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I grin, taking another exaggerated bite and letting out an even louder moan. Two women passing by stop mid-conversation to give me wide-eyed stares.

“See!” Charlie swats my arm, her laughter bubbling over. “Very appealing.”

We finish eating, the conversation flowing as easily as the laughter. For once, I’m not weighed down by the usual shadows. I’m not second-guessing every word or holding myself back. I’m just here, with her, in the sun, letting myself feel everything.

She brushes a crumb off her lap, leaning back with a smile that’s both playful and serious. “I like you like this,” she says, her head tilting as her eyes search mine.

“Like what?”

“Like you used to be,” she says simply.

Her words fill the hollow spaces inside me with something warm and steady. She’s right. I do feel lighter. Happier. Like I’m finally remembering who I was before everything fell apart.

I take her hand, lacing our fingers together, and give it a gentle squeeze. “I like me like this too,” I say, the words honest and raw. “And I think you might have something to do with it.”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. She squeezes my hand back, her smile glowing with warmth.

We sit there a while longer, watching the waves roll in and out, the sound of the ocean mingling with the distant chatter of the boardwalk. For the first time in years, I’m not in a hurry to move on or distract myself.

I’m here.

Fully.

Completely.

Here.

With her.

THIRTY-THREE

Charlie

Garrett is on the porch when I pull into the driveway, arms crossed, leaning against the weathered porch rail. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, streaking the space around him with soft golds and deep shadows. For a second, the way the light hits his face reminds me of Dad. Steely blue eyes, hard jawline, and a quiet intensity that spoke volumes without saying much at all. Back then, Dad’s looks carried the weight of curfews missed and rules bent. Garrett’s expression now is less about authority and more about something else—concern, maybe. A mix of protector and skeptic. It’s familiar enough to throw me off, like wearing a coat that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

The air smells faintly of salt and the tropical tang of blooming hibiscus. From the stroller beside him, Elise squeals, clapping her chubby hands in delight, lost in a rhythm only she can hear. Her pure joy softens Garrett’s presence.

I step out of the car and shut the door, the sound punctuating the stillness. “What’s with the brooding intensity?” I tease,crossing the gravel driveway toward the porch. “It’s a little heavy for a Sunday.”

“Brooding intensity?” He raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking at the edges. “Big words for someone who used to communicate exclusively in eye rolls.”

“Well, if the shoe fits…” I climb the steps, the wood groaning beneath my weight. Garrett doesn’t move, his arms still crossed, but there’s a faint twitch in his mouth that betrays him. I mirror his stance dramatically. “You can say what you came here to say, big brother. You’re dying to tell me how stupid I’m being, aren’t you?”

He shakes his head, leaning back against the railing. “Actually, Angela and I were about to take Elise for a walk. She’s grabbing a water bottle.” His gaze flicks to the horizon. “I just stepped out to catch the sunset.”

Sure enough, the sky behind me glows with streaks of fiery orange and pale lavender, like someone spilled watercolor across the canvas of the Keys. “But way to make everything about you,” he adds with mock seriousness.

I crouch to Elise’s level, taking her tiny feet in my hands and wiggling them until she giggles. “Your daddy’s a dorkus,” I say, sticking out my tongue for good measure. Elise giggles harder, her laughter as sweet as the wind chimes I reclaimed from Davis’s house.

“Pretty sure the dorkus title goes to someone else here,” Garrett mutters, but the edge in his voice has dulled. He shifts to lean over Elise, brushing her hair back with a tenderness that shows no matter what he’s thinking about me, he’s still Garrett, the steady force who would do anything to keep the people he loves safe.

The creak of the front door swinging open draws our attention, and Angela steps out, her hair catching the last rays of sun like fire. She has that easy, mischievous smile on her face,the one that says she’s been waiting for something good to drop into her lap.

“Did you have a nice night?” she asks, her tone all knowing.

I lean against the porch railing, my grin widening. “Oh, I had a nice night. And a nice morning. And, come to think of it, a pretty nice afternoon.”

Angela claps her hands together, her laughter spilling into the air like champagne bubbles. Garrett groans, throwing up his hands. “Too much information,” he mutters, but his attempt to look irritated is weak at best.

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