug was quick but firm, the solid press of his hand against my back grounding me in a way words never could.

 The rough warmth of his palm ruffled my hair, the same way he had when I was twelve—like no time had passed at all, like I had never really left.

And then there was Wren.

She stood apart from the others, her arms folded loosely across her chest, her weight shifted onto one hip, exuding a quiet confidence as if she had all the time in the world. The sunlight caught the engagement ring on her finger, making it gleam like a promise forged in the warmth of the summer day.

 But her eyes—they were a different story. Deep, knowing, unblinking, they scanned me, tracing over every detail as if she were piecing together a puzzle. It was as though she was measuring the gap between the person I had been and the person I had become, silently assessing if the two still fit together, if the distance between them could ever be bridged.

The silence stretched between us, thick and humming, something unspoken pressing against the spaces where words should have been. I felt it in the way her brow pinched, just slightly. In the way she tilted her head, assessing, calculating.

I exhaled sharply, rolling my eyes. "You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna say hi?"

Her lips twitched—barely, a flicker of movement that almost didn’t happen. "Hi."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Unbelievable."

And then, finally, finally, she moved.

The space between us closed in an instant, and when her arms wrapped around me, it wasn’t hesitant or delicate. It was solid, effortless, the kind of hug that wasn’t just a greeting, but a homecoming. Like the last few months hadn’t stretched between us at all. Like time had simply been waiting for us to meet again.

Her voice was muffled against my shoulder, dry but warm. "Welcome back, dumbass."

A breathless laugh escaped me, and I clung to her a little tighter, grounding myself in the familiarity of it all. "Missed you too, asshole."

But when I pulled back, something tugged at the edges of my focus, something missing. My gaze flickered past her, searching—the porch, the doorway, the lingering stretch of golden afternoon light spilling across the wooden steps. My chest tightened as my eyes swept over the familiar scene, looking for a silhouette that wasn’t there.

Wren exhaled before I could even ask. "Beau’s still asleep."

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "Figures."

Even if I already knew.

Still, my search didn’t stop there. My eyes kept moving, scanning past my parents, past the younger ones still tugging at my arms, past the way the wind chimes trembled in the soft, salt-tinged breeze.

Wren saw. Of course, she did.

Her fingers curled briefly around my wrist—a quick, fleeting squeeze—before she let go. "She’s, uhm—out."

That was all she said.

And yet, it was enough to make my stomach twist, enough to make something settle, heavy and wordless, between us.

I nodded slowly, a quiet acceptance neither of us acknowledged out loud. "Right."

Wren offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her chocolate brown eyes.

I returned it anyway.

There would be time for that later.

For now, I was home. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

The heat pressed against my skin, thick and insistent, as though the sun itself were trying to melt me into the pavement. The air, heavy and sultry, wrapped around me like a thick blanket—saturated with the earthy scent of freshly cut grass and the faintest trace of sea salt, still lingering in the breeze. 

The world felt too much, too alive—too vibrant. The cicadas hummed a constant, vibrating chorus in the trees, their song loud enough to pulse beneath my ribs. The wind, playful and mischievous, fluttered through the hanging chimes, making them sing a hollow, tinny tune that scraped against the air. 

My siblings' laughter echoed in my ears, sharp and bright, filling the space, forcing itself into every corner of my consciousness.

But underneath it all, there was something quieter. Something heavier. A pull deep in my chest, like the last remnants of a storm settling inside me. 

It was a weight I couldn’t shake—one that clung to me with the same stubbornness as the heat, pressing down on my ribs, curling tight around my heart. The world swirled around me, but that feeling remained, persistent and unrelenting.

I shoved it down.

For now.

Reece and Dad were already at my car, moving with ease, pulling my luggage from the trunk. Diego, still a little small and determined, stood beside them, his tiny hands gripping the handle of my suitcase like it was the most important thing in the world. 

I watched as he tugged, his face scrunching up in concentration, muscles straining with the effort—but the bag barely shifted. He planted his feet firmly, giving it another go, a little grunt escaping his lips. Still nothing. The suitcase refused to budge, stubborn and unmoving in his grip.

I couldn’t help it—I bit back a smile.

"Hey, kid," I said, my voice soft but carrying as I stepped toward him, my uggs sinking slightly into the cool earth beneath me. "Think I’m gonna need your help with something way more important."

Diego's wide, innocent eyes flicked up to meet mine, a trace of confusion flickering across his face, like he wasn’t sure if he had heard me right. But the warmth in my tone seemed to settle his doubts, and after a beat, his gaze followed mine toward the passenger seat.

There, wrapped in brown paper, was the bundle of dahlias and begonias—their yellow faces turned toward the sky, their delicate petals whispering with the wind. It was a humble bouquet, nothing extravagant, but it had a beauty in its simplicity.

I nodded toward it. "I need someone very responsible to bring in the flowers. Think you can handle it?"

The shift in his expression was immediate. His eyes widened, and for a split second, I saw the world shift beneath him—he was no longer just the little brother trying to carry my bags. No, now he was entrusted with something precious. He stood taller, his chest puffing out like a proud little rooster, his grin spreading from ear to ear, so wide it almost swallowed his face.

"I got it!" he declared, voice rising with determination, his tiny hands reaching for the flowers with a reverence that made my heart ache a little. His fingers curled gently around the stems, lifting them as if they were made of the finest porcelain. His steps were swift, purposeful, as he marched toward the house, the bouquet cradled against his chest like a secret he was eager to protect.

I watched him go, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. It felt good—no, it felt right—seeing him so proud of something so simple. I reached out, ruffling his dark hair as he passed, the motion soft and affectionate, the way I’d always done. "Good job, kid."

He didn’t hear me, already lost in his mission, but the light in his eyes was all the thanks I needed.

Turning away, I grabbed my duffel bag, the weight of it familiar and grounding, and threw it over my shoulder. 

My fingers brushed the cool metal handle of the suitcase next, and I tugged it free from the car, dragging it along the gravel with a small grunt. As I glanced up, I saw Reece effortlessly lifting the last of my luggage, one hand gripping the handle, the other tucked casually in his pocket as if the suitcase weighed nothing at all.

I smirked, raising an eyebrow. "See you’ve been hitting the gym, huh?"

His grin grew, smug and self-assured. "Yeah, Paige’s been on my ass about going with her." His voice was easy, but I could feel the undercurrent in the words—the way he said it like it was no big deal, but I knew better.

My stomach tightened, a knot forming as her name echoed in my mind. Paige. Just the mention of her sent a ripple of something cold through me. Something I couldn’t quite place, but I could feel it clawing at the edges of my thoughts.

I tried to shake it off, forcing a chuckle as I shifted my weight. "I bet she has."

Reece didn’t seem to notice the shift, his smirk never faltering as he hoisted the luggage with ease. "It’s been good for me," he said with a casual shrug, like it was a normal part of his day.

But as the words hung between us, a sudden heaviness descended. It was in the way he didn’t break eye contact, the way he said her name—so effortlessly, so naturally, like they were in sync, like they were the same.

I swallowed, the tightness in my throat only slightly noticeable as I forced myself to look away.

Dad’s voice called out from the porch, cutting through the tension like a knife. "Is that all?"

Reece, still not picking up on my unease, shot back with a grin. "Nah—got the whole wardrobe in here."

I rolled my eyes and smacked him on the arm. "Real funny, ass hat." My voice was light, but my heart was still beating a little too fast, a little too hard.

Reece only chuckled, stepping aside as I shut the trunk with a resounding thunk. The sound echoed in my chest, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had closed too. Something softer, quieter—something I wasn’t ready to face.

Even as I turned toward the house, my mind was still spinning, and one name refused to let go.

It gnawed at me, even though I didn’t want it to.

I swallowed again, trying to push it down, trying to move forward. There was no point in asking Wren now. Not yet. I had just gotten back. I didn’t need to unravel everything all at once.

But something in me ached to know.

Maybe I would ask her later. Maybe I’d ask when the house wasn’t so full, when everything wasn’t so loud. When the air didn’t feel so heavy.

But for now, I would carry this weight in silence. For now, I was home. And maybe that would be enough—for now.

Following Reece into the house felt like stepping into a dream that had been patiently waiting for my return. 

The moment I lifted my gaze, the weight of time pressed against my ribs—not in a suffocating way, but in a way that filled my chest with something warm, something deep, something that whispered, You are home.

Martha’s Vineyard had a way of making the past feel alive. The air was thick with salt and sun, the scent of distant tides curling through the open windows like an embrace. It had been too long, but nothing had truly changed.

 The house stood just as it always had, unwavering in its quiet elegance, its cream-white wooden walls kissed with a hue of baby blue, a color that carried the scent of summer mornings and childhood mischief.

As I stepped over the threshold, nostalgia wrapped around me, tangible as the sea breeze outside. I could almost hear the echoes of my past self—barefoot and reckless, sneaking down these very stairs with Paige at my side, hushed giggles breaking through the night as we slipped out the door, hearts hammering with the thrill of escape. 

The beach had been our sanctuary, the bonfires our altar. 

Some nights, it had been just the two of us, feet sinking into cool sand, waves curling against the shore like a secret whispered between old friends. Other nights, the firelight stretched across miles of coastline, casting flickering shadows over dancing figures, smoke and salt mixing in the air as music pulsed through the dark.

I could still taste the saltwater taffy we had stolen from the pantry at ungodly hours, could still feel the rough wooden railing beneath my palms as I sat on the porch, legs swinging idly while Paige teased me about some long-forgotten crush.

 The ghosts of those nights still lingered here, tucked between the wooden planks, hidden in the corners where moonlight once pooled at our feet.

The house itself breathed with life. Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, golden and endless, illuminating everything it touched—the polished floors, the delicate lace curtains, the picture frames that still lined the walls, frozen moments capturing laughter, love, and the stories of those who had walked these halls before me. 

Some frames adorned the staircase, their glass glinting beneath the Cape Cod sun, reflecting back faces I had memorized like scripture.

And just beyond the glass, past the rolling green lawn, the ocean stretched out like an old promise. The blue of it was sharp enough to make my chest ache.

A burst of laughter broke through the air, pulling me back to the present. In the living room, Diego and Lilly were locked in some fierce, ridiculous competition, their playful bickering weaving through the house like background music. 

The familiarity of it brought a smile to my lips, but it was only when movement caught my eye that my heart truly swelled.

Amy.

Emerging from the staircase, her short blonde hair swaying as she descended, the same radiant smile that had welcomed me a thousand times before now stretched wide across her face.

"You’re finally here!" she beamed, voice thick with warmth, with the kind of love that had always felt like a second home.

"Mama Amy!" The words tumbled from my lips before I could help it, my feet moving before my mind could catch up. In my excitement, I nearly tripped over my luggage, but I didn’t care. I closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, launching myself into Amy’s waiting arms.

The embrace was tight, fierce—years of love, of shared history, of something deeper than blood but just as binding. I buried my face into Amy’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla and sun-warmed linen, the scent of comfort, of long talks on the porch, of arms that had held me through both laughter and heartbreak.

"Ugh," I groaned dramatically, squeezing tighter. "I missed you so much."

Amy chuckled, smoothing a hand over my hair the way she always had. "Missed you more, sweetheart. It’s been too quiet without you around."

And I knew she meant it. Because Amy had never just been Paige’s mom—she had been mine, too. A second mother in every way that counted. Just as my own mother had been to Paige and Lauren, Amy had been there for me. 

Through heartbreaks and triumphs, through childhood scraped knees and the sting of growing up too fast. Through every moment that mattered.

Amy pulled back just enough to cup my face, her blue eyes searching mine with something soft, something knowing. "You doing okay?"

I swallowed.

I wanted to say yes.

I wanted to mean it.

But for now, I just nodded, letting the warmth of Amy’s touch and the weight of her arms settle the ache in my chest.

Because for the first time in a long time, I was finally here.

“Where’s Bob?” The words left my lips as I stood in the golden haze of the late afternoon, my voice threading through the air like the familiar melody of an old song. 

The walls of this house had heard that name a thousand times before, whispered in the quiet of early mornings, shouted over the sound of waves crashing in the distance.

Amy turned to me, her face warm, crinkled at the corners from years of sun and laughter. She smelled like salt air and vanilla, the scent of summers past clinging to her like a second skin. Her arms, still wrapped around me, gave one final squeeze before she pulled away, her fingers lingering for just a second longer.

“He just left actually–– went out grabbing groceries with Paige and Carson,” she said, her voice light with the ease of routine. “You know how it is, the ‘Grocery Gang’.”

I nodded, already picturing the scene—the three of them wandering through the tiny, sun-warmed market, their hands brushing against fresh produce and wicker baskets, arguing over whether to get the sweet or unsweetened iced tea. 

Time had a way of shifting, folding new people into old traditions, stretching and reshaping what once felt immovable.

“And Josephine?” I asked, tilting my head slightly, the name slipping from my tongue like a question wrapped in longing.

Amy exhaled softly, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to make it this time. Work’s been keeping her tied up.”

A quiet pang settled in my chest, the kind that only comes when someone is missing from a place they’re supposed to be. 

Josephine had become a fixture in our summers, as much a part of this home as the scent of cedar and sea spray, as the laughter that drifted through open windows at dusk. She was more than just Diego’s mom—she was a guiding presence that filled the spaces left by time and distance.

“Hopefully, she gets to join us soon, though,” Amy added, her voice threaded with hope.

I smiled, a knowing curve of my lips, and nodded. “Yeah, hopefully.”

Before I could sink too deep into the thought, I hitched the strap of my duffle bag higher onto my shoulder. “I’m gonna put my stuff in my room real quick.”

“Oh, lemme help you,” Reece’s voice emerged from the kitchen, thick with something sweet.

I turned just in time to see him wiping his sugar-dusted fingers against the fabric of his shorts, his mouth still full, his blue eyes dancing with mischief.

I arched a brow. “With your sticky hands?”

He scoffed, utterly unbothered, rolling his eyes with a dramatic huff. “Please, these suitcases probably cost twenty bucks. It ain’t that special.”

My lips parted in mock offense. “Excuse me—seventy dollars, actually.”

He snorted, already reaching down to grab a handle, his fingers curling around the worn leather with practiced ease. “Still not that special.”

Our words bounced between us like skipping stones over water, light and effortless, the kind of back-and-forth that had been carved into our bones over the years.

Amy chuckled softly as she watched us, shaking her head before slipping into the kitchen, disappearing into the soft hum of a home alive with movement.

And then, like a wave crashing against the shore, I felt it—that scent.

It curled through the air like an embrace, thick with warmth, wrapping around my senses and pulling me under. Smoky embers and charred wood, the unmistakable scent of barbecue, rich and golden. Beneath it, something briny, something fresh, the perfume of the sea woven into the promise of a meal made with love.

My stomach twisted in quiet longing as Reece and I drifted toward the kitchen, the weight of our bags shifting against our bodies. He carried two suitcases with ease, the muscles in his arms flexing with the effort, while I adjusted the duffle on my shoulder, my fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of my own luggage.

And there, bathed in the golden glow of the evening sun, was my mother.

She moved through the kitchen with effortless grace, a quiet symphony of motion. The counters were covered in an array of ingredients—chopped vegetables glistening under the soft kitchen lights, meats marinating in deep earthenware bowls, the air thick with the rich scent of herbs and spices.

“Whoa,” I murmured, pausing at the doorway, my eyes sweeping over the spread before me. “What’s this? A royal banquet?”

Mom hummed, rinsing a bowl of potatoes beneath the steady stream of water, a small smirk playing on her lips. “We always celebrate the first night back here,” she said, matter-of-factly, as if I should have known better than to question it.

And she was right. How had I forgotten?

The first night back in this house was never just another night. It was a ritual, a way to stitch ourselves back into the rhythm of this place, to remind each other that no matter how much time passed, no matter how far we had gone, we always found our way back—to the same table, the same laughter, the same love.

Reece and I shared a look before making our way up the staircase, our steps in sync as we climbed toward the familiar. The wooden steps creaked beneath us, a sound so ingrained in my memory that it felt like a song I had once known by heart.

As we walked, our conversation drifted between the past and present—what had changed since I had been gone, what had stayed the same. Reece filled me in on everything, from the small, meaningless updates to the ones that mattered. Who was dating who, who had left for school, what pranks had been pulled when I wasn’t around to witness them.

It was easy. It was effortless. It was home.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself sink into it completely.

As we ascended the staircase, the wooden steps creaked beneath our weight, whispering their quiet welcome, a sound so familiar it felt like an embrace. The second floor unfolded before me, and a warmth bloomed in my chest, thick and golden, like sunlight filtering through salt-kissed curtains on a summer morning. 

Four doors stood before me—three bedrooms, one bathroom—each a vessel of memory, of laughter and whispered secrets, of childhood dreams spun from the innocence of five-year-old hearts. One door, set apart from the others, belonged to Wren. Or at least, it had, until she decided she had outgrown it, trading in its small comforts for one of the bigger rooms on the far side of the house. 

Now, it belonged to Lilly, and with her, it had taken on a new heartbeat, a new rhythm, though echoes of Wren still lingered in its corners.

The other two rooms, side by side, ours. Mine and Paige’s. A stake we had claimed long before we understood what permanence meant. Our names, scrawled across the wooden doors in glitter—Paige’s in regal purple, mine in a bright, childish pink—still shimmered under the dim hallway light. 

The banners we had made with tiny hands, glue sticking to our fingers, had stood the test of time. A declaration. A promise. That no matter how much we grew, how much the world outside changed, these rooms would always be ours.

My feet carried me forward before I even realized I had moved, instinct guiding me to my door.

"Y/N’S SURF SHACK"

The words greeted me, bold against the white-painted wood, pink glitter still clinging stubbornly to its surface despite the years that had passed. Around them, seashells and surfboards danced in a scattered collage, hearts pressed between them like unspoken love. And there, beside the banner, a stick-figure drawing of two little girls—one blonde, one brunette—etched in messy crayon strokes, their hands clasped together in the way only best friends could.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I pressed my palm against the cool metal of the doorknob, fingers curling around its familiar shape. With a soft twist, I pushed the door open.

The scent hit me first.

Coconut and ocean salt, like sun-warmed skin after a day spent diving beneath rolling waves. The air felt untouched yet lived-in, the kind of space frozen in time yet waiting, patiently, for my return.

Everything was exactly as I had left it.

The walls, painted in a soft white-cream with an accent of baby blue, mirrored the sky just before it kissed the horizon at dusk. Sheer white curtains billowed gently in the breeze, whispering secrets carried from the sea. 

The queen-sized bed sat pressed against the far wall, its wooden headboard adorned with delicate fairy lights, their glow faint in the fading daylight. 

A thin string stretched across the wall above it, polaroids clinging to it like fireflies, snapshots of summer days and stolen moments.

Framed pictures and art I had carefully chosen lined the walls, pieces of my soul scattered across the room in colors and strokes.

 Beside the bed, matching white nightstands stood like sentinels, their surfaces home to trinkets, forgotten books, and memories encased in glass frames.

 In the corner, a hanging egg chair swayed slightly, as if remembering the weight of my body curling into it, book in hand, lost in worlds beyond this one.

One side of the room bore the evidence of my greatest love—the ocean. Surfboards leaned against the wall, their colors faded from years of salt and sun, each one holding the memory of a perfect wave, a fall, a triumph. 

Among them, nestled between the wooden planks, were plants that had somehow survived my neglect, their green leaves stretching toward the light like they, too, belonged here.

A white dresser stood against the opposite wall, cluttered with the remnants of my life—a stray bracelet, a half-burned candle, a forgotten letter folded neatly beneath a smooth sea stone. Above, the ceiling fan spun lazily, stirring the air like an exhale, slow and deliberate.

And there, resting on the bed as if it had never moved, was my white bunny Jellycat. Nestled between a sea of throw pillows, its soft body slightly worn, the fabric stretched in places where tiny hands had clutched it too tightly in the night. It was a relic of comfort, of childhood fears soothed beneath the weight of moonlight and whispered reassurances.

But what caught my breath, what stilled my heart for a fraction of a second, was the vase.

Sitting atop the white nightstand, its glass surface catching the golden light, was a bouquet of pink lilies. Fresh, their petals unfurling in delicate, blushing curls, the fragrance wrapping around me like an embrace. 

Paige. 

She had been in here, had left them for me, had remembered.

Beside the flowers, a framed photo—Paige and me at ten years old, laughing mid-collapse, her arms wrapped around my shoulders as I struggled to keep us both upright. Frozen in time, our joy immortalized behind the glass.

My throat tightened.

It wasn’t just a room.

It was a time capsule. A love letter to every version of myself that had lived here, every laugh, every tear, every whispered confession made to the walls in the dead of night. It was a place untouched by time, yet full of it.

With a deep breath, I stepped inside, letting the warmth of home settle into my bones.

I step inside, and the past comes rushing at me like a tide—thick with the scent of salt, sunscreen, and a life I only get to touch for a few months out of the year. The air is heavier here, humming with old laughter, sunburned memories, and the echoes of a childhood that still clings to the walls.

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

Reece’s voice rumbles from behind me, steady and familiar, grounding me before I drift too far into nostalgia. I turn just as he sets my luggage down with a soft thud, his towering frame still as solid as ever, a quiet presence that never changes.

I smile, reaching up to ruffle his light brown hair like I always have, my fingers tangling in the strands before giving his back a firm pat. “Thanks, big guy,” I murmur.

Reece chuckles, a low sound, then nods once before heading downstairs, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floors, fading into the heartbeat of the house.

And just like that, I am alone.

The silence is thick but not empty—never empty here. It hums with something alive, something waiting, like the house itself is breathing me in. I let my eyes wander, drinking in every detail that tethers me back to this place. 

The soft cream walls, still sun-bleached from the years. The desk by the window, cluttered with forgotten trinkets and sand-dusted notebooks. The faint scent of vanilla and sea salt, a perfume of the past that lingers in the fabric of the curtains.

But it’s the balcony doors that call to me the loudest.

Drawn like a thread being pulled, I cross the room, fingers finding the cool brass handles as I push them wide open. The ocean air rushes in, crashing into me with its salted breath, thick and alive with the weight of summer. It fills my lungs, clings to my skin, wraps itself around me like an old friend.

God, I missed this.

The view is the same—always the same—but it never loses its magic. The dunes stretch long and golden, their tall grasses swaying in rhythm with the wind.

 Beyond them, the ocean sprawls endlessly, a restless blue that shifts with the sky, a shade I have never quite been able to find anywhere else. It’s a short walk to the beach, but from here, I can still hear the waves, the endless push and pull, whispering their secrets to the shore.

And if I listen even closer, I can hear voices drifting through the warm air.

Dad’s voice, deep and steady, carrying over from the pool where the grill sizzles. The smell of barbecue mingles with the ocean breeze, thick and smoky, curling through the air like an unspoken invitation. Wren is probably beside him, leaning against the railing, making some dry remark about his technique. The sound of their quiet laughter stirs something deep in my chest—a longing, a warmth, a knowing that this is home.

I linger there, drinking it in, before finally stepping back inside, leaving the doors open just enough to let the breeze follow me in.

My eyes drifted back to the lilies. 

Soft pink, delicate, arranged with a kind of thoughtfulness that makes my chest ache. They sit on my nightstand in a glass vase, petals still dewy, as if they’ve only just been placed there. And beside them, a small folded note, edges slightly curled.

I already know who it’s from before I even touch it.

The handwriting—the careful curves, the way the ink presses just a little too hard in certain letters—it’s unmistakable.

I exhale a laugh, barely more than a breath, as I pick up the note, my thumb brushing over the familiar scrawl.

"Welcome back, princess."

Princess.

I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch into a smile despite myself. It started as a joke—an affectionate tease that Paige threw at me when we were sixteen. I had hated it at first, wrinkled my nose every time she said it, but over time, I stopped fighting it. Maybe because, deep down, I started to understand why she called me that. And suddenly, it didn’t bother me at all.

With a sigh, I let the note flutter back onto the nightstand before collapsing onto my bed, limbs splaying out in a careless starfish position. The sheets are crisp but familiar, the comforter slightly cool from being untouched. My childhood bunny still sits among the pillows, a little more worn, a little more forgotten, but still here—like a ghost of who I used to be.

I close my eyes.

Let myself sink.

The house breathes around me, the sounds outside blurring into a lullaby—the hush of the waves, the distant laughter, the cicadas singing in the heat. My body is heavy, my mind slipping somewhere between wakefulness and dreams.

Until—

“What’s up, stranger?”

The voice is deep, loud, and entirely too close.

A sharp burst of sound that shatters the quiet like a hammer to glass.

I jolt upright, heart slamming against my ribs as my eyes fly open.

“Jesus—” I hiss, my pulse still racing. “You scared the shit out of me, dipshit.”

Standing at the foot of my bed, grinning like a damn menace, is Beau.

My eighteen-year-old brother, taller than I remember, his shoulders broader, his hair sun-lightened and messier than ever. His grin is all teeth, mischief crackling in his dark brown eyes like a brewing storm.

Before I can react, before I can even think—

He launches himself onto the bed.

A solid weight, knocking the breath out of me as he crashes down, arms wrapping around me in a ruthless, smothering hold.

“Beau—” I wheeze, squirming under him.

“C’mon, you know you missed me,” he says, his voice muffled against my shoulder before his arm snakes around my neck, locking me into a chokehold.

I let out a strangled noise as he ruffles my hair with merciless enthusiasm, tangling the strands I had only just managed to tame.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I grumble, trying—and failing—not to smile.

He just laughs, completely unbothered, still holding me captive in his vice grip.

And then—

“Are you two seriously wrestling already?”

I don’t need to look to know who it is.

Wren leans against the doorframe, one brow arched, arms crossed, exuding her usual brand of effortless cool. The kind that makes it impossible to tell whether she’s amused or exasperated. Probably both.

Beau scoffs, rolling onto his back beside me, arms behind his head. “You jealous or something?”

Wren snorts. “Yeah, totally. I just live for the sight of you two rolling around like a couple of feral dogs.”

I sit up, running a hand through my now thoroughly wrecked hair. “If you’re gonna be in here, at least shut the door. You’re letting all the air out.”

Wren shrugs but does as she’s told, kicking the door closed with the heel of her foot. “So, now that the princess has returned, does this mean we’re getting into trouble tonight, or what?”

I smirk, stretching out my arms in an exaggerated yawn. “Depends. How much trouble are we talking?”

Beau grins, eyes gleaming. “The kind that gets us grounded for the rest of the summer.”

And just like that—

The house feels alive again.

Buzzing. Humming. Crackling with something electric.

And as I sink into the moment, into the warmth of them, I realize just how much I missed this.

How much I missed them.

The clock on my nightstand read just past three in the afternoon, the soft hum of the ceiling fan above stirring the warm summer air in lazy circles. The room still smelled faintly of salt and sunscreen, but now, layered on top of it, the familiar sweetness of coconut and vanilla clung to my skin. 

My body was warm from the shower, my limbs still heavy with the kind of drowsy comfort that came after hot water and quiet solitude. The moisturizer I had lathered onto my legs made my skin impossibly soft, and my damp hair left cool, damp trails against the bare skin of my shoulders.

I had taken my time getting ready, slipping into a white floral tank top, the delicate fabric whispering against my skin. 

The spaghetti straps sat gently on my shoulders, the V-cut dipping just enough to hint at something softer, a tiny satin bow sitting at its center like an afterthought. The mini skirt hugged my waist, airy and light, the hem brushing against the tops of my thighs with every movement.

As I stood in front of the open balcony doors, the humid air wrapped around me, thick with the scent of the ocean and the distant smokiness of the barbecue still sizzling downstairs. 

The world outside stretched endlessly—rolling dunes, scattered wild grasses swaying lazily, the sun dipping lower in the sky, gilding the horizon in honeyed gold. And then—

Then, my eyes found her.

Down at the dock, standing alone, her blonde hair caught the wind, rippling like a flickering flame that danced in defiance of the vast, endless blue stretching before her. Paige.

The sight of her struck something deep in my chest, a slow, painful ache unfurling like a frayed thread that had somehow found its way back into the fabric of my heart. 

Three years. Three whole years. 

And yet, there she stood—still Paige. Still effortless. Still radiant in that quiet, impossible way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

Her back was to me, but I couldn’t help but drink her in. The sun kissed her skin with a warmth that seemed almost unnatural, casting a soft glow that made her look as if she had been sculpted from light itself. 

I couldn’t help but trace the way her shoulders held a tension, something unfamiliar but familiar at once—a guarded kind of grace. 

It was in the way her white cropped tank top draped over her, the gentle curve of her form visible beneath the fabric, as if time had shaped her in ways I hadn’t quite expected.

 The soft lines of her silhouette, the subtle shift in the way she moved—everything about her spoke of the changes that had taken place, the growth that had come with the years. 

And yet, beneath it all, she still carried the essence of the girl I had once known.

She looked unreal, like something conjured from the depths of a dream I had long buried, but now it resurfaced, flooding my senses with the pull of what had once been.

Before I could second-guess myself, before I could drown in the weight of everything I hadn’t said, my fingers clenched into my palm, and I let out a slow, steady breath.

And then I moved.

The comb in my hand was forgotten, dropped onto the bed as I turned and stepped out of my room. My bare feet moved swiftly across the wooden floors, past the open kitchen where Mom and Amy stood talking, their conversation a gentle hum I didn’t bother to decipher. 

Past the living room, where Beau and Diego sat hunched over the screen, their game of Black Ops 6 filling the air with gunfire and shouted curses. Past my dad, still tending to the grill, his deep voice carrying over the sound of sizzling meat.

And then, out the back door.

The moment my sandals touched the grass, the heat of the afternoon pressed against me like a second skin. The air felt heavier out here, thick with nostalgia and something dangerously close to regret. I stepped onto the sand, the fine grains shifting beneath my soles, sinking slightly with every step.

 Each movement felt surreal, like I was caught between past and present, like I was walking toward something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

But Paige was still there.

Still standing at the edge of the dock, still lost in whatever thoughts had her so still.

I hesitated at the dock’s entrance, the worn wooden planks creaking beneath my weight as I stopped. Three years. Three years of silence, of missed calls, of never showing up, of pretending the ache in my chest wasn’t real.

What the hell was I even supposed to say?

Hey? Sorry I haven’t texted you? Sorry I never called? Sorry I didn’t show up to any of your games? How have you been?

It all sounded stupid. Useless. Like trying to patch up something that had already been burned to the ground.

I swallowed hard, my hands tightening into fists at my sides, trying to steady myself against the wave of uncertainty. But then—

I exhaled. Released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

And I stepped forward.

The wooden planks were warm beneath my sandals as I slowly made my way down the dock, each step feeling heavier than the last. My heart pounded against my ribs, but my voice was steady when I finally spoke.

“Well, if it isn’t Paige ‘Buckets’ Bueckers.”

My voice was soft, careful, as if saying her name too loudly might shatter the fragile moment between us.

I saw it then—the way her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, the way her breath hitched in the split second before she turned around.

And when she did—

Paige blinked at me, lips parting, her blue eyes wide with something I couldn’t quite place. Disbelief? Shock? Maybe something else, something deeper.

“Y/N.”

My name left her lips like an exhale, like she wasn’t sure if she was really seeing me.

And for a moment, neither was I.

The world stilled.

For a moment, all I could hear was the soft, rhythmic lapping of the water against the dock, the distant hum of my father’s laughter mingling with the sharp sizzle of the grill, the occasional cry of a gull overhead as it circled lazily in the sky.

But everything else—the voices, the background chatter, the weight of three long, aching years—fell into a quiet hush as I stared at her.

Paige.

Her name echoed in my mind, a long-forgotten tune that had once filled my world but had gone silent, tucked away in the shadows of time. I hadn’t allowed myself to sing it in so long.

She was standing there, barely a few feet away, but in that moment, it felt like an entire lifetime stretched between us, the distance palpable and heavy, a gap carved out by silence and time.

The afternoon light bathed her in gold, casting a warm halo around her as it played across her form, highlighting every sharp and soft angle of her. 

The light kissed her skin with a gentle reverence, turning her into something almost too perfect to be real. Her blonde hair, now slightly longer than I remembered, swayed with the breeze, each strand catching the sunlight like delicate threads of spun silk, glimmering in the golden haze. 

Her skin, kissed by the sun and glistening with a natural glow, held that kind of effortless radiance that made her look ethereal, as if she existed just a touch beyond the realm of ordinary, like she wasn’t standing on the same plane of existence as the rest of us.

She had always been beautiful.

But now, standing before me after all this time, she was breathtaking in a way I wasn’t prepared for, in a way that pulled at something deep inside of me.

Her white cropped tank clung to her, the fabric stretching slightly over her body, accentuating the defined shape of her shoulders, the gentle curve of her waist. I noticed how her abs had become more defined, the subtle ridges of muscle drawing the eye, a quiet testament to her discipline, the years of hard work that had shaped her. 

The pink cotton shorts, soft and simple, sat comfortably on her frame, riding up slightly when she shifted, the pale color contrasting against her sun-brushed skin, which seemed to shimmer in the fading light.

But it wasn’t just how she looked—it was how she felt. How her presence, standing so close yet so far away, pressed against me, filling my senses with something indescribable, something deep and untouchable. 

A feeling I couldn’t quite name, but one that seemed to pull at me, to unravel something inside me I had long since sealed away.

She blinked again, her lashes fluttering as she looked at me, lips parting ever so slightly, like she wasn’t sure if I was real, if I was really standing here before her after everything.

“Y/N,” she said, my name rolling off her tongue, hesitant, almost fragile. It lingered in the air like something both familiar and foreign, a whisper of the past—so soft, so careful, as if she were afraid it might break in her mouth.

Something inside me twisted at the way she said it. Like it was a ghost of something she had tried to forget. The syllables clung to the space between us, heavy with unspoken things, things that had been buried under the weight of years and distance.

I swallowed, my throat tight, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to close in around me.

“Hey, Paigey.” My voice was softer this time, almost like a confession, an apology wrapped in a single word. The unspoken weight of everything I couldn’t say pressed down on my chest, making each breath feel too heavy, too sharp.

Paige exhaled sharply, a breath she had been holding, and then—just for a second—her expression cracked. It was subtle, but I saw it. A flicker of vulnerability, of something that had been hidden away for far too long.

I saw it in her eyes. The hesitation. The quiet hurt buried beneath layers of time. The way her gaze wavered, searching for something, something she had lost but couldn’t quite let go of. And the silent question that seemed to hang in the air between us, unanswered and aching.

Where the hell have you been?

I didn’t know what to say. Three years was a long time. Too long.

I had missed things. So many things.

Her games, where she had probably looked just like this—strong, radiant, untouchable under the stadium lights, the spotlight making her seem like she belonged to a world I could only watch from afar. 

I had missed the way her sweat would glisten, the quiet intensity in her eyes as she locked in on the basket, the way her body moved with a grace that seemed both effortless and powerful all at once.

I had missed the late-night drives we used to take just to feel the wind in our hair, the hum of the car engine our only companion as we talked about everything and nothing. Our laughter getting lost in the rush of the road, the shared silence feeling like something sacred, as if the world outside didn’t matter as long as we were together.

And I had missed the way she used to lean against me during movies, her head resting comfortably on my shoulder, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but still warm, still trusting. Like I was something safe in a world that never seemed to stop moving.

And I had just—disappeared.

I had allowed the silence to stretch like an endless chasm between us, the emptiness widening with each passing day until it became something insurmountable. 

Something that now loomed in the background of every thought, every memory, a weight I didn’t know how to lift. I had let the space between us grow into a void, an ocean of time and distance that felt impossible to cross. But in this moment, none of that mattered anymore.

Because she was here.

And so was I.

The air between us buzzed with a strange, quiet tension, and for a heartbeat, the years that had slipped by seemed to vanish. All that was left was her and me, this lingering proximity that felt both foreign and familiar at once.

“Your hair got longer,” she finally said, her voice softer now, almost as if she were afraid to break the fragile moment between us. But even in its quietness, it was steady, certain.

I blinked, feeling the flutter of warmth in my chest, and my fingers twitched at my sides, a nervous tic I hadn’t realized was still there. 

She remembered how it used to be—how my hair used to fall just past my collarbones, how she would absentmindedly tug at the ends when her hands had nothing to do, braiding small strands while we sat in the back of my dad’s truck, our eyes fixed on the endless sky above us, tracing constellations we had named ourselves.

“Yeah,” I murmured, my voice a little thick. “Figured it was time for a change.”

She hummed, a sound that felt like it reached into my chest and held onto something fragile. Her gaze lingered on me, just a fraction longer than necessary, like she was tracing the lines of me, mapping the girl she had once known but had somehow lost.

A gust of wind swept past us, tossing loose strands of her hair around her face. 

I couldn’t help but watch as the soft tendrils danced in the air, framing her face with a wild, untamed beauty that made my heart stutter.

 For a split second, a reckless urge surged through me, one I couldn’t ignore: to reach out, to brush the hair from her face, to tuck it behind her ear the way I used to, to erase the space that had grown between us, to make everything feel like it once had.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I clenched my hands into fists, the muscles in my arms tightening as I fought the impulse. I rocked back slightly on my heels, the weight of the moment pressing down on me, heavy and intense, and I wondered if I would ever stop aching for the ease of things that had once been.

“How’ve you been?” I asked, the question feeling ridiculous the second it left my lips. It sounded hollow, an echo of the distance between us, something that could never bridge the gap of those years.

Paige let out a quiet laugh, breathy and short, like she didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. It was the kind of laugh that hinted at something deeper, a history that still lingered between us, unspoken.

“Oh, you know. Winning championships. Breaking records. Carrying the team on my back.” She raised an eyebrow at me, the corner of her lips curving upward in a playful challenge. “Not that you’d know.”

I winced, a sharp sting of guilt pricking my chest. I deserved that.

“I saw,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed fragile, like they might break apart before they even fully formed. “I kept up, Paige. I—” I hesitated, my tongue suddenly thick, tripping over the weight of things left unsaid. “I just—”

Couldn’t be there. Didn’t know how to come back. Didn’t know if I was allowed to.

The silence between us thickened, but only for a moment, before Paige studied me with a quiet, knowing gaze, something flickering behind her eyes like a door left ajar, teasing me with the possibility of what had been. Then she let out another breath, shaking her head with a soft, almost melodic chuckle.

“Still the same,” she murmured, almost to herself, the words like a secret shared between the wind and the sea, something private that no one else would ever understand.

I frowned slightly, an unfamiliar discomfort settling in my chest. “What do you mean?”

She glanced at me then, her eyes catching mine for the briefest of moments, and for the first time since she turned around, she smiled. It was small, faint, barely-there—but it was real, and it struck me with the force of a forgotten memory resurfacing.

It did something strange to my chest, a feeling I couldn’t name.

Paige shrugged, her gaze drifting away again, toward the horizon where the sky and the water met in a seamless blur of blue—a vast, endless expanse that seemed to stretch on forever, the edges fading into the unknown.

“You always sucked at talking about feelings.”

The words hung in the air, like a teasing melody that both mocked and understood.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I exhaled a quiet laugh, the sound almost a release, a soft surrender to the moment.

“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice tinged with something close to regret. “Guess some things never change.”

A pause settled between us, but it wasn’t as heavy this time. It wasn’t drowning in the silence of old wounds or the weight of unspoken apologies. It was just—there. A soft, comfortable space, neither awkward nor charged, but simply open. A breath waiting to be taken.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something that could be rebuilt.

Slowly.

 Piece by piece.

 Step by step.

The air between us felt like a canvas—thin, stretched tight, and full of potential but still waiting for the first stroke of color. The weight of three years hung in the space between us, but the longer we stood there, the more that weight seemed to shift. The silence, once thick and suffocating, had softened. 

I was still acutely aware of the tension in my chest, the way my heart beat a little faster with every stolen glance at her.

She was a lot taller than me now. I hadn’t remembered that. Or maybe I’d tried to forget.

Paige used to call me short stack when we were kids—her nickname for me that always felt so casual, so comfortable. She’d ruffle my hair in the most aggravating way, making me bat at her hands like I could do something about it. 

Now, standing next to her, I was aware of how much space she occupied. How much taller she stood, her head just above mine. I felt small in comparison, my body pressed into the earth below while hers was a towering figure in the light, radiating strength and presence.

She was still Paige—my Paige, in a sense—but now, she seemed like someone else entirely.

Without thinking, I took a step forward, then another, until I was standing at her side.

She didn’t look down at me at first. Her eyes were still fixed on the water, the movement of the waves gentle against the wooden pillars of the dock, creating a rhythm that I could almost lose myself in. 

The scent of saltwater mingled with the faint trace of sunscreen and the smell of her perfume, something light, floral, and citrusy, like the warmth of a summer day that you never wanted to end.

For a moment, I just stood there beside her, unsure if I should speak or if the silence would be enough to say what I wanted. She had always been good at filling the quiet—her voice, warm and steady, had a way of cutting through the air like a summer breeze, making everything feel just a little lighter.

“I’ve missed this,” I said softly, the words coming out before I even realized I’d thought them.

Her lips quirked slightly, and I couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes softened when they flickered toward me. “What, the dock? The ocean?” She gestured to the expanse of blue stretching out in front of us.

I nodded, swallowing a lump that had risen in my throat. “Yeah. The beach, the salt air. All of it.” My gaze drifted over the water, catching the way the sunlight bounced off the waves, giving them the shimmer of liquid glass. “It’s like nothing’s changed, and everything has, too.”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “You’re not wrong. It’s strange, isn’t it?” Her voice was quieter now, almost like she was talking more to herself than to me. “It’s all the same, but it’s not. I don’t know.” She fell into a silence, her hand brushing absently at her shorts, and for the first time, I saw her hesitate.

I took a breath, trying to gather myself, the weight of the years apart pressing against my ribs. It felt like there was so much I wanted to say, but I didn’t know where to start. 

So instead, I let my fingers drift to the edge of the dock, brushing against the smooth wood, and I glanced up at her. “How’s the team? And your dad?” I asked, my voice a little stronger than before, like I could find something to hold onto in the conversation.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Dad’s good. Still grilling at every chance he gets. The team’s... well, the team’s on fire. You should come see a game sometime.”

“Yeah?” I raised an eyebrow, watching her as she spoke. There was something about the way her eyes lit up when she talked about it, a fire I had never seen before. It was like she had become this new version of herself—this incredible version of herself—and it both amazed and terrified me.

“Yeah. I’ll get you tickets.” She said it so casually, but there was a soft vulnerability in the offer that made me pause.

“I’ll take you up on that,” I said, a little more sincerely than I’d intended.

There was a long stretch of silence again. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, not anymore. In that moment, standing there next to her, the world seemed a little bit quieter. We both seemed to exist in the same space—still, a little bruised from the time apart, but in a way, finding our footing again.

I didn’t expect what happened next.

Without warning, Paige turned toward me, her arms slipping around me in a tight hug, pulling me into her chest so suddenly I barely had time to react. The warmth of her skin against mine sent a shiver through me, not from cold, but from something I couldn’t name.

 Something heavy and familiar, something that wrapped itself around my chest and squeezed. Her body was solid, strong, a safe presence I hadn’t realized I’d been craving all this time—an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

For a second, I was frozen—shocked by the sudden closeness, the feeling of her heartbeat against my own. It was as if time itself had slowed down, and I was caught in the suffocating rush of emotions I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years. 

My breath caught in my throat, my chest tightening. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed this—the simplicity of being held by her, the steady rhythm of her presence. It was like coming home after being lost for far too long.

But then, slowly, I wrapped my arms around her, my head resting on her shoulder. The sensation was overwhelming in its intimacy, as if every part of me was yearning for her to stay, to never let go. It felt so natural, like we were two parts of the same whole, as if we’d never been apart. 

There was no awkwardness, no question of where we stood—just the softness of her touch, the unspoken understanding between us, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down, yet strangely light in the comfort of her embrace.

“God, I missed you,” she muttered into my hair, her voice rough, as if the words had been locked away for too long. The warmth of her breath against my skin sent a shiver down my spine, but it wasn’t cold—it was like I had just exhaled after holding my breath for years. 

Her fingers tightened around me, almost like she was afraid I would slip away again, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, felt the fragile nature of this moment—how everything was hanging by a thread, yet it felt like the most real thing I’d ever experienced.

I closed my eyes, pressing my face deeper into the fabric of her shirt, the familiar scent of her and the ocean mixing in the air, filling me up like a memory I hadn’t known I was starving for. 

There was something about the way she held me, something so sure and certain, that made everything I’d been running from feel distant, like it didn’t matter anymore.

 “I missed you too,” I whispered, and it was the first time in years I’d said it without hesitation. The words felt right, like they’d been stuck in my chest for far too long, and I was finally giving them the space they needed to breathe.

The hug lasted a moment longer than either of us probably expected, but neither of us pulled away. I wasn’t sure what exactly we were trying to hold onto—whether it was the memory of who we were, or the hope of something more—but in that moment, I didn’t need to know.

 I just needed to be here, to feel her against me, to acknowledge the truth that had been buried beneath layers of time and distance. We didn’t need words; the silence spoke louder than anything else.

When she finally pulled back, there was a softness in her eyes—something raw and unguarded that she hadn’t shown me before. 

Something fragile, like she was allowing herself to be seen in a way she hadn’t been in years. She stepped back, but her hands lingered at my shoulders, grounding me in this moment, anchoring me to the now. 

And I let her—because in that moment, I didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to forget what it felt like to be close to her, to be hers.

“So,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, like she was still catching her breath from the hug. “What now?”

I didn’t know. I didn’t have all the answers.

But for the first time in a long time, I was okay with that.

The space between us felt like a warm memory, alive and trembling, like the soft afterglow of a sunset that refuses to fade into darkness. I stood there, lost in the weight of her hug, letting the quiet stretch, not feeling the need to rush through the moment. 

A part of me, deep down, knew that everything in this instant—this reunion, this fragile reconnection—was not something to be hurried. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I didn’t want to push for anything more. 

No questions. No answers. Just this. The feeling of her arms around me, the heat of her chest pressed against mine, the solid, familiar rhythm of her breath. It was a lullaby, pulling me into a place of peace I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.

Then, as if the universe had decided to drag us out of that perfect stillness, a voice pierced the moment.

“Y/N! Paige!” Wren’s voice called, the sound of her hand waving from behind the dunes, a small speck of movement in the distance. “Mom needs you both to start on the fruit salad!”

I groaned, the simple, mundane reality of life sliding back in. My shoulders sagged a little in exaggerated defeat, the world’s little interruptions making their presence known. But despite it, I found myself smiling.

 Not at the fruit salad request, but because Paige’s laughter had tickled the edges of my consciousness in that moment, a sound so familiar, so rich with joy that it had the power to shift the air around us.

"Coming!" I yelled back, my voice trailing on the breeze.

The sound of her laugh rang in my ears, and only then did I notice the weight of her gaze. It was like the sun lingering in the late afternoon, never fully setting, just casting a soft, golden glow that made everything feel brighter, more alive. 

Her eyes were still locked onto mine, and I couldn’t ignore the way it made my chest flutter, my pulse quickening with the unspoken energy that passed between us.

“What’s so funny, weirdo?” I teased, my lips curling into a smirk as I leaned into her lightly, swatting her shoulder.

Her eyes lit up, and the sound that escaped her lips wasn’t just laughter. It was a sigh of relief, a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding in for years. “Nothin’, just good to have you back.”

Those words—so simple, yet the weight of them crushed me in the gentlest way. She didn’t just say them; she breathed them out like a confession, something tender and unspoken that swelled between us. 

The warmth that settled in my chest spread through me, curling through my ribs and wrapping around my heart, coaxing a smile out of me that I couldn’t fight.

I bit my bottom lip, and for a fleeting moment, I noticed the shift in her gaze. Her eyes followed the movement of my teeth grazing against my lip, and the air between us seemed to hum with something heavier, something that hovered just beneath the surface. 

Her lips parted, a soft breath escaping as she almost seemed to lean toward me without realizing it. It was a fleeting thing, but it made my heart stumble in my chest.

"Missed me that much, huh?" I teased again, my voice low, like I was trying to mask the sudden flutter of nerves that rose up inside me.

Paige rolled her eyes, but there was a sly smirk playing at the edges of her mouth, a soft exhale slipping past her lips. "Shut up," she said with affection, nudging me with her shoulder.

But there was something more in the way she looked at me, something deeper. She wasn’t just laughing with me—she was laughing at the unspoken history between us, the distance we’d traveled, the time we’d lost, and yet still, here we were. 

Standing together. The weight of it was overwhelming, almost intoxicating.

“Let’s go before Ivy yells at us,” Paige said, her voice light but with an underlying softness that made me want to linger longer, just to savor this moment.

She slipped her arm around my shoulders with an ease that made everything feel natural again, like nothing had changed between us. The simple act of her hand resting on me felt like a reassurance, a promise. 

She pulled me with her, our footsteps sinking into the sand as we walked toward the house, the sound of the ocean still whispering behind us like a secret only we could hear. The weight of her presence next to me, her warmth so close, made everything else feel distant and faint.

 It was like the rest of the world could fall away and leave just the two of us, standing in this perfect moment.

“Hey, Paige,” I said after a beat, the words slipping out before I could stop them, “you ever think about how much we used to talk about everything? When we were kids, I mean?”

She glanced down at me, her smile softening, her fingers tightening just a fraction around my shoulder. “Yeah,” she replied quietly, a small, almost wistful sound to her voice. “It feels like a lifetime ago, huh?”

I nodded, the weight of the years that had stretched between us settling in like an anchor dragging at the edges of my heart. “Yeah, a lifetime ago.” The words fell from my lips, soft and heavy, filling the space between us like the last trace of a dying star—bright and distant, but still burning with a warmth that threatened to pull everything back into its orbit. It was a strange sensation, standing there with Paige once again. 

Her eyes held something I couldn’t quite name—something familiar, like the echo of a song that had been forgotten until it suddenly returned, flooding everything with its old, comforting tune. There was a spark in her gaze that lingered, just long enough for the air around us to shift. 

A fleeting moment, yet profound in the way it made my chest tighten, made my breath catch.

Maybe it was the warmth of the evening sun casting long shadows on the sand, or the quiet, unsaid words passing between us, but I had a feeling—just for a moment—that we were somehow picking up where we left off. 

No time had passed. No hurt, no distance. Just the two of us standing in the middle of it, as if we had never been apart.

I glanced over at Wren, who stood a little farther down the path. Her eyes were locked onto us, and though she was pretending to busy herself with something, the way her gaze lingered for just a second too long felt like more than idle curiosity. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips—one that almost seemed teasing, as if she knew something we didn’t, something that was left unsaid. 

A secret shared in a look, between friends who had lived through more than their fair share of things, and maybe even seen things we weren’t ready to acknowledge yet.

We continued our walk, the ground soft beneath our feet, each step pulling us closer to the kitchen. Paige, with her arm still draped over my shoulders, had a quiet confidence to her now, a steady rhythm in her walk that mirrored something deeper between us. Her presence felt like a blanket wrapped tight around me, keeping the cold at bay.

 We didn’t need to say much. It was in the comfortable weight of her hand resting against my back, in the way her fingers brushed my skin, almost absentmindedly, as if we had never been apart. I could feel the pulse of her every step beside me, and for the first time in years, the noise of everything else felt muffled, distant.

As we reached the kitchen, I noticed the familiar hum of home—the warmth from the oven, the rich scent of dinner filling the air, and the ever-present sound of Mom tapping her foot in a rhythm of mock impatience. 

She stood by the counter, arms crossed, looking both like she was about to scold us for something and yet, there was an unmistakable softness in her eyes when she saw us together again. “Took you two long enough,” Mom remarked, her voice light but laced with something more affectionate.

Paige and I exchanged a quick glance, that look of shared amusement passing between us, as if the absurdity of it all—after everything, the distance, the time apart—had led us right back to this moment. 

Together, in this space, we fit just like we always had. Life had a funny way of pulling people in different directions, of pulling you so far apart that it felt like you could never find your way back. Yet, here we were. Back where we began. 

And, for all the uncertainty of life and the time that had passed, one thing was clear: no matter the years or the space between us, the quiet connection we shared remained, untouched. It was unshaken and whole, like the roots of a tree, deep and steady beneath the surface.

Amy, with her usual gentle smile, added, “Good to see you both again.” Her voice was soft, an undertone of warmth threading through her words. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed hearing it—how much I’d missed her presence, too. 

The familiar clink of utensils and the soft rustling of things being prepared around us made the moment feel almost surreal. Wren’s eyes flickered back to us for just a moment before she turned to help her mom with the preparations, her fingers brushing the fruit in front of her with a kind of practiced ease.

As I moved toward the counter to grab the fruit, my fingers brushed against Paige’s for the briefest second. The touch, so small, yet it carried a charge, a kind of electric shiver that shot up my spine, leaving the back of my neck tingling. I almost didn’t want to pull away. Neither of us did. 

It was as if we both knew what this touch meant—the gentle brush of skin, soft and fleeting, but steeped in a thousand unspoken words. In that brief moment, we were suspended between the past and the present, between the things we’d shared and the things we had yet to discover. There was a heavy silence between us, a truth neither of us needed to say aloud.

 We both felt it. The truth of our history, of how much we had meant to each other, and how the years apart hadn’t erased that bond.

 It was still there, in every lingering glance and every slight touch. For the first time in so long, I felt a strange kind of peace settle in my chest.

I didn’t know where this would lead, what we would become, or how much of us would ever truly change. But in that moment, standing in the kitchen with her—with Paige—I felt certain of one thing: we had never truly been apart. Not really.

Footsteps creaked against the wooden flooring, and Carson walked into the kitchen, his familiar presence filling the space. 

He was a little disheveled, his shirt untucked and his sleeves rolled up as if he had been upstairs doing something, but the sight of him—so effortlessly at home in this space—made me smile.

 I hadn’t seen him in what felt like forever, not like this. Wren’s fiancé. The one who had always been like a brother to me, the one who had grown up with us in the house, alongside Wren. Even now, he stood there with a grin that had never changed, a grin that made him seem just a little bit younger than he actually was. It was the kind of smile that made everything feel familiar again.

“Look at you two,” Carson said with a teasing tone, his eyes flicking between Paige and me. “Thought you’d be hiding somewhere, away from all the family chaos.”

Wren rolled her eyes, her smile softening as she threw a quick glance in Carson’s direction. “We just got here, give them a break,” she said, though the amusement was clear in her voice.

Carson moved to stand next to me, his hand clapping me lightly on the back, his way of greeting me. It was always like this, a brother-sister relationship that had never wavered. There was a certain comfort in it—no pretense, no time wasted on small talk. 

Just the ease of a connection that had been forged long ago and was as solid now as it had ever been.

“How’s life treating you, kid?” he asked, his voice light and teasing, but there was a certain softness there, too.

I shrugged, leaning into the warmth of the conversation. “Same old, same old. And you?”

“I’m alive,” Carson said with a laugh, his usual self-deprecating humor in full swing.

As the conversation continued around us—Mom making sure we were all helping, Amy gently pushing everyone to contribute—I felt that old, comfortable rhythm returning. 

The kitchen, bustling with life and voices, felt like home in a way it hadn’t in years. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. But with every word, every shared laugh, and every passing touch, I realized it didn’t need to be. We were here. Together. And that was enough.

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