"For what?"
"Coming."
“Always.”
We don't talk after that. Just move together in one fluid motion, the lake stretching out endlessly before us, the music wrapping around us like a memory made tangible.
The space between us—or lack thereof—feels both dangerous and inevitable.
I tighten my hold on her slightly and she shifts closer in response. When the song finally fades out, neither of us moves.
We stand there, still swaying slightly even though there's no music anymore, just the sound of water and our breathing synchronized in a way that feels like its own kind of music.
She lifts her head finally, looks up at me with eyes that hold too much but says nothing.
I should take her home. Should maintain whatever boundaries we're supposed to have. But standing here with her in myarms, the lake at our backs and the stars emerging above, I realize something with absolute clarity:
Some moments are meant to be lived in, consequences be fucking damned.
CHAPTER 28
BOTTLES, BIBS AND SANGARIAS
NORA
The windowsin Nate’s Mustang are down, while the radio plays softly—‘Champagne Supernova.’—and I'm hyperaware of everything.
The way his hands look on the steering wheel.
The line of his jaw.
The way his breath is uneven.
The fucking irony of the song right now.
The song surfaces the memory of Málaga. The night of my eighteenth birthday at the gallery. The night he organised to bring the stars to me.
Why is it every time I'm in this car with Nate, it's like the universe decides to mess with my head and my heart right when I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown.
I should be angrier than I am about the whole Wes situation. About the photos. About the fact that my engagement just imploded spectacularly and publicly. About the life in LA that's waiting for me to return and pick up the pieces.
But all I can think about is the baby shower.
It was beautiful. Of course it was. Lydia doesn't do anything halfway.
Soft white fabric had draped from the beams of the backdeck. Pale pink roses and baby's breath climbed the railings, winding around fairy lights. Long tables were set up on the lawn, linen pressed, glassware sparkling, little place cards written in Lydia's elegant looping handwriting.
That house has seen so many versions of us. Jake cannonballing off the dock like he was invincible. Nate teaching Ollie how to wakeboard. Me sitting on the porch with Dad, our shoulders brushing as the sun went down, neither of us needing to say anything. Mom marrying Nick.
Now it was celebrating new life.
Mia had stood near the dessert table, one hand resting on her stomach, glowing in that way people always talk about but you never really understand until you see it. I'd walked over and hugged her gently, careful, even though she laughed and told me I didn't need to be.
"Do you want kids one day?" she'd asked, casual, like she was asking what I wanted to drink.
I'd paused, just for a second too long.
I do. I always have. I've imagined small hands in mine, bedtime stories, tiny shoes by the door. A life that feels rooted and steady. A life that feels... chosen.
