augustine

— ˙⋆✮ HONEY LOVE, DARK EYES — Joel Miller has been your best friend for years. But one night after a heated argument, everything changes; in the blink of an eye, you're in a place you never thought you'd be: naked, beneath him, and with his eyes burning into you. Nothing will ever be the same. Tags: no cordyceps outbreak, best friends to lovers, angst HLDE MASTERLIST | AO3 | RE EDITING

— ˙⋆✮ A HAUNTED BODY — You should've died that day. Instead, Joel Miller found you. After the Millers saved your life, you become something of a miracle. Now, you've been given a second chance, but the sweetness of your new home is overshadowed by the coldness of one of them: Joel. Unfortunately for him, Tommy assigns you to work by his side, as the assistant he claims he doesn't need. Tags: Angst, so much angst, enemies to lovers (kinda?), joel has a big secret, smut, mental health!!!!, grief, explicit violence AHB MASTERLIST | AO3 | ON GOING

— ˙⋆✮ THE MILLER METHOD — Freshly thirty one, you've checked off almost every box on your dream-life list: a thriving career in publishing, loyal friends, and the apartment of your dreams. What you don't have? The family you thought you'd start with the man who just dumped you after seven years together. Fed up and determined to take matters into your own hands, you start mapping out every possible path to single motherhood. That is, until one too many drinks and one wildly ill-advised hookup with stranger Joel Miller send all your carefully laid plans spiraling down the drain. Now you're not just pregnant, but Joel has zero interest in staying out of the picture, dragging you into a relationship full of sparks, complications, and more drama than you ever imagined. Tags: unexpected pregnancy, so much yearning, smut, joel is a good dad, alternative universe TMM MASTERLIST | AO3 | ON GOING

— ˙⋆✮ONE SHOTS

LUCKY

— PART I: After a long, stressful week at the station, firefighter Joel Miller turns to the most natural form of stress relief: hitting the bar in search of a one-night stand. And as luck would have it, he finds you. wc: 8.3k

— PART II, "So lucky": Halloween has arrived, and for some reason, you feel lucky. Oh, so lucky. wc: 7.4k

AO3

— ˙⋆✮ THE BOYFRIEND ACT — All you wanted was to get to Austin, but instead of your brother, it's Frankie (Santi's best friend, the one you can barely stand) who shows up in Dallas. He's just doing your brother a favor, but the trip takes an unexpected turn when a stop puts you face to face with your ex; the guy who broke your heart three months ago and is now about to get married. Out of the blue, you blurt out a lie: Frankie is your boyfried. Tags: fake dating, enemies to lovers, brother's best friend, angst, smut, mental health!!!, grief TBA MASTERLIST | AO3 | ON GOING

Yet you couldn't catch a single wink, even as your eyes burned with exhaustion. Your mind was racing too fast to yield to sleep, and the harder you tried to clear your thoughts, the louder they became.

Determined to set a bright tone for the morning, you decided to get up and meet the day with a fresh attitude.

Standing in your pajamas, you looked out the window, as a warm smile brushed your lips at the sight of the sprawling garden before you.

Today was the day. It wasn’t every morning your only brother got married. You were bound and determined to make the absolute best of it.

Slipping into cozy sweatpants and a sweater, you popped over to your house to check on Darcy. Sure enough, the cat was fast asleep on the couch, only stirring when you gently rubbed his belly. His food and water bowls were both full, so Ester had clearly dropped by recently.

"Well now, sweet boy," you murmured softly, scratching behind his ears. "Aren't you just living the high life today?"

You grabbed a few extra things from your room and spent a few quiet minutes petting Darcy before heading back to the Commodore.

Breakfast was already underway. You found out through the bridesmaids' group chat and made your way to the dining room, where the girls were sitting around with puffy eyes and tired faces.

"Morning, y'all," you said gently, offering a small smile as you walked in. "Looks like last night took the wind right out of our sails."

"Tell me about it," Fiona mumbled into her coffee mug. "I don't think my eyes are ever gonna open all the way."

"Drink up, darling," Linda replied, pouring herself a fresh cup. "We've got a big day ahead of us, and we're gonna make it wonderful."

The groomsmen were gathering in a separate room, and you didn't run into a single one of them on your way back upstairs.

By 8:30 AM, the stylists arrived at the bridal suite. It was a crew of five, ready to pamper the bride, her bridesmaids, and the mothers of the couple. As the morning unfolded, music filled the room, accompanied by endless rounds of coffee and champagne, though you passed on the bubbly and settled for a simple black coffee instead.

You chose to let all the other girls get ready first, sitting back to take in the bustling scene as everyone chatted away. Yov was noticeably nervous, taking deep measured breaths every so often to steady herself. Her mom and yours kept trying to ease her mind by swapping stories from their own wedding days.

"I ended up throwing up five minutes right before walking down the aisle, honey," Linda, her mom, shared with a slight blush, gently swaying her mimosa glass. "It sure can't get much worse than that."

"I really don't want to throw up before my entrance," Yov said, shaking her head. "I'm not gonna eat a single thing until after!"

"Now, sweetheart, that's just gonna backfire on you," your mom chimed in. "An empty stomach can turn on you just as bad as a full one, so you make sure you get a good bite to eat. We can't have you fainting on us."

Behind you, the bridesmaids were locked in their own conversation. Yov's sister, Paloma, alongside Fiona, were settled in the stylists' chairs having their hair done simultaneously, while the rest sat around watching and biding their time just like you.

"I am getting flat out drunk today, I need it," Paloma said, squinting slightly. "I'm fixing to make full use of that open bar."

"Oh, no, count me out," Cinthia replied from across from Fiona. "Last time I got drunk I had a terrible hangover. I'm pushing forty now, and it just doesn't hit the same anymore."

"You've got to drink a glass of water between every cocktail, babe," Fiona said, slipping her eyes shut as the stylist worked on her hair. "That keeps you from getting dehydrated so your head doesn't pound near as bad."

"I know that trick," Cin countered. "It doesn't quite work for me anymore."

"Well, I'm aiming to get laid tonight," Fiona added with a sly grin, making you smile. "Weddings are mighty fine for that."

Cinthia laughed. "Connor is coming, but he told Yov he's bringing his girlfriend, sorry about that."

Connor, as you knew, was an old friend from the group who had dated Fiona a couple of years back.

"Now who said anything about Connor?" Fiona laughed. "We're all good, I know his girlfriend. Besides, there's plenty of other fish in the sea."

"I could never do that," Paloma added. "I'd die of pure embarrassment with my parents around."

"Aren't you pushin' thirty though?" Cinthia asked. "You're a free woman."

Paloma huffed. "Have you met my family? Anyway, there's nobody here that interests me."

"Oh, I've already got my sights set on someone," Fiona said. "That groomsmen lineup is lookin' real fine."

You knit your brows.

"They're all taken, dear," Cinthia said, glancing your way a second later. "Isn't that right?"

"Not the pilot, I already checked," Fiona said, smirking out of the corner of her eye at Cinthia. "And he is damn fine. He was looking right at me last night."

You lowered your head and pressed your lips together, a pang hitting your chest along with a sudden urge to tell her to hush.

"I doubt it," Paloma said, chuckling softly while throwing a quick side eye in your direction.

Fiona frowned. "Seriously, y'all just wait and see. Come tomorrow morning when I wake up in his bed, I'll be saying I told you so. When I set my mind on something, I don't miss."

From across the room, Yov turned around to face them.

"Frankie isn't up for grabs, Fio, sorry to break it to you," she called out.

Fiona's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why's that?"

"Fio, he's her man," Cin chided, gesturing toward you. "Have a little grace."

Fiona's mouth dropped open. "Shit. I am so sorry, I had no idea—"

You offered a tight cheeked smile, trying to push down the surge of jealousy rising inside you, though deep down you knew Fiona truly had no way of knowing.

Truth was, Frankie wasn't even your boyfriend anyway. So what was there for her to know?

Still, you didn't deny a thing. It didn't feel necessary.

"Don't you worry about it," you said softly.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Fiona laughed. "My big mouth can really run away with me sometimes."

You smiled, feeling your cheeks flush warm. "It's fine. It's... just don't pay it any mind."

"Oh, is there drama?"

"Fiona," Cin scolded again.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, it's just..." she shrugged. "What happened?"

With a sigh, you bit the inside of your cheek. "A whole lot."

"Is that why y'all were talking last night? Don't tell me I interrupted something serious," she said, her brow furrowing again.

"I mean, we have things to work through, but I just don't think a wedding is the right place for it," you said with a faint smile.

"She's got herself another date for tonight," Cinthia chimed in, smiling as her eyebrows shot up.

"No way," Paloma laughed. "Who is it? You trying to make him jealous?"

"No!" you laughed, blushing deeper. "It's nothing like that. I just invited a friend, that's all."

"Frankie was always jealous of that friend," Yov called out from afar. "He owns a coffee shop, he's a single dad, and he is just gorgeous."

"Bill, honey?" your mother chimed in, looking over at you. "You didn't tell me you were bringing Bill! Oh, he sure is handsome."

"Who's Bill?" Linda asked.

"Show us a picture," Fiona insisted.

"Oh, Lord," you murmured, sliding a hand over your forehead and laughing under your breath. "It's way too early in the morning for all this."

Getting up from her seat, Cinthia walked over to the small table by the window, pulled the champagne out of the ice bucket, and quietly poured a glass.

She held the glass out toward you. "Here you go, sweet pea."

"You're gonna have to keep Bill on a leash, huh?" Emma smiled, tilting her head as she carefully swirled her wine glass.

The sun beat down warmly on her bright blonde hair as the two of you passed the time out on the grand balcony overlooking the garden, waiting for the hours to slip by.

She was already completely ready, dressed in a pale turquoise gown that melted seamlessly into her fair skin thanks to the soft sheer layers of fabric. Her hair was styled delicately, cascading down, and her heels caught the sunlight, sparkling with every soft movement.

You hadn't put on your dress just yet, but your hair and makeup were completely done. Your hair hung loose, framed by soft graceful waves, and your makeup looked flawless; your eyes had never looked quite so striking.

"Yeah," you laughed, leaning your head back to catch the warmth of the sun. "Though I don't think he's the one who'll be needing a leash."

"I don't know Fiona all that well, but she sure seems like a woman who knows what she wants."

"You think so? When she saw Bill's picture, I swear her eyes lit right up."

"You better give the man a fair warning," Emma laughed. "Or she's gonna catch him completely off guard."

"And what if he doesn't mind?" You turned to look at her. "Maybe it'll surprise us both, and Bill ends up having a better time than we do."

Emma chuckled. "You really think so? I kind of figure he's coming here tonight with a whole different mission in mind."

"Don't start."

She let out a soft laugh. "I'm just teasing you. You already know how my mind works. You're my soulmate, you should be able to read my thoughts by now."

"Well, you read mine then," you said, turning toward her. "Guess who wanted to talk to me last night."

Emma froze, her eyes widening as a slow smile spread across her face. "Oh, Lord. I knew it!"

"What?" you laughed.

"Frankie, he came to talk to you? Did you say yes?"

"Well, yeah, something like that. We couldn't get very far because Fiona came hunting for me for pict—"

"Oh, bless her heart, that damn Fiona—"

"To be fair, he didn't say whole lot in the little bit of time we had anyway," you said, tilting your head. "He just told me he'd miss me if I moved to New York, and that he was really sorry for everything that happened. But the talk got cut short right there—what on earth did you think he came over to say? Ask me to marry him or something?"

She laughed. "No! I just thought he might've finally found the nerve to lay it all out on the line, heart and soul."

You rolled your eyes. "My, aren't we being dramatic today."

Emma knit her brows. "Excuse me? I'm not the one who said her ideal man was Matthew Macfadyen confessing his undying love out in the pouring rain."

"Oh," you gasped, bringing a hand to your chest. "With those crystal blue eyes and those dripping wet eyelashes!"

Emma laughed. "Well then, maybe we should pray for rain today."

With a bright smile tucked into the corners of your lips, you unlocked your phone to reply to a text from Bill.

The two of you had been chatting back and forth since early morning, and according to him, he was just about ready and aimed to be there around three thirty.

There was still a little bit of time left for that, seeing as it was barely... a quarter to four?

Your eyes caught a notification from Bill that had come through twenty minutes ago.

[Bill🍪☕]: on my way :)

"Oh, shit, I'm late!"

Emma stretched her arms out. "What time is it?"

"Quarter to four. Bill's bound to be downstairs already," you said, feeling like a somewhat irresponsible bridesmaid and an even worse sister as you scrambled to grab your bag. "I'll catch up with you in a bit!"

Emma held up her wine glass toward you, her soft laughter following you as you hurried off, still wearing the ridiculously cozy ensemble of sweatpants and the oversized sweater you'd thrown on that morning.

Luckily, Emma and Will's room was just one floor down from yours, so all it took was a quick trip in the elevator. Once you got to your room, all that was left was to step into your dress and slip on your heels.

When the elevator reached your floor, the doors slid open right as you finished typing out a message to Bill, letting him know you'd be down in just a minute.

[Bill🍪☕]: Take your time, they handed me a drink down here

[Bill🍪☕]: if you take too long, I'm blaming it on you

You smiled, your fingers already moving across the screen to type out a reply.

[You]: blame me for what? you getting drunk at four in the af—

A soft gasp caught in your throat when, distracted by your phone while walking, you bumped right into someone, sending the device flying straight onto the floor.

Shit, if your mom had seen that... you could already hear her voice chiding you in your head.

"Careful, watch where you're going now," a smooth voice teased softly, though it wasn't your mom at all.

It was Frankie.

He crouched down to pick up your phone, fully dressed and completely ready for the wedding; an immaculate black tuxedo, polished leather shoes, and... and his face. Those eyes, those lips, that nose, and those stupid, delicate glasses resting on the bridge of it.

He held your phone out toward you, his brows knitting together. "Why are you still in your pajamas?"

Feeling a little offended, you scowled right back. Because they weren't pajamas.

"They're not pajamas."

They're not pajamas.

"Is that so?" He looked genuinely confused, giving a small shrug. "Sure looks like pajamas to me."

"Well, they're not," you said, snatching the phone from his hand. "It's lounge wear."

That damn cologne of his.

"It's going on four in the afternoon. You'll be late, the ceremony starts at four thirty."

"Is that right?" You raised your eyebrows with sarcasm. "I had no idea. How'd you figure that one out? Was it the glasses?"

He chuckled softly. "The glasses?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "Tell me, do they give you some kind of fortune telling powers? Clarity?"

He pressed his lips together, clicking his tongue softly. "No. I just looked at my watch."

"Oh."

"Though maybe you're the one who needs a pair," he said, tilting his chin up slightly. "Keep you from running people over in the hallway."

At the corner of his mouth, a tiny smirk threatened to break through.

"I didn't run you over," you muttered, crossing your arms and trying very hard not to look down at his hands, or his chest, or the precise way that suit fit him. "You were standing in the middle of the hallway like a statue."

"I was walking to the elevator," he countered smoothly, leaning his shoulder against the wall next to him. "You were the one glued to your screen, grinning like a fool." He tilted his head slightly. "Who's got you so distracted anyway? Must be somebody real special if you're willing to miss your own brother's wedding—"

"I am not missing the wedding, don't be dramatic," you said, stepping around him toward your door. "And it was Bill. He's already downstairs."

Frankie's expression didn't change, but you caught the subtle tightening of his jaw and the faint shift in his stance.

"Is he your date?"

"Yes," you said, meeting his gaze directly. "He is."

Frankie stared at you for a quiet beat before letting out a low dry breath. He smiled, pushed himself off the wall and took a half step back.

"Well, you're gonna keep him waiting if you stay standing out here in your pajamas. The ceremony starts in thirty minutes."

"I'm going in right now," you said as you slipped your keycard into the lock. "So if you'll excuse me..."

"Go on then," he gave you a brief nod. "Don't let me hold you up."

You watched him press the call button, his head tilting slightly as he waited, but before the elevator doors could slide open, you turned, unlocked your door, and slipped inside your room.

You had no idea what that had just been. But the second the latch clicked shut, your back hit the wall, and for some reason, a stupid, completely stupid smile crept onto your lips. Because just for a brief moment, everything had felt like old times.

The next fifteen minutes were a race against the clock. You threw on the dress in a hurry, wrestled with body lotion that hadn't quite absorbed yet, and prayed the delicate zipper along your ribs wouldn't catch. You slipped into your shoes, touched up your lipstick in front of the mirror barely catching your breath, and almost ran out of the room, your mind still spinning from the conversation in the hallway, the scent of Frankie's cologne, and the ease with which he had walked away.

The moment the elevator doors slid open in the main lobby, you forced yourself to stop dead in your tracks, draw a breath, and regain your composure.

Looking good made you feel better. It might sound a bit self-centered, but it was the plain truth. Alex had a lot to do with that mindset; according to her, a bad day could get instantly better just by getting dressed up. Fake it till you make it. And right now, you looked really, really good. Even for wearing a bridesmaid dress; which, luckily for everyone, was a real beauty.

Yov had chosen a set of delicate, gorgeous light blue dresses. Each bridesmaid had a unique detail; Fiona's had a halter neckline showing off her shoulders and back, Paloma had a one-shoulder style, Cinthia wore a classic two-strap design, and you had a strapless gown paired with a dainty ribbon wrapped around your neck that flowed down your back. The shoes were all identical: a pair of delicate ankle-strap stiletto sandals.

A few feet away, leaning against the hotel bar with a lowball glass in hand, was Bill. You spotted him right away; he looked impeccable.

Relaxed, he kept his eyes on the guests who were starting to arrive. When he looked up and caught sight of you, his face lit up with a smile that seemed to loosen the tight knot in your stomach, if only a little.

Thank goodness, you thought to yourself as you walked over to him. Being with Bill always felt easy, comfortable, free of second motives. Plus, you had a lot to tell him.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," you apologized, quickening your step until you reached him and caught his arm, "time just completely ran away from me."

"Don't you worry about a thing," he widened his smile, sliding his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a gentle squeeze, "I've been passing the time just fine down here. You look gorgeous."

You smiled as warmth rushed to your cheeks. "Thanks, you look pretty handsome yourself."

Near the entrance to the bar, Frankie walked past in a bit of a hurry. His eyes landed on the two of you, and you noticed how his gaze lingered for a couple of seconds too long before he looked away and kept walking toward the patio.

"Didn't know Frankie wore glasses," Bill said.

"Just recently, because of the accident."

"Oh, yeah? And how's that going?" he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Something happen?"

With a sigh, you leaned your head back slightly and tightened your grip on his arm. You began to walk.

"I don't know if we have much time."

You barely had a moment to tell him everything before the wedding coordinator appeared out of nowhere, hurriedly gathering the bridesmaids to line them up according to protocol. But what you managed to tell him was enough to leave Bill looking thoroughly pleased with the situation.

"Clear as day he's not telling you everything he wants to say," he whispered near your ear as you both watched the guests take their seats. All while Frankie stood just a few feet away, glancing over every now and then. "You gotta push his buttons a little, drive him wild."

You laughed. "Drive him wild?"

"Make him sweat a bit," he shrugged. "Let him realize he can't be contextually wasting time no more."

"Oh, and why do I have to make him realize that? Can't he figure it out on his own? You men are unbelievable, honestly," you shook your head.

"Nah, I promise you he knows. But sometimes we just need a little push."

You rolled your eyes at that. "And that's where you come in?"

Bill winked. "Watch me."

Without answering, you gave Bill's arm a quick squeeze as a sign of "see you later" and watched him walk off at an easy pace to take his seat.

A few guests were still settling in, and that's when you saw Helena, Sofi, Grace, Mai, Luna, and Jamie arriving.

You froze, your eyes locked on them as they sat on Santi’s side of the guest seating, and your chest ached. Jamie looked so grown up.

Then, Helena raised her eyes toward you, and with the sweetest smile, she lifted her hand and waved.

You mirrored the gesture and waved back at everyone. Even Jamie lifted his hand and offered you a smile.

"How do I look?"

Santi's voice caught your attention from the left.

When you turned to him, your smile widened instantly.

"Hey," you took his shoulders and wrapped your arms tightly around him, "you look so handsome."

"Thanks. You look great, too."

"So?" You stepped back slightly, running your hands down his shoulders. "How're you feeling?"

Santi smiled and shook his head. "I can't believe it. I'm gonna marry Yov."

"You will."

"I just had a whiskey. I was getting way too nervous. Started thinking, what if she runs away?"

You laughed. "That is not gonna happen."

"What if Josh Hartnett shows up and she runs off with him? You know she's got a huge crush on the guy," he teased.

You pursed your lips. "Pretty sure he's married."

"Yeah, right."

You smiled and reached out to touch his shoulder again.

"I know Dad is so proud of you, Santi. Mom and I are, too."

He nodded, his eyes warm. "Thank you, bub."

"Have you talked with Yov about-"

"Everyone to your places, please," the wedding coordinator whispered sharply, bustling past you both and raising her eyebrows. Let's move.

As they ushered you into line, arranged the drop of your dress, and handed you your bouquet, your mind could barely keep up with how fast everything was moving.

You waited a few moments, and then the music began to play softly. The chatter of the guests gradually died down, and step by step, you made your way out into the garden.

Just like that, amidst the rush, the scent of fresh flowers, and the quickened thump of your heart, you found yourself standing at the front, ready to witness one of the most important moments of your brother's life.

The garden had been completely transformed. Rows of white chairs lined the spotless lawn, framed by arches bursting with hydrangeas and eucalyptus. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting golden glows over the guests and everything in sight.

Seated near the center aisle, Bill caught your eye. He gave you a reassuring nod with a smile, and a few seats closer, Emma flashed you two thumbs up.

But just a few feet away, on the groom's side, stood the groomsmen. And Frankie was simply impossible to ignore.

Standing tall in his black tuxedo with his hands neatly clasped in front of him, he looked stunning. For a fleeting second, while the string quartet adjusted their instruments, his eyes drifted toward you; a quick glance, but more than enough to make your foolish heart skip a beat.

Then, the music shifted, the guests stood in unison, and the sight of your brother waiting at the altar anchored your heart right back where it belonged.

You cried the entire time. Silent, respectful tears, of course, falling thick down your cheeks. How could you not?

The second Santi and Yov said their "I dos", everything changed. Santi's hands shook right up until the exact moment he slipped the ring on her finger, but when they were pronounced husband and wife, his smile was too big for his face. Yov threw her arms around his neck, laughing, and the tension your brother had been holding onto all day finally melted away in a sweet, sealing kiss.

God, you were such a sap. You couldn't help it. You were just that kind of person; the one who bawls at weddings and, honestly, at any ceremony with even a hint of emotion. Your hands gripped your bouquet as you glanced over at your mom, whose cheeks were just as damp as yours. It ran in the family.

A little while later, the reception kicked off in a space just off the courtyard. Strings of warm lights hung from the branches of the old oak trees, illuminating deliate wooden tables dressed with candles and low floral arrangements. Like a literal fairy tale, the whole setup was beautiful and felt really intimate, even though it wasn't a particularly small wedding.

The guests erupted into cheers and applause the second the newlyweds made their entrance, holding hands and completely over the moon. Santi stopped Yov in the middle of the dance floor just to pull her in by the waist for a movie perfect kiss before guiding everyone to their seats.

Naturally, you were at the head table, right next to Bill, who had been impeccable by your side. You shared the space with the bride and groom, the bridal party, your mom, Yov's parents, and her sister. It was a long, packed table.

Dinner was amazing; waiters wove between the tables carrying endless trays of food. You drank glasses of red and white wine, and finally got to try an expensive rosé you'd had your eye on ever since you helped your brother pick out the menu.

And right in the middle of it all came the speeches. Will went first; his eyes welled up with tears and he had to pause to wash them down with a gulp of wine. Your mom went next, then Yov's parents, and finally, Fran—

Frankie?

That caught you off guard.

As the best man, you knew he'd say a few words, but when Will gave his speech, you figured he was speaking for the whole group.

Naive, naive, naive.

Suddenly you were choking on a piece of goat cheese as Frankie held the microphone firm in his hand.

After sharing a quick story about how he and Santi first met, he said:

"I can think of a lot of ways to describe him. He's my best friend, the brother I always wished I had, an honest, kind, good hearted guy; one of the absolute best people I know. And anyone who truly knows him knows he's always wanted a big family."

That was true. Santi had always dreamed of a huge family, a white picket fence, and pets. The whole nine yards.

"Years back, when the rest of us weren't even thinking about the next twelve months, he was already saving up for a place with enough room for his hypothetical kids," Frankie continued. "We all kept asking him, 'What in the world do you need all that space for?' Ben even tried to convince him to turn one of the rooms into an arcade room."

Ben whispered a that's true to Mai.

"Now, Santi here is a determined man. He doesn't beat around the bush; when he sets his mind to something, he goes all in," Frankie raised his eyebrows. You smiled. "Turns out, all that planning, all that empty space he was saving in that house; he was just getting ready for something bigger, even if he didn't know it yet. Then came Yov."

Shyly, Yov rested both hands against her cheeks.

Frankie smirked. "The minute he met her, every single one of us knew she was different. But he didn't rush it or try to push too hard. He took his time. Mind you, he wasn't completely quiet about it. Yov, did you know that after your third date, he sat us down at the bar and talked about you for a straight hour? We couldn't get him to shut up about you if we tried."

"Is that true?" Yov murmured over Santi's shoulder.

He nodded.

"We truly couldn't be happier that Yov walked into Santi's life. We all saw the shift in him, how every piece of the puzzle just clicked into place," Frankie gestured with his hand. "And I think that's what happens when two kindred souls find each other like that; which is… a real rarity, by the way. Not everybody gets to experience that kind of love. A love that's sincere, honest, raw, with no pretenses or masks, that just... happens, unexpectedly, on a random Tuesday or a night like any other, when you least expect it."

In that exact moment, his eyes locked onto yours. Briefly. And then dropped, somewhere down toward the floor.

"But the thing is, you gotta be a smart man to recognize a love like that, to guard it and never let it go. And you, my friend, on top of everything else I said tonight," he looked at Santi, "are a very smart man. So everyone, please raise your glasses with me. To Santi and Yov, may your home always be full, your love always be easy, and your lives together be long and blessed. To the newlyweds!"

Look at that; Francisco Morales giving a sweet, heartfelt wedding speech. Who would've thought?

Emotional and shaken, you raised your wine glass to your lips, taking your turn to wash down your imaginary tears.

"He looked at you." Bill picked the worst possible moment to whisper those words in your ear, right as Frankie was taking his seat again and looking at you both. "He's right where we want him."

"Right across from me, you mean?"

Bill chuckled.

"You're playing with fire," you muttered into the rim of your glass before setting it back down. Bill just gave you a wicked unbothered grin and took a slow sip of his drink.

Across the long table, Frankie pulled his chair back in and straightened his jacket. He caught your eye for half a second before Yov's dad leaned over to clap him on the shoulder, breaking whatever that was.

The rest of dinner went by in a blur of constantly refilled wine glasses. Plates were cleared, fresh ones brought out, and the emotion from the speeches gave way to loud laughter and family stories being thrown across the table. Frankie stayed mostly wrapped up in conversation with the guys to his left, though every once in a while, you could still feel him sitting right there across from you.

Once everyone was stuffed, the servers cleared the tables and the DJ started testing the bass on the speakers nearby.

Right before the real party started, everyone pushed back their chairs and gathered near the edge of the patio for the cake cutting. It was a huge, rustic three tiered cake covered in small flowers. Santi and Yov grabbed the knife together, both laughing as they tried to get a clean slice through the frosting, before smashing tiny pieces into each other's mouths while everyone cheered and snapped photos.

Then the main lights went down, the warm string bulbs overhead took over, and the DJ dropped the opening synth beat of Whitney Houstons I Wanna Dance with Somebody.

Bill didn't even give you a second to think; he grabbed your hand and dragged you straight into the middle of the crowd.

"Come on," he laughed, spinning you around until your hair whipped across your face. "Dance with me, baby."

A loud laugh burst out of you. Bill was actually an incredible dancer. Zero shame, great rhythm, and completely committed. He held your hands, twirled you, dipped you just enough to make you gasp, and shouted the chorus right at you.

The heavy feeling in your chest totally vanished. You were flushed, spinning, and having the absolute time of your life with him; completely ignoring, for a few good minutes, the pair of eyes following your every move from the side of the dance floor.

Bill pulled you in flush against his chest. You let out a nervous laugh, leaning back slightly. "What are you doing?"

He bent down, his lips brushing right against your ear. "Nobody puts Baby in the corner. And someone is having a really hard time keeping his eyes off Baby."

Instantly, your gaze flicked past his shoulder toward Frankie. He was standing near the cake table, hands shoved deep into his pockets, wearing an expression that was almost devastatingly quiet. The second he caught you looking, he jerked his eyes away, staring down at the floor.

A sudden, uncomfortable pit formed in your stomach.

"What's wrong?" Bill asked, feeling you stiffen.

You let out a sigh. "I don't know. This doesn't feel right."

"What doesn't? Making him jealous?"

"He doesn't look jealous. He looks..." You looked back up at Bill. "He looks miserable."

Bill pressed his lips into a fine line. Mid step, he smoothly spun you around, strategically catching a glimpse of Frankie for a few seconds over your shoulder.

"Jesus," Bill muttered, bringing his eyes back to yours. "He looks so pale."

He pulled back just a fraction, loosening his grip a bit, though his feet kept moving to the music. "I think our plan is working, actually."

You gave him a small, hesitant smile. "You think so?"

"I know so," Bill nodded. "We're gonna dance for a couple more songs, then I'm gonna suddenly have to run to the restroom because of all the wine and champagne I drank. And wow, look at that; you'll be standing right here, he'll be over there, and who knows what happens?"

You laughed softly. But over Bill's shoulder, just below his ear, you noticed Frankie wasn't looking at you anymore.

A woman had walked up to him. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her waist, her head tilted, a bright smile on her lips. She was talking softly, her eyes darting all over his face. Frankie just nodded, slowly running a hand over his jaw. Then, the woman reached out and lightly rested her hand on his bicep.

A bitter wave hit you out of nowhere—jealousy, obviously, but mixed with something … different.

Just as the last song faded out and a upbeat ABBA track kicked in, you slid your hands up onto Bill's shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

"Someone’s flirting with him."

Bill spun you subtley to get a better look for himself. "Do you know her?"

"No."

"Must be on Yov’s side."

"Is everyone on Yov's side trying to hit on someone?" you muttered. "Fiona said earlier today that she wanted to sleep with him."

"Well, you gotta give the guy credit," Bill said, raising an eyebrow. "He looks like a brooding heartbroken lead."

You frowned at him. "Bill."

"What? Julie and I watch a lot of shows. The other day we finished The Summer I Turned Pretty. I don't know if you've seen it, but Frankie is giving major Conrad Fisher right now."

A laugh spilled out of you before you could stop it. "I haven't seen it, but girls come into the shop to buy those books all the time."

"You gotta watch it," Bill nodded earnestly. "Frankie is just as uncommunicative as that kid. I'd tell you more, but I'm not spoiling it. Julie says it's tragic."

You chuckled, shaking your head as he spun you to the beat.

Bill and you danced through another couple of songs, but your eyes kept drifting back to Frankie every few seconds. He was still standing near the edge of the courtyard, listening to the woman beside him.

What could they even be talking about? Did they know each other, or was she just taking advantage of a handsome, lonely-looking guy at a wedding?

You pulled your eyes away, scanning the rest of the dance floor to clear your head. Emma and Will were practically glued together, swaying so close their noses were touching. Your mom was in her element, arms held up in the air with a glass of wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Further down, Benny was spinning Mai under his hand, and right in the absolute center of the floor, Santi and Yov were lost in each other, kissing sweet and soft like no one else existed.

After a few more minutes of spinning with Bill, you gently pulled back. "I need to hit the restroom. I'll be right back."

"Don't take too long," Bill called out with a wink, already seamlessly transitioning to dancing by himself.

Your feet felt warm inside your heels as you walked off the dance floor, a reliable sign that while you weren't drunk, you were comfortably deliciously buzzed.

Leaving the roaring speakers behind felt like a relief, and by the time you pushed open the door to the restrooms, the silence was almost startling.

Inside, you washed your hands with cold water, looking up at your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair needed a quick touch-up, and your lipstick was mostly gone. You carefully reapplied it, adjusted the delicate lace around your neck, smoothed down your dress, and let out a long breath.

"Hey there."

You heard the gentle voice behind you before you even processed the reflection in the glass. The moment you recognized her face in the mirror, a warm smile spread across yours and you turned right around.

"Helena," you said, stepping forward to wrap her in a tight hug without a second thought.

Helena hugged you back tightly, her hand gently patting your back.

"How are you?" you asked as you pulled away, holding her by her arms.

Helena chuckled, looking over your face. "I've had a couple of drinks, so I'm doing wonderful," she laughed softly, her eyes softening. Oh, you missed her. "How are you, sweetheart? Look at you, you're absolutely breathtaking. Look at that face." She reached out, gently stroking your cheek.

You flushed, smiling warmly. "Thank you so much. You look stunning tonight, too."

Helena waved a hand playfully. "Oh, stop it. But I'm just so happy for Santi. I'm certain he's going to make a wonderful husband."

"I know he will," you agreed, nodding.

A quiet moment settled between you both.

"Jamie is getting so tall," you noted softly. "I saw him from across the yard earlier."

Helena's eyes widened. "Tall isn't even the word! He got it straight from his father. Henry was so tall, and our Gabriel was the exact same way!"

The mention of his name hung gently in the air. "Oh Helena, I'm so, so sorry about Henry. I really am."

She shook her head gently. "Sweetheart, we were happy. We are happy, and Henry lived a full, happy life. My Luna and Jamie are here with me, and that's the greatest comfort we could ask for; and it's not a small one, either."

"That's what Frankie told me," you smiled gently. "How have they been doing? Have they settled in okay?"

"They really have, thank God," Helena nodded. "Jamie's adjusting so well to his new school. Actually, Lu is waiting for him right outside the men's room. Would you like to say hi?"

"Of course I would."

You walked out together toward the corridor where Luna was leaning against the wall. When she saw you, her face lit up with a huge smile.

"Look at you! You look stunning!" Luna stepped in, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek. Her perfume was delicious and she herself looked absolutely stunning.

"Thank you so much," you said, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "It is so good to see you."

Just then, the door to the men's room pushed open and Jamie walked out, vigorously shaking his wet hands in the air.

"Jamie! I've told you a hundred times to use a towel," Luna scolded.

The boy wiped his hands down his trousers, but the moment he spotted you, a massive smile broke across his face. "I didn't know Santiago was your brother! I thought he was a different Santiago!"

"Hey you," you laughed, stepping closer and running a gentle hand through his thick curls. "Look at you, you're getting so tall! As tall as your Uncle Frankie, huh?"

Jamie beamed proudly. "He says I'm gonna be taller than him. My dad was taller than him, too."

"Well, who knows? Maybe you'll end up even taller than your dad."

Luna chuckled, resting a hand on her hip. "Jamie started basketball lessons recently, you know."

"Really?" You looked back at Jamie, impressed. "That's awesome. Do you like it?"

"Yeah," Jamie shrugged, puffing his chest out in the most adorable, confident way possible. "I'm actually really good at it."

Helena wrapped an arm around her grandson's shoulders, wearing a proud radiant look on her face. "His first official game is next Saturday. We're all going to watch him play."

"Well then, good luck on Saturday," you said. Jamie smiled, nodding with sudden bashfulness.

"It really is so great to see you," Luna said then. "We heard you're living in New York now! Congratulations on that."

"Thank you," you replied, tilting your head. "It's been an interesting few months, for sure."

"Do you like the city?" Helena asked. "Is it permanent?"

You took a beat, realizing you didn't fully have an answer.

"I... I don't really know yet," you admitted honestly. "Right now, I have the luxury of making up my mind as I go. I like New York, it's an incredible city. But everything I love is right here, you know? My life is here."

"I understand, sweetheart. It's a huge opportunity, but it doesn't have to be permanent. Enjoy it for as long as you want to. Austin isn't going anywhere, and neither are the people who love you here. You're young, gorgeous, and talented, take advantage of it!"

You laughed softly, covering your cheeks. "Thank you, Hel, you're gonna make me blush!"

Luna nodded in agreement. "I know what it's like to be away from home, but give it a real shot while you're there. Even if you just look at it as an extended vacation or something."

"Hey!" A voice cut through the hallway as Sofi came marching down toward you, shaking her head. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Grace just snuck two entire glasses of wine off a tray!" She stopped in her tracks when she noticed you. "Hey! Look at you, gorgeous! No wonder Frankie looks so damn miserable out there."

"Sofia!" Helena gasped in disbelief, though a half smile twitched at her lips as she reprimanded her daughter.

Sofi shrugged, totally unbothered. "What? Am I lying?"

"You are unbelievable," Luna laughed, shaking her head as Sofi pulled you into a quick hug.

"Ignore her," Helena said, turning back to you with an affectionate pat on your arm. "Go on back out there and enjoy the music, sweetheart. Don't let us keep you locked up in the hallway all night."

"It was so wonderful seeing all of you," you said, looking at each of them. "Good luck on Saturday, Jamie."

"Thanks!" he called out as you turned to head back toward the noise.

As you walked down the corridor back toward the glow of the festoon lights, Sofi's words lingered in the back of your mind, mixing with the cold sting of seeing that woman's hand on Frankie's arm, and look on his face.

You smoothed down your dress one last time, took a breath, and stepped back out into the party.

Almost an hour and a half had passed, and after twenty straight minutes on the dance floor with Emma, you were completely parched.

Tired, happy, just a little bit tipsy; your shoes were off, heels dangling from your fingers by the straps as you navigated back to the main table.

"My feet are gonna kill me tomorrow," Emma groaned, dropping into her chair. She blinked, shaking her head slightly. "I am definitely drunk. Where's my boyfriend?"

You followed her gaze. Out in the middle of the crowd, Will was swaying in a circle with Helena. Next to them, Grace was spinning gracefully and hilarious in Frankie's arms, both of them laughing. A few steps away, Bill was showing Jamie some absurd dance moves while Luna laughed beside them.

How had that even happened? You had no idea. All you knew was that after a few more drinks, everyone was having the time of their lives.

You sat down with a tired sigh, pouring yourself a glass of water and pulling your phone out of your purse. For no good reason, none at all, you had several missed calls from Ester.

Without wasting a second, you typed out a quick text:

[You]: heyyy, I’m so sorry I just saw my phone. Is everything okay?

"That's weird," you muttered, looking over at Emma. "Ester's been trying to call me. You think something happened?"

Emma frowned, squinting through her buzz. "No, I wouldn't think so. Why? I mean, what?"

Your phone screen lit up. An incoming call from Ester. You answered immediately.

"Ester, hi. Is everything okay?"

You expected to hear something mundane: I can't find Darcy's food, or I can't find his treats, or Darcy knocked something over (though you doubted that last one, considering he was far too lazy to break anything), or Darcy ate something off the counter.

You were ready for any of those. But what you actually heard was:

"I am so, so sorry. I don't know how it happened. He just bolted out the door and I couldn't catch him. I ran after him for two blocks, but he ran straight into the park across from the market."

Your heart stopped dead in your chest. "What?"

"A moment ago I came to see Darcy after dinner, and as soon as I opened the door, he bolted down the stairs. He ran straight into the street, he looked scared. I followed him for two blocks—he's at the park."

"Where're you at right now?"

"Still in the park. I'm so sorry, I'm looking for him right now. My son is here helping me, but—"

"I'll be right there, don't you worry. I'm coming right now, please don't leave."

"What happened?" Emma asked, sitting up, her drunken haze instantly vanishing behind a look of concern.

Without waiting for Ester to reply, you hung up and snatched your purse off the table. "Darcy's lost."

"What?"

"I—I don't know, Ester said he ran out and... and he went into a park." As the words left your mouth, your throat completely closed up.

"Oh my God, let's go," Emma said, standing up.

You shook your head. "No, Em, you've been drinking. You need to stay here."

"I'm not letting you go alone!"

"I won't be alone, I'll take Bill."

"Bill's had a ton of drinks, too! He can't drive!"

"Then I'll call an Uber."

You practically sprinted toward the dance floor, threading through the moving bodies until you reached Bill. You tapped his shoulder once, twice, three times until he realized it was you standing behind him.

When he turned around, the smile on his lips faded instantly.

"Bill, I need you to come with me, please. Darcy escaped and I have to find him before something happens."

He looked confused, blinking at you. "Wait, what? How?"

"I don't know," you stammered, panic suddenly hitting you. "Ester says he was scared. Please, we gotta go right now."

Darcy was an indoor cat. He didn't go outside. He had never navigated a street in his entire life. The most extreme physical action he'd taken in the last three years was jumping off the top bookshelf onto the couch. And at this hour, cars were driving all over the neighborhood; a Saturday night, full of drunk drivers or who knew what.

Oh God... no. Darcy. Your lazy, sweet little cat was not built for this.

"I-I can't drive like this," Bill said, looking down at his hands for some reason.

"It's fine, I'll call an Uber."

Bill nodded, reaching for his phone. And then, a hand gently touched your arm.

"Hey, hey," his hand gently squeezed your skin, turning you around to face him. "Don't worry. I'll drive you."

Frankie, sober as a judge. How much had he even had to drink all night? A glass? Two max?

"It's okay, I'll just get a car," you said quickly, trying not to ruin the night for everyone. "You don't have to leave."

"Go on, you need to head out," Bill said.

"It's no trouble," Frankie said with a shake of his head. The sound of his voice was so soft, and for some reason, you could hear him crystal clear even over the blasting music. "I'll help you, no problem at all."

You nodded, letting yourself be anchored by his calm gaze and easygoing voice. He made your heart beat a little less wildly, a little less heavy.

"Come on now, you got your stuff?"

"My shoes," you pointed, raising your hand as you slipped away toward your table to grab your heels, left behind on a chair. You snatched them up and hurried back to him. "I'll put them on in the car."

As you left, Emma and Bill wished you luck, while neither your mother nor Santi even registered your quick escape; that's how fast you vanished through the door with Frankie. Like two swift shadows.

"Why would he get scared? Darcy isn't restless, all he does when he's alone is sleep and eat," you said, watching the city passing by through the car window as Frankie drove as fast as he could. "And why did Ester have the door open?"

"Maybe he got spooked when he heard her come in?"

"But he already knows Ester." You sighed, bringing a hand to your forehead. "Oh God, there's a highway real close to the park, and there's always heavy traffic. I don't want him heading toward it, you know cars confuse animals so much."

"Easy now, we'll search top to bottom, you'll see," he sounded confident, and you wanted so badly to believe him. "If he ran into the park, maybe it was for the trees and bushes, cats like high places."

"I hope so. I should've bought him one of those trackers you told me you got for Bingley. I'm a terrible owner," oh no, don't cry. Hold it in, but you couldn't stop your voice from cracking.

"You ain't a terrible owner," Frankie said as he turned toward your house to make a quick stop. "You take good care of Darcy, so much so that he's a little spoiled. He loves you. But he got scared and, well, these things happen. It's not your fault, alright?"

Frustrated, you nodded and let out a heavy sigh. "This is just like the thing with Santi all over again. Why's everybody always running off to the parks?"

Frankie gave a soft humorless laugh. "I ain't got a clue."

He pulled up in front of your apartment, and you quickly scrambled out to grab Mr. Darcy's carrier; there was no way you'd be able to carry him home in your arms if he was scared, and strangely enough, he actually liked being inside it.

Once you had it, you hurried back down and tossed it into Frankie's backseat. He took off the second you slammed the door shut.

Two minutes later, you arrived at the park and spotted Ester right by the entrance.

She looked utterly crushed, her posture slouched under a weight of guilt so heavy it made your own heart ache. As much as panic was clawing at your throat, you couldn't find a single drop of malice in you to blame her.

The moment you reached her, you wrapped your arms around her in a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Ester stammered, her voice shaking as she hugged you back. "I didn't mean to ruin your night, this was all my fault—"

"No, no, it's okay," you cut in, pulling back just enough to look at her. "Where's Gregory?"

"He's over that way searching for him," she said, gesturing toward the far side of the grounds. "We brought a bit of food to try and draw him out with the scent."

You nodded, making a quick mental map of the area. It made the most sense to cover ground Gregory hadn't reached yet, so you pointed toward the darker thick tree line on the opposite side.

"We'll take the right side," you said. Frankie gave a nod, falling into step beside you as you both headed down the gravel path.

The park was eerie at night, bathed in the orange tint of a few scattered streetlights, with long shadows stretching across the grass, and the not-so-distant chaos of the city felt too close to the highway for comfort.

"Darcy!" you called out, your voice cracking slightly as you cupped your hands around your mouth. "Darcy, baby, come here!"

Frankie moved beside you, his eyes scanning the lower branches of the oak trees and the thick patches of bushes lining the trail.

"Darcy!" he shouted. "Here, boy!"

Every rustle of dry leaves made you freeze, every shadow beneath a bench suddenly looking like a curled-up cat. You crouched down by a cluster of heavy shrubs, parting the branches with cold fingers, peering into the pitch black gaps between the roots.

Nothing. Just damp dirt and scattered leaves.

You kept moving, heading toward the playground area. The brightly colored metal jungle gyms and plastic slides looked surreal under the moonlight.

"Check inside the tunnels," Frankie said, pointing toward the play structure. "He might've crawled in there to hide from the noise."

You rushed over, bending down to look through the open plastic tubes of the play set.

"Darcy?" you whispered into the opening, hoping the echo might reach him. You tapped softly on the plastic, listening intensely, but the only sound was the wind rattling the chain link fence nearby.

Frankie walked around the perimeter of the swings, checking behind the trash cans and underneath the wooden platforms.

"Nothing over here," he called out softly, coming back around to your side.

Minute after minute ticked by. You paced back and forth across the damp grass, your eyes darting between the high canopy of the trees and the thick underbrush, calling his name until your throat felt raw, waiting for a meow that didn't come.

Panic started to claw its way in; what if he was gone? What if you couldn't find him? What if….

No. Tears filled your eyes, blurring the dimly lit park, and a raw sting burnt the back of your nose. Your fingers felt like ice, your stomach churning into a sickening knot.

Please, no.

People always underestimate the love someone has for their pets; so many people just don't get it. To the rest of the world, it's just an animal, but to you, that little fat, fluffy cat is a whole world in itself. They don't understand how he's the best company you could ever ask for. They don't see how he's right there with you through the worst times, curled up against your side when everything else feels like it's falling apart. They don't know about those long afternoon naps together, or the silly games you play on the kitchen floor. They miss out on the sweet, funny little habits; like how he tags along to the bathroom while you shower, sitting just out of range because he wants to be near you, but sure doesn't want to get splashed.

When you've had a long, exhausting day and the whole world feels heavy, there he is, waiting right at the door the second you turn the key, so happy just because you walked back through it.

Mascots don't care about your flaws, your mistakes, or how hard your day was. They don't ask for explanations or demand you be anyone other than who you are. They just offer simple devotion. That tiny warm heartbeat sleeping at the foot of your bed becomes an unconditional companion. That's Mr. Darcy to you.

So yeah, it's that important.

A few paces ahead, Frankie kept walking, tilting his head back to scan the upper canopy of the trees. You kept searching, dragging your feet through the ground, checking behind another bench, another thick patch of ivy, another—

"Hey," Frankie suddenly said. "I found him!"

Relief flooded your chest so fast it almost made you lightheaded.

You ran toward him; Frankie was standing right beneath a massive, spreading tree, staring straight up. When you reached his side, you followed his gaze.

Tucked tightly into a high branch, half-hidden by a cluster of leaves, Mr. Darcy was looking right down at you. His pupils were blown wide, blacking out his eyes, and his ears were pinned back just enough to show he was still terrified.

"Darcy! Oh God, come down right now," you gasped, quickly pulling a little can of cat food out of purse and popping the lid, waving it toward the branches. "Look, look what I've got for you."

The cat didn't budge. He stayed utterly frozen, looking like a statuesque shadow.

"Here," Frankie said, slipping his cell phone out of his pocket and handing it off to you.

"What're you doing?"

"Gonna climb up, I can get him down."

"It's way too high."

"Ain't that high. Hold on, get the carrier open."

You stood still, watching him in stunned silence. Frankie slipped it off his jacket and handed it to you. He reached up, grabbed a low sturdy bough, and hauled himself up.

He moved carefully, picking his footing with precision so he wouldn't shake the trunk or startle the cat. Above him, a tiny, pitiful meow drifted down through the leaves.

"Hey there, buddy," Frankie murmured, his tone smooth and soothing as he reached the main fork of the tree. "It's just me. You remember me, right?"

Below, you scrambled to unlatch the door of the plastic carrier, setting it wide open on the grass.

When you looked back up, Frankie was maneuvering into a tricky position, balancing his feet on a narrow ridge while reaching one arm high into the foliage.

Luckily, his fingertips caught the scruff of Darcy's neck. The cat didn't even hiss; he just went completely limp in shock.

"Gonna try to set him on that lower branch," Frankie called down. "He can hop down from there, just grab him quick if he does."

"Yeah, I'm right here!"

With a quick move, Frankie lowered Darcy down and dropped him gently onto the thicker limb below. The cat shuffled his back paws, braced his front legs against the main trunk, and with a clumsy surge of sudden confidence, leaped the rest of the way to the ground.

"Good boy, Darcy!" you cried, scooping him up before he could make a run for it.

In his panic, Darcy dug his claws straight into your bare arms, but you barely felt the sting. You guided him headfirst into the carrier and slammed the small wire door shut, snapping the latch tight.

"My God, you scared me to death," you breathed, tears finally spilling over as you dropped to your knees beside the carrier.

Wiping your face, you stood back up, holding the handle tightly, and looked back up into the foliage. Frankie was still up there, standing upright on a sturdy branch a good ten feet off the ground.

"Jesus, be careful coming down!"

"Don't worry," he said with a slight grin.

You watched him start his descent, testing each foothold on the knots and smaller branches sticking out from the trunk. He took one step down, then another, another—and then the dry, dead branch beneath his boot gave out with a sudden CRACK!

Frankie didn't even have time to grab for the trunk. He went down in a flailing free-fall through three feet of air and hit the grass flat on his back with a air knocking THUD.

Your mouth dropped open in absolute shock. "Oh my God, Francisco!"

He lay star-shaped in the damp grass, the wind knocked completely out of his lungs.

"Shit," he groaned, clutching his chest with a wheeze.

You scrambled over to him on your hands and knees, ditching the carrier on the grass beside him.

"Oh God, oh my God, are you okay?" You hovered over him, your hands fluttering frantically; first touching his face, then pressing against his chest, checking every inch of him in a panic.

It wasn't a gentle tumble; Frankie had hit the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes.

He lay there with his eyes squeezed shut, his glasses tossed a few feet away into the grass where they'd gone flying from the impact. You reached out, snatching them up off the ground.

Just as a low groan rasped out of his throat, you carefully set the frames back over the bridge of his nose, using your index finger to gently push them up into place.

"Are you okay?"

He stared straight at you, his gaze dropping to your lips. You searched his face, taking in his ruffled hair and the single dry leaf stuck near his temple.

Slowly, with another painful groan, Frankie pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"No," he said.

"What? What hurts?"

"No," he repeated, shaking his head. "I'm not okay. I'm not."

With a strained effort and a few muffled grunts, he started pushing himself off the ground.

"Careful, Frankie, you just took a terrible fall," you pleaded, reaching up to grip his arm.

But Frankie pushed past the pain and forced himself all the way up onto his feet. His white shirt was smeared with dark dirt and completely untucked.

"Frankie—"

"I can't do this no more," he said, shaking his head, his breathing still coming in rough hitches. "I just can't do this no more."

A beat.

"What?"

He shook his head, staring down at the grass for a long second. When he finally looked up, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I love you," he said. "And it's driving me crazy. You're the only thing I ever think about."

For a moment, the air left your lungs completely.

"I thought it'd be easier, this whole act of pretending I'm fine with it, but..." He shook his head again. "It isn't. It's awful. Seeing you tonight with Bill, that's been killing me too."

"Frankie—"

"No," he held up a hand, his voice dropping. "Let me speak. Please, just let me speak. Don't interrupt me."

Slowly, you nodded.

"I love you," he repeated. "I haven't ever stopped loving you, not for a single second. You're the only thing on my mind, and no matter how hard I tried to act like I was fine... I'm not."

He took a step forward.

"I think about you, day and night; before I go to sleep, when I wake up, and I… I…" He shook his head slowly, desperate. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you it was me at that party seven years ago. I'm sorry I didn't tell you later, and that I acted like such an idiot that night at Santi's. I'm sorry for everything I said to Will. I was a coward. If I had just done things right, maybe everything would've been different. It wouldn't have been years of fights and arguments. I'm so sorry for that."

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.

"I'm sorry for being such a dick to you all those years," he continued. "And for being such a coward when we started dating. I should've never taken so long to be honest with Santi about us, and I should've never made things so confusing for either of us. And I'm sorry—I'm so sorry for hiding what was going on with Rachel and handling things the way I did. I don't know why I did it," he shook his head. "I—no, I do know. Because I was an idiot. I thought I knew what I was doing, that I could control the situation, figure out what was best, and decide when and how to say it... but I didn't know a thing. I didn't know how to handle it, and when everything blew up," his eyes searched your face, "I just hurt you more."

Your vision blurred as warm delicate tears welled up in your eyes. You swallowed hard, trying to fight them back.

"Not a day goes by where I don't think about it and feel sick with shame. For how I acted, for how stupid I was, and for how I ruined everything. I'm so, so ashamed. And then, I was an even bigger idiot for ending things the way I did. I regret it so much, I… I'm sorry," his eyes were shining with tears now under the soft lights of the park; it ached to see him like this. "I'm so sorry for walking away like that, for not telling you I was leaving for Boston, for blocking you when you texted me. It was so childish and cowardly, and more than anything, I'm sorry it took me so long to apologize. The truth is, I've been a complete idiot this whole time, and I'd completely understand if you… if you decide not to forgive me."

He sighed, watching you in silence for a second, but you knew he wasn't expecting you to speak; behind his eyes, his thoughts were racing.

"I'm fine, I guess. I have everything I need to be fine. A good job, a nice house, I'm healthier than I've ever been— you think that fall was bad?" He pointed back toward the tree. "A year ago, if I'd fallen like that, I'd still be lying on the ground."

A faint smile touched your lips.

"I've been trying to do things right, as best as I can, but... shit," he shook his head, looking down, pressing his fingers to his eyes to wipe away the tears. "Please don't think I'm trying to make you feel sorry for me, but..." He looked back up at you. "A few months ago, when I had my accident, it wasn't—it wasn't exactly an accident. I got into a nasty fight outside a bar and I... I just let myself go, and this guy threw me into the river. I didn't have much strength to try and swim, I didn't have strength for anything, so I just sank for a second. And in that moment, I really believed I was gonna die, that that was it. And in my mind, you showed up."

Heavy tears spilled over your cheeks. You wanted to run to him, to wrap your arms around him, but you held back.

"And while I was sinking, I thought that if I died, I'd die a coward. Because I had done everything wrong, and I never had the courage to just be honest with you about it, face to face. A coward, I was gonna die a coward. But I didn't. And I'm so grateful for the chance I had to recover, to be able to... to be standing here right in front of you again. So I'm just gonna say it." He gestured with his hands, resigned.

From inside the carrier, a soft meow drifted out.

"I've lost a lot," Frankie said. "I've lost friends, family, opportunities... like everyone. But I... if I can help it, I don't wanna lose anything else. And if there's even the smallest chance that I haven't lost you completely, that you could give me another chance, I promise you with my whole life that I'll do everything in my power to make up for everything I did. Because I love you. I love you more than you could ever know, and there's nothing in this world I want more than to make you happy."

"Frankie," you whispered, almost a tiny sob.

"And I know words aren't enough, and that you deserve more than a speech," he took another step toward you. "Let me show you. I'll do whatever it takes to be the man you deserve, to never again be that cowardly idiot who hurt you and ran. I want to give you everything; all of me, everything within my reach and more. A home, a quiet life, and if someday you... if someday you want a family, I want to give you that too. You want a baby girl?" He raised an arm. "I've got three sisters, nine aunts, and a mostly female bloodline; the odds are pretty damn high."

A soft laugh broke your silence as you looked up at his flushed, earnest face.

"And if you don't want that, that's okay too. I just want you; a future with you. We can figure it out together, adopt more cats if you want; I've got a big house," he raised his eyebrows slightly.

Nodding, a soft smile resting on your lips, your gaze traced down his chest to his feet.

Every single word you had longed to hear all this time had finally spilled from his mouth. Even things you hadn't expected. And in your heart, there were so many more waiting to be said.

Slowly, you looked back up at him.

"You really hurt me," you gently said. "It cost me so much pain, so much time trying to understand, thinking it was my fault somehow. A lot of my insecurities came right to the surface because of it; you know them well."

Frankie pressed his lips together, a shadow of shame crossing his face.

"I don't ever want to guess what someone else is feeling again. I don't want to beg for communication, or to be told the truth. I don't want to be blindsided by things that break my heart and leave me feeling stupid for not seeing them coming," you shook your head. "I don't want to have to ask for the basics. Or feel unsafe because things aren't said directly. I know what I want, Frankie. I know now, and I know what I deserve."

His eyes searched your face, anxious and desperate.

"I want you too," you said, taking a step closer to him. "But I don't ever want you to break my heart like that again, because I won't be able to forgive you."

"I know," he nodded.

"You know?"

He smiled, humorless. "I've had a lot of time to think about it. About what I did, how I did it. I... I know it."

"Great," you said softly, getting closer, resting both hands flat against his chest, sliding them slowly up toward his shoulders. Frankie went completely still under your touch. "Because I love you too. I love you so much."

Unable to hold back a second longer, Frankie broke. In one sudden pull, his hands wrapped around your waist, tugging your body flush against his, holding you in a tight crushing hug as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

Your fingers moved to cradle the back of his head, weaving through his hair and those messy curls, while your heart beat fast and full in your chest, lighter than it had been in years.

"Why'd you take so long to tell me all this?" you sobbed, closing your eyes, feeling your wet eyelashes brush against your cheeks.

"Because I'm an idiot," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his own shining with tears. "I won't ever do it again, I promise. I promise I'll give you the best of me."

You cupped the side of his face with your hand. "I know I made a lot of mistakes too, Frankie. I'm sorry."

He shook his head firmly. "No. Don't say another word."

Smiling, you pushed up on your tiptoes and finally, sealed your lips against his while his arms wrapped around you, strong and wide, pressing you tight to his chest.

How was this even possible? Just twenty minutes ago, you had been so sick with fear over Mr. Darcy that your stomach was in knots. And now, in this exact moment, you could swear you were the happiest you'd ever been.

That lingering ache in your chest, the hollow space that had shadowed you for months, was simply gone. And even though life still held its uncertainties, and you knew there were a hundred things you two still needed to talk through, you knew you were right where you belonged: wrapped in the arms of the man you loved, who loved you just as fiercely.

A few moments later, right in the middle of a make-out session, a loud, indignant meow chimed out from the carrier, forcing you to pull back from Frankie, breathless.

"Why don't we take him back home? He must've had a rough night," you suggested, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

Frankie nodded. "Yeah. Pretty sure Ester's still sick with worry."

"Oh God, Ester!"

Smiling softly, Frankie stole one quick little kiss from your lips.

"Let's go," he said, bending down to pick up the carrier handle. "I bet Emma and Bill are wondering about Darcy too."

As he turned, you noticed two more dry leaves tangled in the back of his hair. Reaching out, you gently picked them away.

"Oh, lord, I am so sorry. I wouldn't blame you if you never trusted me with Mr. Darcy again."

Ester groaned, pressing the palm of her hand to her forehead as Darcy trotted out of his carrier, stepping right into the middle of your living room.

"Hey, don't say that. It was an accident, nothing like this has ever happened before," you offered, trying to soften the blow. "You've always taken such good care of him, and he knows it."

"If anything had happened to him, I just don't know what I would've done, oh lord," she mumbled, burying her face in both hands.

"Ain't nothin' happened to him, Ma. Just relax," her son chimed in, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Next time you gotta move a little quicker and shut that door before he bolts. Cats are fast."

"There won't be a next time," Ester snapped back. "I was just so reckless!"

Stepping in with a warm, reassuring smile, you pulled her into a sudden hug. "Stop beating yourself up, okay? Everything turned out fine."

Fine. Perfectly fine. Even if it could have gone terribly wrong.

You weren't going to let your mind go there.

After a few more apologies, Ester and Gregory headed out for the night. You immediately grabbed your phone to text Emma and Bill, letting them know the chaos was over and Mr. Darcy was safely back home after his little disaster of a field trip to the park.

Frankie, meanwhile, stood near the front of the room, taking in the apartment with a quiet gaze.

"You got a new TV," he noted.

"Yeah," you said, walking over to him. "The old one broke."

"How?" He turned to look at you, his eyes moving over your face, taking his time.

"No clue. It just stopped turning on."

"You still got it?"

"It's under my bed," you laughed softly.

"I can take a look at it if you want. I'm pretty good with that kinda stuff."

"Oh yeah?" You tilted your head, turning to face him fully. "Seems like you've been pretty good at fixing a lot of things lately. Cars too?"

His mouth twitched into a subtle smirk. "I got handy hands."

Frankie leaned his head to the side, his gaze dropping straight to your lips. That shift in his expression sent a sudden spark straight up your body; an electric, undeniable pull that only happens when you finally find yourself alone with the ex-ex-boyfriend you just got back together with, especially when he looks like that.

Before you could say another word, Frankie slid both hands around your waist and pulled you flush against him.

"What are you doing?" you smiled, letting your hands trace up his chest. "Darcy is watching."

"Mmm," he hummed, taking a careful step backward and guiding you with him out of the living room and into the hallway. His hands slid down to your lower back, one of them giving a firm squeeze. "I think he ain't looking anymore."

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Mr. Darcy casually curling up on the sofa cushion.

Before you could turn back around, Frankie pressed his mouth into the side of your neck.

You closed your eyes, letting out a soft moan as the heat of his skin against yours completely unraveled you. Frankie pulled you closer, his grip tightening.

"God, I've missed you so much," he whispered against your ear. "You have no idea."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him. "I missed you too. So much."

Frankie’s hands traveled up your back, his fingers digging in, pressing and squeezing, tracing every line of your body, and every touch sent a pulse straight through you, making your heart hammer wildly against your ribs. Your skin burned everywhere he touched, and suddenly, an aching urgency settled deep between your legs.

You needed him. You hadn't been with a single soul in all those long months in New York; hadn't even been able to look at anyone else. Your mind had been completely consumed by the ache of his absence. But now, that old longing morphed into something fierce and unbearable, a sudden fire sweeping through your veins with twice the force.

Keeping you pinned to his chest, Frankie guided you down the narrow hallway, taking blind steps backward until his heels hit the frame of your bedroom door.

He didn't pause; he backed you straight into the dark room, his mouth leaving your neck only long enough to find your lips in a desperate kiss.

You stumbled toward the bed together until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. Frankie followed you down, looming over you as you sank into the sheets, his hands immediately framing your face.

He devoured your mouth, pressing you deeper into the mattress as his hands traveled along your sides, skimming upward until his fingers dug into the fabric of your dress.

You arched your back into his touch, a gasp escaping you as he slid his knee between your thighs, applying firm pressure right where you needed it most. Another moan slipped from your lips.

Frankie pulled back for just a second, reaching over to flick on the small bedside lamp.

Rising up onto his knees, he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto the floor.

Watching him like that sent a rush of heat straight through your blood. His hair was messy, his pants were already unfastened, and the warm light of the lamp washed over his bare shoulders and chest.

"Help me," you murmured, shifting onto your side to give him access.

His fingers found the zipper of your dress, pulling it down with a smooth glide. He gathered the fabric and worked it over your hips and down your legs; hurried, but careful not to ruin it.

Left in only your underwear and a strapless bra, you sat up just enough to reach behind yourself and unhook the clasp, letting it fall away. Frankie stepped off the bed for a split second, shucking off his pants and underwear in one swift motion before climbing right back over you.

Your hands immediately went to his waist, sliding down to cup and squeeze his rear. Frankie let out a breathless laugh against your lips as he settled fully between your legs.

His mouth slammed back onto yours in a messy kiss, and Frankie groaned against your lips as he pinned your wrists to the mattress above your head. You bucked your hips against his, desperate, and he answered with a hard press of his weight that brought his bare body flush against yours.

The feeling of his hot skin sliding against you made you completely lose control. You tore one hand free from his grip, tangling your fingers into his messy hair to pull him closer, closer, and closer, sinking your teeth gently into his lower lip before licking the nip away.

"You drive me crazy," Frankie growled, raspy against your mouth.

He broke the kiss to drag his lips down your jawline, trailing slick short kisses over your throat and down to the slope of your chest. His free hand dropped to your breast, squeezing firmly, his thumb rolling over your skin until you cried out, arching wildly off the bed.

"Frankie, please," you gasped, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his back.

"Tell me what you want," he muttered, his breath fanning across your neck as his mouth latched onto your skin, biting softly before soothing it with his tongue.

His fingers slid lower, trailing down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your underwear while his hips kept up a steady agonizingly good rhythm against yours.

"I want you," you gasped out, fingers tightening in his hair, tugging him back up until his eyes locked onto yours. "Right now, Frankie. I don't wanna wait another second."

Frankie let out a ragged breath. "I want you too, I want all of you. These past few months... it's been a fucking torture." His voice cracked slightly. "You got no idea how many nights I laid awake waiting for this moment, thinking maybe it was never gonna happen again."

You reached up, cupping his face in both of your hands, feeling his jaw and the warmth of his skin. You pulled him down into a tender kiss.

"All this time," you whispered against his lips, "it's only been you, Frankie. Just you. Nobody else."

Frankie let out a sigh, his eyes fluttering. "Only you."

Your eyes flicked for a brief second toward the bedside table; remembering how the drawers had stayed empty, how the shelves in your bathroom had been empty too, and you looked back up into his dark eyes.

"I haven't been with anyone else," you admitted softly.

He shook his head. "Neither have I."

A wave of relief washed through your chest; how many late, lonely nights had you lain awake wondering if he had moved on? How many times had you forced yourself to stop imagining him with someone else? Hearing him say it out loud made the months of ache instantly vanish, leaving only the burning reality of him right here, right now, completely yours again.

"Do you have a condom?" you asked softly.

Frankie let out a quiet sheepish laugh. "No. I didn't think anything was gonna happen tonight. I... I didn't think we were gonna... I didn't think you'd even let me—"

"Oh," you interrupted with a soft giggle, cutting him off before he could overthink it. You reached up, gently stroking his cheek and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "It's okay." You searched his eyes. "I'm still taking the pill. If you're comfortable with... with us, like before?"

Frankie paused. "Are you comfortable with that?"

"Frankie, I need you right now," you whispered, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. "I trust you."

His mouth covered yours again in a hard kiss, swallowing your gasp as his hands slid down to your hips. Frankie hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties, tugging them down over your thighs. You lifted your hips, desperate to get them off, needy for the feeling of his skin against yours without a single layer between you.

As soon as he pulled the lace free and tossed it aside, Frankie shifted lower; before you could catch your breath, he took your breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling around your hardened nipple before pulling it deep with a suck.

You arched off the mattress with a soft cry, hands scrambling to bury your fingers deep in his hair. "Frankie, please..."

He groaned into your skin, and dragged his mouth back up, marking your ribcage, your throat, your jaw, until his lips slammed back onto yours as you wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders, pulling his weigh against you again.

Frankie pulled back just enough to break the kiss. He lifted two fingers to his lips, generously wetting them before sliding his hand down between your legs.

The moment his slick fingers found your entrance, a growl rasped from his chest. "Oh, Jesus..."

You were soaking wet, slick and burning hot for him. He worked his fingers through your folds, spreading your own wetness over your clit before sliding two fingers deep inside you. You gasped loudly, hips instantly rolling into his hand, chasing the deepness, the agonizingly good friction.

Frankie sucked in a breath at how tight and drenched you were around him. He slowly pulled his fingers free, using his own slick hand to grab his length and stroke himself once, coating his broad, bulbous head in your moisture.

He dragged the crown of his cock up and down your soaking entrance, rubbing himself against your sensitive pussy until you were practically begging, your thighs trembling against his hips.

Then, Frankie lifted his head and locked his gaze directly on yours.

"Look at me," he rasped.

Keeping his eyes pinned to yours, Frankie began to push himself inside you, filling you inch by slick, agonizing inch.

The rest of the world dissolved the moment he filled you completely. For a few seconds, Frankie held still, buried to the hilt, letting your body stretch and adjust around him. You let out a long exhale and closed your eyes, yielding entirely to the weight of him.

It was pure overload. Every nerve ending between your legs flared to life, burning hot.

As he began to move with slow, deep strokes that drew almost all the way out before sinking back in, a wave of warmth spread from your core straight out to your fingertips.

You felt yourself melting into the mattress, liquefying from the inside out, completely helpless against the stretch of him filling you up over and over again.

"Look at me," Frankie panted. "Open your eyes, baby. Look at me."

You opened them, your vision slightly blurred, just in time to see the absolute ruin on his face.

Driven by the months of distance and built-up desperation, Frankie snapped. He pinned your thighs wider apart, grabbed your hips with a grip that would leave bruised handprints by morning, and began to drive into you hard and fast.

The sound of slick skin slapping against skin filled the quiet room and your lustful mind; a guttural groan tore from his throat with every deep thrust, his hips snapping forward, pounding into you until the headboard slammed repeatedly against the wall.

"Fuck," Frankie swore, his voice broken and raw as he fucked you senseless, burying himself as deep as he could go. "You feel so good... you have no idea how much I missed you..."

You couldn't form words anymore. Every hard stroke struck that exact spot inside you; you arched your back violently off the bed, your fingers digging into his biceps, your thighs trembling as you met his frantic pace, riding the overwhelming dirty wave of pleasure he was pounding into you.

His grip on your hips softened just enough to pull you flush against his chest, his heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The frantic pace slowed into long deep thrusts, each one sliding all the way in until there wasn't a breath of air left between you.

"I thought I lost you," Frankie murmured against your cheek, his voice wrecked as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

A quiet sob caught in your throat, your hands sliding up his back to hold him close, feeling the sweat on his skin.

"I'm right here," you whispered, arching up to catch his mouth. "I'm not going anywhere."

Frankie let out a shuddering breath against your mouth. "Look at how beautiful you are."

He thrust in deep, a groan escaping him when your inner walls rippled around him, squeezing him tight.

"You're mine, aren't you?" he breathed, his voice dripping with months of aching, desperate longing as his thumb found your clit, stroking softly with every deep push. "Tell me you're mine. Say it."

"Yours, I'm yours," you gasped out, your head rolling back against the pillow as the sweet, unbearable tension built up. "Always yours, Francisco."

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours. "I missed you so damn much, baby. I'm never letting you go again."

You tangled your fingers tight in his hair, pulling his face down until his mouth was inches from yours.

"Frankie, please... don't be gentle. I need you to fuck me hard. Right now."

His dark eyes flared, his pupils dilating until there was barely any color left in them. He didn't say a single word.

Instead, Frankie shifted, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them over your head with one hand. With his free hand, he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up completely.

He dragged himself almost all the way out, letting the head of his shaft tease your soaking entrance for one agonizing second, and then slammed back in with a hard thrust that knocked the air straight out of your lungs.

A loud breathy gasp tore from your throat as your body clamped tight around him. and his free hand slid down between your bodies; his thumb found your slick swollen clit, applying a soft pressure while he kept pounding into you.

The combined rush of his deep strokes and his thumb sent an intense shockwave straight through your lower belly. You arched wildly off the bed, high, as breathy moans teared out of your throat.

"Shit... I'm not gonna last," Frankie panted.

Hearing that, knowing you were driving him over the edge just as fast, sent a surge of pleasure straight through you. Every filter you had left completely dissolved.

"Don't stop," you gasped, your fingers scrambling for a hold on his shoulders. "Please, Frankie, don't stop... fuck me, please, yes, right there, yes, yes, yes—"

The unbearable coil in your core finally snapped; your inner walls clamped down tight around his cock, pulsing in uncontrollable waves as a massive orgasm crashed over you.

You threw your head back as loud helpless cries spilled out as your whole body shuddered violently around him, and feeling you contract around him completely broke whatever control he had left. Frankie let out a curse, his hips snapping forward in a series of deep, desperate thrusts, driving straight into your climax.

"Fuck, you're so tight—" he groaned, his voice completely wrecked as his head dropped into the crook of your neck.

With one final stroke, he buried himself to the hilt and held himself there, his body stiffening as he came inside you, his heavy breaths and ragged groans hot against your skin while you both rode out the aftershocks.

He collapsed forward, taking most of his weight onto his elbows so he wouldn't crush you.

Slowly, Frankie pulled himself out, a hum escaping his throat as he rolled onto his side and immediately pulled you with him. He wrapped one arm around your waist, tugging you against his chest until your head was resting under his chin.

"Come here."

You slid one leg over his as you let your hand rest over his heart, feeling it hammer steadily beneath his warm skin. Frankie reached down and, with his thumb, traced small circles on your hip, while pressing soft kisses into your hair.

"You okay?"

"Better than okay," you whispered, a small smile pulling at your lips. You tilted your head up, catching his eye in the golden light of the lamp. "I missed you."

He leaned down, pressing a sweet, slow kiss to your lips; no rush, no desperation left.

"Me too, baby," he breathed against your mouth, pulling the blanket up over both of your shoulders to shield you from the cool night air. "I'm not letting you out of bed tomorrow."

You smiled, nestling your face deeper into the crook of his neck.

"You think they're wondering where we went? At the wedding, I mean."

Frankie let out a quiet chuckle. "Emma definitely is. We can head back soon, if you want. The reception's far from over. I know you don't wanna miss the rest of the night, huh."

"Yeah, you're right," you murmured, a gentle smile touching your lips at the thought. "I don't want to miss it."

"Good," Frankie whispered, wrapping both arms tighter around you and pulling you so close there wasn't a breath of air between your bodies. He pressed a long kiss to the top of your head. "So... five more minutes?"

You laughed softly. "Five more minutes."

The cool night air on the party barely helped with the flush still burning on your face. You were sensitive all over, your legs shaking and feeling like lead as you tried your absolute best to walk straight.

You had done what you could in the bathroom mirror, fixing your hair and fixing your makeup, but the telltale glow was impossible to hide. Frankie, on the other hand, looked infuriatingly intact. Except for a couple of faint bark smudges on his white shirt from climbing that tree, which were hidden under his jacket anyway; you’d never guess what he’d just been doing.

As you both stepped into the courtyard where the party was still going strong, Will was standing near the edge of the patio, holding Emma around the waist to keep her upright.

The second Emma spotted you, her arms shot up.

"There they are!" she yelled, completely smashed. She stumbled forward a step, squinting as her eyes tried to focus on your face. "Oh my god, how's Darcy?"

"He's fine, he was up in a tree, terrified, and Frankie had to—"

"Oh my god, you had sex!"

"Em!"

"It's all over your face!" Emma swung her glare over to Frankie, pointing an accusing finger. "You too! Oh my god, you two had sex! Together! You're back together!"

Your cheeks turned nuclear hot.

Will, still holding onto Emma, let out a massive grin. "Wait, what?"

You rolled your eyes, desperately trying to play it cool as you looked around the yard. "Where's Bill?"

"Over there," Will smirked, pointing with his chin. "Been at it a while."

You looked over and spotted Bill out in the middle of the dance floor, spinning Luna around by her hand while she laughed her head off, with Jamie shimmying his shoulders right beside them.

Frankie chuckled softly, leaning in a little. "She's having a blast, huh?"

Before you could answer, Benny yelled something unintelligible from the center of the crowd, making Will turn around on the spot.

"To the groom!" Benny shouted then, charging in to scoop Santi up off his feet.

Yov was standing right next to them, laughing hysterically while Santi, with a bunch of bright garlands tangled around his neck, balanced up in the air.

From up high, Santi spotted you and pointed an energetic finger right at you. "My sister!"

Laughing, you reached out and grabbed Frankie's hand, lacing your fingers with his as you pulled him straight into the crowd.

It was gonna be a long, long night.

You couldn't wait.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

At the risk of becoming self-victimizing, you think of yourself as collateral damage. The before-woman; the stepping stone shortcut to personal change.

It happened with Evan in your early twenties, who met his future girlfriend, whom he is still happily dating to this day, right in the middle of his relationship with you. With Carlos a year later, who met the woman he left you for at a party you invited him to; they got engaged two years later. Charlie too, who 'broke up' with you on the third date because he met someone else. Harry, of course, the trigger for all of this. And if your logic isn't failing you on this hungover morning, this is just another moment to add to your journal of broken hearts; of not being chosen.

Over the years, you think, you’ve become the prelude. The woman before the one, an emotional palate cleanser.

Want to meet your future wife? Date me first. You’re the opening act. The guy will probably bump into her on the street while he's technically still seeing you; she’ll drop her groceries, he'll help her pick them up, their fingers brushing against a head of broccoli, and just like that—fireworks, fate, the whole cinematic montage.

And you’ll be there too, of course. Standing just a few paces away, watching it unfold in real time, clutching your coffee and smiling like an idiot because you love love, even when it guts you. Who are you to stand in the way of destiny?

You’re starting to think this is your real calling. Maybe you should open a matchmaking service. It’d do numbers. You’d make a fortune. You could put Harry and Lisa on the website banner. Or maybe all the others; you have a solid portfolio under your belt.

Yeah, you're being dramatic, overly dramatic. Who cares?

You sigh, exhausted, and roll over in bed as you feel a lump forming in your throat, thinking that by your own logic, Francisco will meet the love of his life next. Because now, he's a new man. He must be ready for it.

New house, new car, new beginning. It wouldn't even surprise you if he met someone at Santi's wedding while you drown your sorrows in different glasses and different drinks.

But he isn't like the others. He isn't like Evan, Carlos, Charlie, or Harry. Because right before the end, right before everything came tumbling down like a house of cards after Christmas, you found yourself daydreaming about possibilities, about options that until then had felt distant and completely foreign.

You were so sure; you felt it in your heart. You could feel it radiating from him. No one had ever been able to tell you they loved you just with their eyes before, and no one had ever seen right through you the way your sworn enemy did. A kind of vulnerability that didn't hurt.

It was over. It was written in every bit of the careful distance he kept from you, so cautious and timid; in his measured words and polite support; in his averted gaze and stiff posture. It was all over him.

And because you're a big girl, you'll accept it with dignity because you have no other choice. There is no more room in your nature for painful, undignified reactions. There are no more fake boyfriends who can rescue you, no more lies to appease what you have to face. Just you, alone this time.

It doesn't matter. A broken heart isn't the end of the world, even when it feels like one. But even when you try to be realistic, you can't stop thinking about how beautiful it would have been—if it had been him.

You assume you have to get out of bed at some point. It’s the logical thing to do. But if you could just suppress your basic bodily needs for a little while longer, you’d stay right here all day.

Your bedroom door is shut, and the harsh sunlight filters through the curtain. You lie with your back to the window and your eyes closed, the covers pulled all the way up to your ears. There is no other way you could possibly exist right now.

You’ve always been good with hangovers. Your body usually bounces back quickly, almost as if the alcohol even makes your skin look better. But today, for some reason, is different. Your head throbbed and ached so intensely that it woke you up, and your legs felt heavier than ever.

Groaning, you let yourself toss and turn for a couple of hours, trying and failing to drift back to sleep. All you could do was think about last night. About everything.

Everything. The bittersweet feeling of celebrating Santi and Yov alongside his confession, the knowledge that your old house was now empty and ready to be lived in, the dull ache of your father's absence… and Frankie.

You drank a lot of drinks in his name last night. You celebrated so hard you’d think you were the one getting married. But no, what a joke; not even your ex-boyfriend was willing to show you a shred of sentimentality face to face.

You thought about him all morning, unable to stop torturing yourself with thoughts so…

What if he’s with someone else?

Your heart stopped in your chest for a second as you sat up in bed, squinting against the light. Mr. Darcy was sleeping soundly by your legs.

It made sense, didn’t it? Men usually act like they're completely over it when they’ve already moved on. Maybe that’s what you failed to see this whole time. If Frankie was acting so distant, so normal, so polite; could it be because he’s already involved with someone else?

Oh, God. Listen to yourself right now. You sound like one of those crazy people who overanalyze absolutely everything like emotional masochists.

You have to get out of this bed.

When you opened the door, you heard Emma's voice drifting from the kitchen. The clicking of her laptop keys let you know right away she was working, along with the constant "mhm" and "aha" she uttered every few seconds.

You went straight to the bathroom, where your reflection did you no favors. Messy hair, smudged eye makeup, eyes and mouth puffy from sleep. You washed your face with plenty of ice cold water and cleanser, then did the best you could with your hair, securing it with a claw clip at the top of your head.

While you got ready, Mr. Darcy stood right by your feet, guarding the empty space around you like an emotional guardian. He did the same when you stepped out into the hallway, and again as you walked into the kitchen with your laptop in hand, ready to set it up next to Emma's just so you could do something and feel useful.

“Good morning,” she said when she saw you, muting her mic for a second. “How are you feeling?”

You grimaced. “Like shit.”

“Here. This is for you.” She reached out, sliding a glass of water and an Alka Seltzer toward you.

Quietly and obediently, you took the Alka Seltzer while watching your laptop screen come to life.

Sitting in front of a screen when you felt like absolute shit was probably a terrible idea, but what else were you supposed to do?

You didn't want to think. About anything. You didn't want to think about the wedding, or the people you'd see there. You didn't want to think about what the hell you were going to do once this was all over; would you go back to New York? You didn't even want to think about what you were going to wear to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. You’d been trying to choose between three different dresses, but they all made you feel too much of this, too much of that, or too much of something else entirely. Everything was a decision: to speak or to stay quiet, to leave or to stay, this dress or that one.

Why the hell couldn't someone just tell you what to do?

Oh, yes. Donovan Darligheld could. With his red ink notes all over the manuscript you’d sent him, his directions and suggestions so clear and concise. He was a straightforward man who knew exactly what he wanted. What other choice did you have but to follow his lead?

It's nice to step into someone else's shoes, especially when they're fictional. There’s something soothing about living inside someone else’s head for a while when your own is out of commission. And if there was anyone more screwed up than you at this exact moment, it was Miles.

Oh, Miles, savior of the day.

Eager to write away your stress, you managed to finish the chapter that had kept you blocked for a week. Because it’s easy to write about Miles being miserable when you feel pretty miserable yourself. Creativity is easy that way.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Emma wrapped up her work and brewed a pot of coffee for the both of you.

"I was just talking to Will," she sighed, flopping onto the couch next to the cat. "Have you talked to Santi?"

That made you snap your head up immediately. "Why? Did something happen?"

You instantly reached for your phone, which sat silent and forgotten next to your laptop.

"Just that he had a terrible hangover," she answered. "But he left around twelve for that thing with Yov's parents."

"Oh, no."

You didn't have any messages from Santi, not even a missed call.

"Only Benny was left," Em added.

Of course, because Frankie had work early today, you thought.

"And how's Will?"

"Just like you'd imagine," she laughed. "I'm gonna go see him later. You wanna grab some food? I'm starving."

"I actually feel a little sick. I'm not hungry," you tilted your head, "but let's get something so you can eat, and I'll have some later when I feel better."

“You sure?”

You nodded.

"Uh, okay. So… how’re you feeling about last night?" Emma asked, tilting her head.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah?"

"Course I am."

"You sure?" She turned to face you, bathed in skepticism. "'Cause we can talk about it—"

"I know," you cut her off, suddenly straightening up as a heavy sigh slipped past your lips. "But what’s the point, honestly?"

"Talking helps," she said, raising her brows. She stood and got close to you "Just talking. Doesn’t have to have some big grand purpose."

You bit the inside of your cheek, hard. Anger bubbled up inside you like the steam from a whistling kettle, a ringing in your ear that had you slowly pressing your index finger against your earlobe.

Well, fuck it.

"I just don’t get it," you finally gave in. "I don’t get how or why he’s acting like this… so, I don't know, unbothered. I mean, I get he’s trying to be civil, but doesn’t he feel even a little urge to talk things out? Or is this just it? 'Cause what's the use in talking if he doesn't even care to fix a thing?"

Emma clicked her tongue. "Francisco’s being a fool. He probably thinks it’s over on your end, so he’s playing it cool," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Ain't no way I believe he’s over you. Not for a second."

Letting out a long sigh, you dragged a hand over your eyes and cracked a dry chuckle. "You really think so?"

"I know so. When he got back to Austin a few weeks ago, he went down to the bookstore looking for you. Did you know that?"

Your head snapped toward her. "What?"

"Yep. Didn’t tell you 'cause… well, I don’t know," she shook her head. "You were up in New York having a good time, and besides, he asked me not to say anything."

"Oh, so you’re just taking orders from him now?"

"No! Hold your horses, grumpy. I just didn’t wanna mess up your mood," she said, gently pushing her laptop away with one hand. "Didn't tell me what he wanted, probably just to talk, but he looked pretty let down when he saw me instead of you, obviously."

You pressed your lips together and rested your hands on the counter. "What did you tell him?"

"Told him you were in New York, which threw him off a bit. And when I asked if he wanted me to pass along a message, he said I better not mention he stopped by."

Silently, you ran your tongue over your top teeth.

"I don’t think he’s moved on," Emma went on gently. "I just think he’s trying to be polite for the sake of everything going on right now. And look, I get where he’s coming from, but it ain't fair to act like nothing ever happened. I won't lie to you, babe," she shook her head, "I know this hurts, and I know you wish he’d react differently. But he’s a grown man, and he’s gotta figure that out on his own. If he can’t see what he’s doing wrong, well… that’s his loss. You deserve way better than that."

You scoffed, your eyes stinging with tears. "Yeah, but… is it really his fault if he just doesn't care anymore? What if he’s just keeping things as they are because he doesn't feel like doing anything else? Is that so wrong?"

"Even if that were the case, he’s acting like a coward," she said, shaking her head firmly. "'Cause some things need to be said, if only to give you closure. And he's not giving you that."

A tight ache blossomed in your chest. You slouched your shoulders and ducked your head down.

"I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

Emma closed the distance instantly, leaning in to rest her head on your shoulder. Her fingers traced gentle, warm circles across your back.

"Alright. No more talking. But last thing, I swear: you deserve somebody who'll do whatever it takes to stand by you, no matter what."

"No, no, no. I'm sorry, Jimmy, but I am not apologizing to her because I didn't do anything wrong."

"You did—"

"No. All I did was say things to her face instead of going behind her back like everyone else does here. Is that wrong? Hey, Bethany, I'm talking to you!"

You raised your eyebrows, watching Noemí march up to Bethany and point a finger right at her.

"Tell her," you cheered.

Listen to this: Noemí and Bethany had been friends when the reality show first started. They got along great and made a good team. But then Sandra arrived, and the trouble began; she didn't just wedge herself between them, she also helped Bethany move in on Noemí’s love interest.

Bethany was a bitch.

"You're easy! Everyone here knows it!" Noemí gestured toward the rest of the cast. "You think we don't know you tried to sleep with David? He told me!"

"Oh, shit," you laughed, reaching out to pet Darcy as he strolled past the couch.

"That's a lie, you're a goddamn liar! Look at all the drama you make up just to avoid facing reality. And the reality is that nobody here likes you!"

"See, Darcy? That's why you should never underestimate people."

At your words, the cat flopped onto the rug, belly up, his whiskers high and proud.

"That's what I thought. Mhm."

You stretched out more comfortably along the couch, pulling the blanket a little higher over your shoulders.

The day had gone by quickly. I guess that's what happens when you wake up late and completely exhausted.

After eating, Emma left for Will's place, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You distracted yourself by writing for as long as your brain allowed (which was until about seven in the evening) and then decided the best thing to do was try to wash away some of the heavy weight you'd been carrying around.

You took a long, peaceful shower; you washed, exfoliated, moisturized, and did the whole routine, stepping out of the bathroom feeling renewed and smelling like a dessert.

By then, your appetite had kicked in, and you headed to the couch to eat, knowing that in half an hour a next Love Next Door episode would start. It was the reality show you’d watched religiously every single week since you moved to New York. Alex had originally shown it to you because a former high school classmate of her was on it, and then everything just clicked; you couldn't not watch it, you had to know what would happen. And this week, in particular, was juicy.

Now, Bethany was crying while Noemí laughed mockingly and shook her head.

You didn't buy any of it.

Just as Logan (David’s friend, and the one who had secretly told Noemí what her supposed friend had tried to do) was about to say something important, your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You let out a slightly frustrated sigh. Who dared to interrupt your Love Next Door time?

"Hey."

"Hey," a voice said on the other end. A tired Santi. "How are you?"

You smiled. "Can I ask you the same thing?"

He gave a humorless laugh. "I've had a day… a day."

"Are Yov's parents there?"

"Yeah, and his sister too," he sighed. "Jesus, I feel terrible. All I've wanted to do all day is sleep."

"What did Yov say to you?"

"Yov was the same way," he laughed. "Less miserable than me, at least. His parents were sweet, anyway. They let us rest a good bit, but then we went out to dinner. Did you know the restaurant on the corner of Jett is gone?"

"It’s a laundromat now."

"That's an odd choice. What the hell do they do with the kitchen?"

You shrugged, as if he could see you. "Maybe it's a laundromat with a kitchen, so you can go cook your meals while you wash your clothes."

He laughed. "I can hear the hangover in your voice. Have you eaten yet?"

"A little while ago."

"Drink some water. You never drink enough water."

"I have been drinking water, okay?" You sat up suddenly. "And what about you? You alright? I can hear your hangover, too."

"Hm."

You waited a moment to see if he had anything else to say.

"Hm," you mimicked, after his prolonged silence.

"So…" he started.

You grabbed the TV remote and hit pause.

"How much did I say last night?"

You pursed your lips. "Our old house is for sale, and you made an offer behind Yov's back. And she obviously has no idea."

"Right," he huffed a humorless laugh. "That… that's half true and half lie."

"How's that?"

"I did make an offer, but it was pretty informal."

You shook your head, your hand going up to your forehead. "Santi."

"I know, I know, alright? But it was a silly thing. I'm not buying a house without telling Yov, and I'm sure not using our savings or anything."

"You have to tell her about this. Even if your offer was casual or whatever. It's clear all this is getting to you."

You heard him sigh on the other end.

Silence fell between you.

"You really want the house?"

A beat. "I do. I mean… it's a great house, isn't it?"

"It is."

"I mean, it's got enough bedrooms, bathrooms, the yard is huge. You remember how much we played out there all the time?"

Flashing back to brief memories, you smiled. "Of course I do. Like when Mom got mad 'cause we had a mud fight in her garden," you laughed.

He chuckled. "Yeah."

Little feet out of the garden, your father used to repeat, teasing the two of you every time you went outside in the afternoons. Your mother had fenced it off with a green plastic fence and little wooden posts.

"I don't know if it's still the same, probably not," Santi continued, "but I'd love to see my kids growing up there, you know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah."

"Just picture it. In a few years, a full house. Kids running around, us in the kitchen having a glass of wine like Mom and Dad used to, making something good to eat 'cause the cool, rich aunt has come to visit from her glamorous life in New York."

That got a laugh out of you. "What are you even talking about?"

"What? You don't like the idea?"

"Of course I do. I can totally see myself as the cool, rich aunt. I'm manifesting it, y'know?"

"And the glamorous New York life?"

"I'm a simple woman. New York is fine, but without too much glamour."

"That's fair."

"And about the house—don't go changing the subject," you laughed softly. "Are you gonna talk to Yov?"

"Yeah, I plan to. Though I don't know when the right time is. I don't know if doing it tomorrow is right, and then during the wedding… I just… I don't know. What do you think I should do?"

"You can't put it off too long, that'll only make it worse. You should tell her tomorrow, after dinner. Present the idea, be honest. And if your offer wasn't anything serious, make sure to tell her that too. But you can't stretch this out until after the wedding. What, are you planning on telling her on your honeymoon?"

"No," he laughed.

"Thank goodness. So?"

You heard him sigh on the other end, letting out a sound that was half groan. "Tomorrow, after dinner."

"I'm gonna ask you about it tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am," he chuckled. "And what happened last night? How'd things go between you and Frankie?"

"What do you remember?"

"Eh. Just that it was you and him. Not much else."

In the silence, you stared at the paused TV screen, weighing how much you should say. Santi didn't remember a thing.

"Nothing happened," you said, shifting your gaze down to your feet. "Really, nothing."

"And is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It is what it is. And I think… I think it's for the best in our situation, isn't it?"

"Uh. But did you talk about anything?"

"No," you threw your head back. "I mean, Frankie was pretty polite and that's about it. Wished me a good life in New York and everything."

Santi clicked his tongue. "You're mad."

"I'm not mad," you protested. "Listen to what I'm saying, alright? It's fine. It's for the best."

With a push, you got up from the couch, letting the blanket drop to your feet.

You walked barefoot to the kitchen. "Frankie is doing his thing and I'm doing mine, and the only thing I care about right now is getting ready for your wedding and doing my own work. I'm happy for him, really."

"Uh-huh. And if I promise to talk to Yov about the house tomorrow, are you gonna be honest and talk to Frankie?"

You laughed. "What the hell are you talking about? I don't have anything to talk about."

"Really? Why's that?"

"Because he made it clear."

"There it is. What are we even talking about, now?"

You crossed your arms and leaned back against the counter, your fingers tracing your ribs.

You clenched your jaw, feeling the tension run straight to your teeth and temples.

"Santi, it's been almost a year. And a lot has happened, especially for him. I've seen how much he's changed, and I know that couldn't have been easy, and maybe…" you shrugged, feeling small, "… maybe I'm just not what he wants anymore."

"That's an awful lot to assume, bub."

You pressed your lips together and looked down at your feet.

"Well, you know him better, don't you? He's your best friend."

Applying a bit of pressure, you bit the inside of your cheek. A sudden, crushing weight broke into your chest.

An awful lot to assume. Yeah. Maybe it was a stretch, but did you even have another choice with how your brain was racing right now?

Assuming; that’s all you’d been doing for months on end. No matter what happened, nobody ever had the decency to be straight with you. So what then? With how tight-lipped everyone was, with how little they actually gave you, if you jumped to conclusions or just did the best you could with whatever crumbs of information you had, was that really on you?

"Have you talked to him about this?" The question came out a little bit harsh, fueled by your souring mood. "About what happened between us... did you say anything to him?"

A pause. "Uh, well, yeah, back when everything went down—"

"Yeah, I know. But I'm not talking about that fight."

"You made it pretty clear you didn't care."

Your eyes narrowed. "I thought it was pointlessly dramatic to drag it out back then. But I know you spoke to him again, I mean after Henry... after he passed."

"I did."

"So why keep me in the dark about it? Why didn't anyone mention he moved when he did? Why does nobody ever tell me anything?" As the words poured out, your anger spiraled. "You didn't even tell me he almost died. And then he just shows up again and everyone acts like it's business as usual. Like we just magically reset, right?"

"Hey, that's not—"

"No, Santi, it is," you snapped, your brow furrowing as your tone hardened. "Because I am exhausted. I'm sick of everyone sweeping everything under the rug. You did it from day one, all of you, hiding your fight, hiding his move, and every damn thing that followed. And then I'm left standing there looking like a complete fool whenever the truth leaks out, forced to pretend I wasn't completely blindsided—"

"I didn't think—I kept quiet because I knew how wrecked you were over it before, and I didn't want to rub salt in the wound. We've been over this, bub—"

"I'm pushing thirty. I know I'm your little sister, but that doesn't give you the right to curate my life or shield me from anything."

"I know," his voice dropped.

"And honestly... did you actually talk to Francisco about what happened, or did you just pull a tough-guy routine and tell him to stay away? Did you have a real conversation and actually back me up, or was it just two stubborn idiots beating their chests?"

On the other end, the line went deathly silent.

Santi sighed.

You swallowed hard. "Y'know, ever since I met Francisco and things were awful between us, I never asked you to take my side. And I’m not asking you to do that now either, 'cause it’s not fair and I'd like to think we're adults who can handle things better than that. But I wish that for once in your life, you had done more than just lecture him and then pretend like nothing ever happened. Because he broke my fucking heart."

"Bub, I… I was always on your side—"

"There are no sides here, we're not in middle school," you said, shaking your head.

"I know, Jesus, just—let me finish talking."

You pressed your lips together nervously. "Alright. Go on."

"You know I was always jumping in the middle whenever you two fought. I chewed Frankie out over it more than once, and we've been over this already, more than a few times. You're my sister, my baby sister. Maybe you didn't hear about it, but Frankie and me got into it good over that. And then you started dating, and suddenly I was the bad guy; just for telling you maybe you were moving too fast, to take it easy and be careful. And now I'm the bad guy again for going to see him after I found out what he did to you? For not handling things the exact way you wanted?"

"I know that's the reason you two didn't talk for months, I know it, but seriously, did you actually talk about it, or did you just scrap and then sweep it under the rug just 'cause the situation forced a reconciliation?"

"Yeah, we talked. And I think what's really bothering you right now isn't any of that, but seeing him and me talking normally. Tell me, does it make you feel like I don't give a damn about what he did to you?" He scoffed softly. "'Cause I do care. It's not like it's all water under the bridge like I'm just gonna forget what happened. I haven't."

"Yeah. It makes me feel exact like that."

"Well, I'm sorry. I promise you that's not the case. And trust me, I made sure he knows it, too. Just 'cause Frankie and me are talking right now don't mean it was easy getting here."

You looked up at the ceiling. "So what’d you tell him? I wanna know."

He took a quiet breath before sighing. "First off, that I was disappointed. Not just that he started talking to Rachel again, no matter the reason, but how he handled the whole thing. He had plenty of chances to be honest and he didn't do it. He failed to see he could trust you with it; and us, too. I told him he was a fool," you heard him shift on the other end, "and that he didn't deserve you."

Those last words went right through your chest. Hot tears immediately burned against your eyelids, welling up in an instant.

You swallowed them down, trying not to let your voice give you away. "And what'd he say to that?"

He waited a second. "That he knew."

You nodded in silence, sharing a quiet moment of solidarity with the emptiness of your kitchen and the frozen, paused image of Logan on your TV screen. Your throat tight, squeezing shut.

"I also told him he should talk to you," Santi continued. "'Cause he told me you two hadn't actually had a real conversation about it."

"That's true."

"Not in all this time?"

You shook your head, ducking down as if to make yourself smaller. "No."

"You haven't seen each other since Boston, maybe—"

"He won't. Francisco isn't gonna talk to me about it. He just doesn't do that, it's the whole reason we ended up the way we did."

"You think so? He's... he's made a lot of progress, bub. In a lot of areas of his life. He's not the same person he was last year."

"Maybe. You're probably right. But that doesn't mean he wants to talk about what happened. Besides, I doubt he'd want to do it in the middle of your wedding week. He won't want to cause any drama. He just won't," you wiped your cheek with your hand, smearing away the tears gathered there. "He won't."

A beat.

"Do you want him to?"

Your eyes burned again, and you offered a weak humorless smile.

But you kept the short, honest answer to yourself.

"Yesterday, when we were dragging your drunk ass out of the car, you said something," you reminded him, narrowing your eyes as your gaze drifted down to the kitchen counter.

"What did I say?"

"'Why didn't you tell her'?"

"Why didn't I tell her what? Who, Yov?"

"No, dumbass," a quiet laugh escaped your lips, "that’s what you said to Frankie."

"Oh," he chuckled. "I—I don't remember."

"You don't?"

"I told you, I barely even remember the two of you being there, that's it."

Doubtful, you nodded. "Fine. I believe you, for now."

"You want me to come over?"

"Santi, no," you sighed. "You can't."

"Why not? I don't like talking like this over the phone. You know I don't wanna fight with you."

"Listen to me," you ran a hand through your hair, "we're okay, alright? There are things that make me angry and I should've brought them up sooner, but that's all. We can talk another time. But seriously, everything is fine."

"You didn't sound fine a second ago."

"Santiago, I'm hungover, I'm hungry, and I'm emotional. Seeing Francisco yesterday was... I dunno, it was weird, and it brought up a lot of things. There are things that bother me and I just told you what they were, but that's it. I know what you told me is true, I trust you. And I know it might sound like childish complaining, but—"

"It isn't. It's not childish," he cut you off. "And I'm sorry for making you feel that way. I'm sorry for not being mature enough at times. I know I let my anger get the better of me back then with Frankie, and I know I should've been more transparent with you. I should've treated you differently from the start. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

Once again, you nodded as if he could see you.

"Thank you. I forgive you," you offered a faint smile, tilting your head and lifting your chin.

"Great, 'cause you're my favorite sister."

"Ha, ha. Because I'm your only sister, right?" You rolled your eyes. "Old joke, Pope."

"Pope?" He laughed. "Sounds weird coming from you."

"Why? Are only the guys allowed to call you that?"

"Well, no. You can call me Pope."

"Does Yov call you Pope?"

"No, but Papi sounds pretty close—"

"Ew! Shut up! Don't say that!" You pulled a disgusted face and feigned a gag. "What is wrong with you? I'm telling her."

Santi laughed on the other end of the line. "Grow up."

"You grow up, you're getting married on Saturday."

"Oh, man," he sighed. "I'm getting married on Saturday. Have you packed your stuff for tomorrow yet?"

"Not yet, but I'm only taking an overnight bag. How much could I possibly need? If I forget anything, I can always come back and get it."

"Try to avoid doing that, alright?" Suddenly, he sounded like the adult in the room. "I don't want you rushing back and forth for something. Even if it's close."

The Commodore Perry Estate wasn't far from your house; barely a fifteen-minute drive with good traffic. And tomorrow, after five, all the main guests would be checking into their rooms.

Santi had a point, even if he was overreacting a bit. But since it was his wedding, you let it slide.

"Don't worry, I'll have everything ready."

He huffed a soft laugh on the other end. "I need talk to you tomorrow. Face to face."

"About what, huh? Tomorrow is your rehearsal dinner, and you shouldn't be spending your energy on anything but your future wife and that house you want to buy but haven't told her about. I'm gonna be watching you, Santiago."

He laughed. "Now who's changing the subject?"

Rolling your eyes, you pushed yourself off the counter and walked back to the living room. There were just some things you didn't want to hear right now.

"I'm sorry."

"Nah. It's alright. Why don't you get some sleep? Want to grab a coffee tomorrow morning? I'm free until eleven."

"I have to work tomorrow. But you can come see me if you want."

"Alright. I'll be there. Love you, bub."

"Love you."

"Sleep tight. Take an aspirin."

"Yeah, yeah. You too."

Laughing softly on the other end, Santi hung up.

At three in the afternoon, you pulled down the bookstore’s blinds. It was a bit earlier than your usual closing time, but the day's commitments required it.

It had been a chaotic day. Between incoming shipments and a steady stream of customers, you spent the entire morning juggling tasks and organizing stock. The boxes from the new arrival sat piled up in the main aisle like a miniature Tower of Babel, and you were a hundred percent sure that misstepping off the small step stool while stocking the top shelf was the exact reason your lower back was now throbbing.

To make matters worse, you hadn't had a single cup of coffee.

Bill hadn't been working today, which meant no one dropped by with coffee and pastries; a cruel way to realize just how much you’d come to appreciate that habit of his. Still, he had a good excuse: a busy morning taking Julie to a doctor’s appointment. Just routine stuff, nothing to worry about.

None of the day's exhaustion really mattered, though, knowing that in a few hours you’d be sitting in a plush, luxurious hotel room with every comfort imaginable. No accounting reports, no stock lists, and no rude customers bending book spines backward—something you secretly agreed with doing, but only when the book was actually yours.

Out there, your only responsibility was to be a good guest, a good maid of honor, and, above all, a good sister.

Your small suitcase was already parked by the door when Will pulled up at four-thirty. You were balancing two garment bags over a couple of fingers, watching Emma cradle Mr. Darcy in her arms as they said their goodbyes.

Much to his dismay, Darcy wasn't coming to the hotel, obviously. The whole thing would be way too stressful for him (and for you, honestly) so you arranged for Ester, your neighbor from next door, to watch him.

She used to cat-sit before Emma moved to Austin, so she already knew all his little quirks and habits. She was a great sitter. Naturally, you’d still be coming back to check on him first thing tomorrow morning anyway.

As you shut the apartment door, you felt like an abandoner of a mother.

"He’s gonna be just fine. He’s a New York cat, remember? He’s probably used to this kind of thing by now," Emma teased, adjusting her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose as she walked toward Will’s car.

"Darcy?" he asked as you walked up.

Emma lifted her suitcase, Will took it. "Yep, getting left behind with another sitter."

"Who?"

"Ester, my neighbor." In one swift motion, you lifted your suitcase halfway before he took it and put it in the trunk. "She used to watch him before."

Carefully, you arranged your dresses alongside the luggage. Will waited for you to step back before closing the trunk lid.

He tilted his head. "She trustworthy?"

"’Course she is," you laughed. "Why? You a cat expert now?"

Will grinned, confident enough that his eyes lit up.

"Now, I don't wanna brag... but Bingley speaks real highly of me."

Smiling (and ignoring how the mention of the kitten inevitably brought his owner to mind) you got into the car and waited for Will and Emma to finish kissing behind the vehicle and finally decide it was time to leave. Honeymoon lovers.

Taking advantage of the moment, you pulled your phone out of your purse and opened your messages.

[You]: on my way to the Commodore :) wish me luck

After hitting send, you turned around and looked out the rear window at the storefront of Bill’s café.

The small tables were set up outside, packed with people enjoying their cups of coffee, tea, and smoothies.

Your phone buzzed in your lap.

[Bill ☕🍪]: good luck tonight !

[Bill ☕🍪]: tell me how it goes

[Bill ☕🍪]: if there’s any pilot causing a scene out there…

You smiled, shaking your head, just as Emma shut the car door after getting in.

[You]: I doubt it, he’ll probably keep his distance

[You]: I know you’re expecting movie drama, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen, sorry :(

The typing dots danced on the screen for a few seconds.

[Bill ☕🍪]: biggest fumble of the decade

[Bill ☕🍪]: that man needs someone to lay it out right in front of his face

[Bill ☕🍪]: I got a plan for tomorrow

[Bill ☕🍪]: nobody puts Baby in a corner

A small laugh escaped your lips as you read the last message.

Emma turned around to face you. "What's up?"

"Nothing, just Bill."

"The guy from the coffee shop?" Will asked, starting up the engine.

"Yeah," Emma answered him. "He's going to the wedding with her tomorrow, did you know?"

"Really? How is he, good guy?"

Emma scoffed. "Course he is. And he’s always been sooo sweet… now that she’s single, I doubt he's gonna waste any time."

"Em," you laughed, knowing she was just trying to stir the pot. But Will was all ears, and right then, you caught the subtle intentions behind your friend's words.

Will offered a polite smile and nodded, and right on cue, Emma looked back at you, smiled, and winked.

Looking down at your phone, you typed out:

[You]: what are you planning?

The typing dots appeared again.

Typing, typing, typing.

Buzz, buzz.

[Bill ☕🍪]: I got my ways, we’ll discuss it tomorrow

[Bill ☕🍪]: but just like I said

[Bill ☕🍪]: nobody puts Baby in a corner

What did it matter if your hair was still damp from the long, delicious shower you'd just taken, or if you were leaving vanilla-scented droplets on the delicate white duvet?

The bathrobe felt so good against your freshly exfoliated and prepped skin, like dozens of soft caresses trailing over your body; a body that was relaxed, clean, comfortable, and above all, exhausted.

WAKE UP!

You can’t fall asleep, what’s wrong with you?

I only closed my eyes for a second.

"Ugh," you groaned, letting out a sound that betrayed you were no longer in your fresh twenties, as you sat up on the comfortable bed and released a heavy sigh.

There wasn't much time left before you had to start getting ready. In fact, you should've been doing it already. But the second you walked into the room, you couldn't help wanting to enjoy it.

The bathroom was beautiful, complete with a massive soaking tub and plenty of miniature luxury products lined up on a little shelf, ready to be used. But you had brought your own things, and being a woman of habit and fixed routines (lately), you stuck to them.

You'd let the hot water wash over you, the steam ease your muscles, and simply allowed yourself to enjoy it.

Yes, you enjoyed it, even though you couldn't help thinking about how many other people had rested their bare bottoms right there, making you silently pray that the housekeeping here was top-tier. And that thought led you to stare at the tiles, and the grout between them; was it clean? What was that tiny spot over there?

You quickly realized you were spiraling, and knowing yourself well, you knew the root of the problem was your own anxiety. Not the tiles, not the tub, nor the imaginary strangers' bare bottoms.

Shortly after rinsing off and cleaning yourself up with a shower, you stepped out, wrapped yourself in a robe, and collapsed onto the bed.

It wasn't your fault you almost fell asleep. The room was spacious, dressed in shades of ivory, gray, and black. The bed looked like a fluffy cloud, with an iron canopy anchoring the center of the space, and above it, a glass lamp projected a warm light that you kept off, since enough daylight was still filtering through the arched windows framed by long cream-colored curtains. Right there, a set of French doors opened out onto a small balcony.

You had left your suitcase between the two upholstered armchairs next to a dark wood coffee table, and over the terracotta rug, your shoes were scattered everywhere.

Right. The time for indulgence was officially over; it was time to move.

Moving away from the cozy temptation of the bed, you walked to the dark wood coffee table and snapped open your suitcase.

You went to the vanity mirror first. Plugging in the hair dryer, you began the process, letting the whoosh air drown out any lingering anxious thoughts. And once your hair was completely dry, feeling incredibly soft and smelling faintly of the vanilla and argan oil you’d used, you began to style it.

You didn’t want something stiff or overly shellacked, just something… effortless. But elegant, still.

Section by section, you gathered your locks toward the crown of your head, and with smooth, precise strokes, you brushed it into place, securing the whole mass. Then, you expertly twisted the tail of hair and coiled it upward, pinning it firmly in place to create a sleek, sophisticated topknot. You made sure a few delicate strategic tendrils were left loose to softly frame your face, completing the look.

After a quick spray to hold it all in place, you returned to your suitcase. You pulled out the strapless bra you needed for the dress and adjusted it. Then, grabbing the tub of body lotion from your bag, you scooped out a generous amount.

Starting from your shoulders, you worked it in, feeling the coolness of the cream sink into your exfoliated skin, restoring that velvety feel as you covered every inch of your arms, legs, and collarbone. And then, fully prepped and relaxed once more, you turned and looked at the garment bag hanging from the iron canopy bed.

Unzipping the bag, you carefully lifted the dress from its hanger.

It was the right decision; a beautiful dusty, silvery-blue satin that seemed to catch and ripple the dim light of the room like liquid silk. As you stepped into it and pulled it up, the cool fabric glided effortlessly over your freshly moisturized skin. It felt like heaven.

The front featured a soft cascading cowl neckline that framed your collarbone and dipped just low enough to be subtly daring without losing its sophistication. It hugged your waist and hips in a sleek body skimming silhouette before falling gracefully to the floor. But the real drama lay in the details: sheer, ruffled ribbons of the same muted blue fabric spilled down from the side seams, cascading past your knees in delicate, fluid waves that would flutter with every step you took.

Stepping in front of the full-length mirror in your room, you smoothed down the front of the skirt.

You didn't want to sound too full of yourself, but you looked gorgeous. Even without having finished your makeup, you were pretty much ready to head out.

As it often happens during moments of anxiety or low motivation, taking the time to get ready and dress up could do wonders for your mood. And right now, you felt so much better.

Plus, you were right on track with the dress code: elegant, formal but not overly so; a classic cocktail vibe.

Earlier today, you'd sent a picture of the dress to Yov, asking if it was right or if it was too much… or maybe not enough? It depends. She told you it was perfect, adding a sweet, encouraging note: I bet you look drop dead gorgeous in it <3

You replied to her message with an embarrassed reaction pic, refraining from asking if she'd talked to Santi about anything. It was none of your business, and it definitely wasn't the time.

Either way…

It didn't take you long to do your makeup. It was just a rehearsal dinner, so you kept things pretty low-key. A touch of concealer here, a brush of blush there; high, curled lashes, your eyes done just the way you liked them, and a gloss only a shade darker than your natural lips. You grabbed your favorite perfume, spritzed it on all the key spots, and then sat on the edge of the bed.

[You]: u ready yet?

You sent the text to Emma and waited for her to reply with a not yet.

Her room with Will wasn't far from yours; maybe you could go keep her company so you wouldn't be stuck in here by yourself.

[Em🤍]: heading down

[Em🤍]: u there yet?

What?

What time was it?

Flicking your eyes up just a few centimeters to the top of your screen, you cursed under your breath. Two minutes to seven.

Had time seriously flown by that fast?

[You]: Leaving my room right now :)

Barefoot, you hurried over to grab your heels. Sitting on one of the armchairs, you slipped them on in a rush, awkwardly buckling the ankle strap before springing up as fast as you could. You snatched your purse off the bed and made a beeline for the door.

You opened it and stepped out, and instantly, the most delicious scent hit your nose. Your brows knitted together as you caught it, inhaling a bit deeper while pulling the door shut behind you. Oh, so good.

Spinning on your heel, you took a couple of hurried steps before coming to a dead halt.

Francisco. Standing right in front of the elevator.

His eyes snapped to you the second you stopped. It took you a microsecond to recover your composure and keep moving.

"Hey," he quietly said.

You didn't waste a second, taking him in from head to toe. He was wearing light gray tailored trousers, a crisp white shirt neatly tucked in, and a matching light gray blazer layered over it. On his feet were black dress shoes. And his hair, classic: styled yet artfully rumpled, with loose strands softly falling across his forehead. And resting on the bridge of his nose was a pair of glasses...

Oh, not his usual ones, but a new pair. Or at least ones you hadn't seen before. Delicate round metal frames that suited him entirely too well.

"Hey," you replied, taking another step closer.

The cologne was definitely his. Up close, the fragrance was stronger but far from overwhelming.

For some reason, you couldn't stop inhaling it.

"Heading down?" he asked, though he seemed to instantly realize how silly the question was, making a quiet self deprecating gesture.

A small smile touched your lips, just that.

He let out a subtle sigh and pressed the elevator button.

Fine. It was a good start, perhaps. If you faced him first now, maybe everything would be a little less awkward later.

Maybe. Maybe that sensation in your stomach right now wasn't butterflies or nerves, but something far more realistic and easily explained; maybe you were just reacting poorly to that tiny bottle of liquor you opened when you got to your room. You'd only had a couple of sips, that was all. Just to take the edge off. But it had a strange taste you couldn't quite place, even after reading the label, which didn't say much anyway, just a few herbal notes and not much else, and the alcohol content wasn't even that high, to be honest—

Ding.

With a gentle chime, the elevator doors slid open. Francisco extended a hand, inviting you to step inside first.

Without so much as looking at him, you slipped in and took a spot on the right side, keeping your eyes glued to the floor.

He walked in, bringing that intoxicating scent with him, and you cursed him all over again. He pressed the button for the lobby, and within seconds, the doors sealed shut completely.

You stole a split-second glance before snapping your eyes straight ahead once more.

Was any of this really necessary? Of all the days in the year, Francisco had chosen today to look like this, to smell like this, to carry that careful look in his eyes?

And with those damn glasses... who on earth did he think he was? Hugh Grant?

A faint, frustrated sigh escaped you almost before you could stop it.

Beside you, Frankie straightened up. "How—how have you been?"

You bit the inside of your cheek and glanced at him. "Fine."

He gave a single nod. "How was Yov's party? Did you have a good time?"

You stared straight ahead at the space above the doors, where the numbers ticked down as the elevator descended rapidly. "Yeah, it was good."

From the corner of your eye, you felt his gaze studying you, maybe waiting for more. But you gave him nothing.

Right then and there, you reached a hasty conclusion: staying as far away from him as possible was the only way forward. No talking unless absolutely necessary, no shared smiles, no quiet little moments; just the bare minimum to keep things from turning painful. For everyone's sake, but mostly for your own.

Mostly for your own, because your heart clearly hadn't gotten the memo, thumping like an idiot against your ribs.

Foolish, reckless heart.

The elevator doors parted, and Francisco appeared to say something, but his words muffled together in your ears. You didn't hear him, nor did you pause to try.

Feigning composure, you stepped out of the elevator and walked away from him without another thought, catching sight of a flower-lined path at the end of the long hallway to your left, leading toward the area where the main guests were gathered.

The clinking of a fork against a crystal glass cut the room’s chaos dead in its tracks.

Yov’s mom stood up. With one hand, she smoothed down her dress; with the other, she squeezed her husband’s fingers as he looked up from the table, no doubt relieved it wasn’t him holding the microphone.

Unhurriedly, you dabbed the corner of your lips with a napkin. Your dinner was half-finished, and two glasses of wine were already settling in.

"Alright, I promised I wouldn't get too sentimental, but looking at the two of you sitting there, it's impossible not to look back," she began, throwing a warm smile toward the couple at the head of the table. "Our Yov was always fiercely independent. A gentle yet resilient spirit, someone who worked endlessly for everything she wanted. Love was never a priority for her; a broken heart, as happens to us all in this life, had put that part of her world on hold. She had her goals, her projects, and a life fully built on her own terms. She didn't feel like anything was missing. And that was true."

From her seat, Yov let out a soft, nostalgic smile, dropping her eyes.

"We always told our children to chase their own freedom: study, work hard, live with honesty. That was our greatest wish for her. And then... Santiago came along," she paused, offering her son-in-law an affectionate look. "They started out as good friends. But Héctor and I knew it was something more from the very first time we heard Yov say his name. There was a different spark in her eyes. Of course, she fought it at first, clinging to her independence, feeling that deeply human fear of opening up to someone else. Because that's exactly what love demands."

A pang hit you right in the center of your chest. Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass, barely daring to blink.

"The thing is, Santi never came to change her or hold her back. He didn't come to be an anchor; he came to be a propel," she continued. "He became a true partner in life. Someone who didn't just stand by as she reached her dreams, but walked beside her through every single step; the bright days and the hard ones. They proved that real love doesn't cage you or weigh you down. It's free, it's equal, it's tender. It's about standing shoulder to shoulder in every choice, choosing each other every day without losing who you are along the way. It's about sharing that vulnerability."

She paused briefly, her eyes glistening with pride as she looked at them.

"We've watched you grow together these past few years, and this big step is only the beginning of a brand new chapter. Santi, you're already family, and we love you as a son. We wish you all the happiness in the world, and I can't wait to see what the future holds... Though I do know what I'm wishing for: grandkids!"

Yov burst into a laugh, burying her face in her hands, while Santi looked at her with a bright playful grin.

"We're all waiting for that!" your mom chimed in from her seat, raising her glass. "No pressure, of course."

As the laughter lingered, Santi reached for Yov's hand across the table and kissed her knuckles. Yov brushed away a happy tear.

Your throat burned, but the laughter offered a brief moment of relief. Still, a hot sting clung to the edges of your eyes.

God, love was a beautiful thing. Despite the fears, despite the armor, despite all the broken hearts left along the way... when love was this free and true, it was worth every damn risk.

Desperate for air, needing to escape the sudden wave of emotion threatening to swallow you whole, your eyes flicked almost involuntarily to the side.

To Francisco. Just right there.

He wasn’t laughing or clapping. He sat completely still, barely leaning against the back of his chair, staring straight at you.

But the second he realized he’d been caught, his brow twitched just a fraction of a millimeter. He looked away almost instantly, fixing his gaze on the glass of water in front of him.

Mai looked at him immediately, her gaze snapping toward you a second later. Unable to hold it, you looked away.

You'd seen her before dinner started, right when you went over to say hi to Ben. She'd given you a tight hug, asked how you were doing, and told you twice in a row how beautiful you looked. You'd told her she looked gorgeous too, which she really did. She and Ben looked completely in love.

"What a beautiful speech," Emma said beside you, and you were grateful for the distraction. "And so moving, right? Almost makes you wanna get married."

Will turned to her in a heartbeat. "I'm in."

Emma laughed and swatted his shoulder; he grinned, blushing.

"Yeah, it really was lovely. I honestly think Yov and Santi are soulmates," you said. "They're so lucky to have found each other."

"Yeah," Emma smiled, nodding. She rested her hand over yours. "You're my soulmate."

You smiled back. "And you're mine."

From the other side of Emma, Will sighed. "Man, I wonder who mine is."

She turned and locked eyes with him, pursing her lips. "Careful what you say, William."

He grinned. "You know I love it when you call me William."

"Ugh," you rolled your eyes, unable to hide the grin pulling at your lips, and turned the other way.

Your mom was chatting up a storm with Yov’s family. From what you could gather, they were already making plans for a family winter vacation right here in Austin.

It sounded promising, having your mom around. You didn't know how serious she actually was about spending time here, but deep down, you were getting excited like a little kid.

Everything was going to be fine. You were sure of it.

You asked for another glass of wine.

On a night like this, less than twenty four hours before her eldest son's wedding, it only makes sense for a mother to go on and on about how proud she is. But everyone at the rehearsal dinner knows the bride and groom all too well and shares that very same excitement. So, she settles for the next best thing to brag about: you.

Her only daughter, the cherished spitting image of her husband; so sharp, quick witted, so capable, so gorgeous, and oh, she's writing a book!

You had this exact conversation with your mom during Tuesday night's dinner, begging her please not to mention what the book was about or spill anything overly personal. And true to her word, she was keeping her promise.

Every time someone asked what the story was about, she'd offer a variation of:

“I can't tell you! But Donovan Darligheld is overseeing it. Do you know Donovan Darligheld? The one with the dog house book—no, the cerberuses! You know him?”

Most of the people on the receiving end of these chats were Yov's family, as they were the ones who knew the least about any of this. And while you loved that your mom was proud of you, you couldn't stop your cheeks from burning or your skin from prickling with sheer embarrassment.

Still, if you were being honest, this was far better than her cornering you with uncomfortable questions like: Has Francisco come over? Are you gonna talk to him? You want me to talk to him?

None of that was necessary. Frankie was polite enough to come by right as dinner wrapped up to greet your mom. He asked her a couple of quick questions about how she was doing and then quietly slipped away. But you didn't miss his underlying discomfort or the soft judging looks your mom shot him through her sweet smiles. Your mother never forgot a thing.

Her opinion on the matter was important to you, of course it was. She knew everything, having spent endless hours talking and laying it all on the line with you after she came back from Europe. You told her about Boston, about Rachel, about how it all went down and how it ended; about the accident, about that phone call outside the club. Everything. And her stance was crystal clear and unwavering.

One night, over a shared bottle of wine on the couch, she had told you:

"Honey, you gotta understand one thing: in this life, men will take advantage of you as much as you let them, in every way possible. If they know you'll forgive them, they'll just keep on doing it. You've gotta ask yourself if making a decision as huge as forgiveness is actually worth it. Not everyone deserves it. You think Francisco deserves it?"

Back then, you had shifted your gaze toward the coffee table in the middle of the living room.

Be honest, you told yourself. Deep down in your heart, you believed you knew him. You did know him.

He hurt you. He broke your heart. Yet every time you forced yourself to hate him or think the worst of him, it just felt… unnatural.

An idiot, a fool—that's what he was. A fool who didn't know how to handle the situation and ended up steamrolling your heart in the process. A professional at self-sabotage.

You weren't defending him, but you couldn't say with any certainty that he'd done it out of pure malice. You knew that wasn't the case.

"He's not a bad man," you replied, feeling like one of those women you had always analyzed or wanted to save; the kind you just want to grab by the shoulders and say, Wake up, he doesn't deserve you. "Do you think I'm lying to myself?"

She tilted her head, pausing for a moment. "No. I think you've always been good at reading people, at seeing right through them. You're perceptive, just like your dad. You see the good in people. And Francisco isn't a bad man, but what he did wasn't right. And you deserve more than that, which doesn't mean he can't give it to you."

She sat up straight and leaned in toward you, making sure to lock eyes with you as she continued:

"But he's gotta earn it, honey. I know you love him, but the only way you can forgive him is if he actually deserves it, if he proves that he cares about you enough to change and become the man you deserve. You can't accept anything less than that. You shouldn't accept anything less than that. Did I ever tell you about the time your dad and I split up?"

Confused, you frowned. "You two split up?"

"For two whole years, yes."

"Really?" You sat up straight. "Why didn't you ever tell us?"

"I don't know, I guess the occasion just never came up. But your dad and I met so young. He was in his first year of college and I was a freshman, y'know; the inexperienced, overprotected oldest daughter who had just left her hometown for the first time. Your dad was an adventurer; his life had been so different from mine." The smile that formed on her face was tinted with nostalgia. "We were polar opposites, plain and simple. But I fell in love with him as soon as I saw him, and when I got to know him better, I can tell you I knew right away he was the one."

Before you even realized it, your eyes were tearing up and your chest ached. Not entirely because of their love story, but because for the first time in years, your mom was talking about your dad, remembering your dad.

"But your grandparents didn't like him," she continued. "They didn't like how he was, who he was, or where he came from. But I didn't care. That was the first rebellious act of my life: loving him. No matter what, we stayed together for a year and a half, and I was so happy. But my parents decided to turn their backs on me, and they didn't speak to me for months. Your dad was furious; he couldn't understand how they could be so unfair."

"I didn't know that," you said, shaking your head. "I mean, I knew grandma and grandpa didn't like dad very much, but was it really that bad?"

"Yeah. Well, after years went by and Santi was born, they knew the only way to be around was to put their differences aside."

"Why didn't you ever tell us this? I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near them if I'd known how much they despised dad."

She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Your dad and I decided it was for the best."

You disagreed.

"Anyway, after a while, your dad started growin' distant. He was missing work, sleeping late, and over time we started fighting. Then one night he told me it was over, that he was bored, that he wasn't right for me, and I don't know what else. I got so mad, so angry with him, that I didn't even fight back. I just told him he was an idiot, immature, and I left," she revealed. "I walked away, time passed, and I didn't see him anymore. I graduated, found out he'd graduated too and moved to another state, and we never ran into each other for two whole years. And then, one afternoon I was leaving work, exhausted and in an awful mood, on my way to meet some friends at a downtown bar, and there I saw him again, sitting at a table with a group of friends. He was laughing, and that just pissed me off." She chuckled. "I mean, you can laugh like that even when we haven't seen each other for two full years?"

You laughed at that.

"So all that anger came rushin' back. I remembered his words, remembered everything he said the day he left me, and I just... walked up to him and let him have it. Everything I didn't say that day, I told him right there. Even if it felt useless, and it felt pretty useless at the time, I just had to say it."

"And what did he say to you?"

"That I was right. And I told him that what hurt the most was that during those two years, he never even tried to get me back. And he told me I'd never replied to a single letter or voice message."

"Oh no, mom, don't tell me it was the classic—"

"The classic 'what letters?' situation?" She laughed. "Yeah, it was. Turns out your dad wrote to me for months, but I'd moved out before any of them arrived. He wrote to your grandparents' house too, but they returned them all. And when I confronted them about it, they told me they thought it didn't matter 'cause our relationship was over anyway. Your dad confessed later that they'd paid him a visit a few weeks before our breakup. Oh, they told him such horrible things. The poor guy spent weeks torturing himself over it until he finally broke up with me."

"What did they tell him?"

She sighed and pressed her lips together. "You can imagine. That he was useless, that he wasn't good enough for me, that it was only a matter of time before I realized it and left him. So in a moment of panic, he broke up with me first. And that pissed me off, 'cause to me, how on earth could he believe my parents so easily instead of me, when I was constantly tellin' him I loved him and that we were meant to be?"

You shook your head, a sudden surge of fury burning inside you as you pictured those painful words. How could your grandparents have been such cruel wretches to your dad? You knew they had never gotten along, but this? It made you hate them.

"He felt terrible, and he apologized to me a hundred times. For not tellin' me, for just walkin' away. And I gave him another chance," she smiled, "but it wasn't easy. It was hard for me to trust him again, even if it wasn't a massive lie. 'Cause he'd still left me. He'd given more weight to your grandparents' words than mine. I told him that if it didn't work out, if he didn't get his act together, if he ever hid something like that from me again, I was gone. Of course, by then, things were different; he had his job, his own thing going, and I had mine. But from that moment on, your dad was different. He stood up to your grandparents with so much grace, he defended me against everything, and we worked real hard to build everything we had. Never, ever did he hide anything from me again. At least not that I ever found out about," she chuckled.

Her eyes were glassy by then, but the bright, steady smile on her lips took over her entire face.

"He grew up, sweetheart. He matured, and he made sure to become a better man. Otherwise, we never would've been what we were," she continued, her tone turning a bit more serious. "And yeah, it's not the exact same situation, but this is what you've gotta prioritize: you can't accept anything less, no matter how much you love him. You can love someone with all your heart, but the change has to come from them. If Francisco wants you back, he's gotta prove to you that he'll never hurt you again; and that takes time, and trust, and he has to earn it. And it's up to you to decide if it's worth it, if you feel in your heart that trying again is worth the effort."

Weeks had passed since that conversation, but every single word remained etched in your mind just as vividly as that night.

Was it worth trying? Did you even want to take him back?

In your mind, the answer was clear; so, so clear. But you didn't know if that possibility even existed in his thoughts.

Your mom liked Francisco, but she was mad at him for how he'd treated you. She knew about his therapy sessions, the move, everything you'd told her as soon as you found out. Because that was how you two were now: the mother and daughter who talked about everything—can you believe it? And at this party, you knew that if you needed to run off somewhere, you could always retreat into her arms.

Now, with the party spilling out into the backyard and all the guests holding drinks, it was easier for you to catch a breath of fresh air and look up at the dark sky, seeking a moment of calm.

You imagined this was exactly what it felt like in those movie scenes when the main character decides to just let life take them wherever it wants: with a hopeful gaze fixed on the sky, in the middle of a party, and a somewhat strange flutter in their chest.

Not that you thought you were the main character, huh. Just saying.

The sprawling, neatly manicured lawn of the Commodore stretched across the grounds, the golden lights making it look slightly yellower than it actually was; like a plush, velvety carpet of thick olive blades.

It looked so inviting that you felt the urge to kick off your heels and walk barefoot all the way to the last tree at the back, past the clustered bushes, the wide stone steps, and the water fountain.

With a quick glance behind you, you confirmed that everyone was completely lost in their own conversations. Your mom was chatting with Yov’s, the bridesmaids were plotting something in a corner, Santi and Yov were slow dancing a bit off to the side, and Will, Ben, Mai, and Emma were waiting at the bar inside.

You looked down at your feet and stepped onto the first stair, then took the rest until you were halfway down. Resting your hand on the marble railing, you reached down toward the buckle of your heel. You unclasped it, slipped the shoe off your foot, and quickly did the same with the other.

Barefoot, you finished going down the stairs, stepping quickly on tiptoes past the water fountain until you reached that lush green blanket of short grass.

When your feet finally touched it, you were pleasantly surprised by how cool and damp it felt.

You closed your eyes, taking in the chill beneath your soles and the breeze sweeping through the space between your waist and arms, making the skirt of your dress dance against your thighs.

As the air shifted, a few stray locks tickled the back of your neck, and you reached up to brush them away. And then, footsteps; steady against the solid ground just before the grass, coming right toward you.

When you turned, your face guarded first.

There he stopped—Francisco. Looking like a kid who knew he'd done something wrong by interrupting your quiet moment.

For a few seconds, you just stared at him in complete silence before turning your body fully toward him.

He spoke your name softly. "I'm sorry, I was wondering if it was possible... if we could talk for a second?"

Immediately, your heart began to hammer against your ribs.

He saw you hesitate, and at your uncertainty he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His fingers twitched only to force his hands deep into his pockets instead.

"Yeah?"

Frankie took a step forward, his eyes dropping to your bare feet against the damp grass. A tiny leaf from a bush was stuck to the tip of his shoe.

"The other night, in my car... about what we talked about, I don't think I was... I wasn't clear. I feel like I gave you the wrong impression."

"About what? About how glad you are that I'm moving to New York?"

He froze. "No..."

You let out a breath. You knew what he was about to say.

"Frankie, it's fine."

"But that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?" You offered a soft smile. "You're not glad I'm going to New York?"

He let out a quiet bitter laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

"I'm glad you're doing what you want to do. That you're taking this step, if it's what you truly want."

You gave a small nod.

"I know. Thank you. You said that the other night."

Frustrated, he dragged a hand across the back of his neck. His eyes dropped to the ground before locking onto yours again.

"What I'm tryin' to tell you is..." He paused, his breath catched in his throat. "...is that I'm gonna miss having you here."

His simple words made your racing heart skip a beat, coming to a dead stop for a fraction of a second. Heat rushed to your cheeks and your entire chest.

"And I couldn't help feeling like maybe... maybe the other night I made you feel... I don't know, I just felt like I said something wrong," he continued, searching your face. "It's not all the same to me that you're leaving. Beyond everything that happened between us, I knew coming back to Austin meant running into you again, and I knew it might be strange... but I was looking forward to it."

You lowered your gaze as your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy, because you listened to his words, and while they brought a flicker of comfort, it felt hollow. Friendly, safe.

"I know," you nodded, slipping a soft smile over your face like a mask.

He gave a quiet nod of his own.

"I know this isn't the time or the place, and I promise after this I'll leave you alone, but I..." He searched for the words, his eyes drifting to the dark lawn behind you. "I'm really, truly sorry. For everything. For absolutely everything. I—"

"It's okay."

He shut his mouth, though every line on his face said he wanted to say so much more.

"I mean it, Frankie—"

"Hey, c'mon! What are y'all doing over there?"

Both you and Francisco turned toward the voice; Fiona was hurrying toward you across the yard.

Frankie looked at you, his eyes lingering on your face as if pleading for a few more seconds. But you stepped off the grass and passed right by him; you could feel the weight of his eyes on your profile as the bridesmaid grabbed your arm.

"We need to take pictures, come on!" she urged, then paused, looking down. "Why are you barefoot?"

And as you walked back toward the party, you fought the urge to turn around and look at Frankie, walking a few steps behind in complete silence.

Cutting that conversation short felt necessary; because deep down, you were terrified that if he kept talking, he would say something that proved, once and for all, that this was nothing more than a final, definitive goodbye.

--> part two of this chapter is here!

dividers by @/saradika-graphics