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“… a nd then Ariel, halfway through her set, grabbed a rookie’s phone, took a selfie with it, and sent it to his mom with the caption, ‘Having a great time, thanks for the birthday money, Janet!’”

I snort coffee through my nose. “Oh, my God. I feel so out of the loop.”

Mom laughs beside me, shaking her head at Queenie’s ongoing strip-club tales.

“That’s why you’ve got me, Angel Baby. I’ll always bring the tea, whether you’re on my payroll or not.” Queenie leans back in the patio chair and slings back a midday mimosa. “But I can’t say we don’t miss you fiercely. Len has been sulking for weeks.”

“I miss Len,” I muse. “I miss everyone.”

“No need to be a stranger. We’re only an hour away from your new place.”

My mother pulls the tomatoes off her BLT like some kind of monster. “Everly, maybe you can throw a housewarming party once you’re settled. Say the word and I’ll make the drive up here again. You know I have a few plants that need rehoming.”

I do know; she sent me a panorama photograph of her living room that doubles as a greenhouse. Then my nose wrinkles at the thought of hosting a housewarming party.

The guest list flashes through my mind: me, Isaac, a Los Angeles police detective, my traumatized best friend, a handful of strippers, and my mother with her small army of ferns.

“I’ll bring over the snake plant, the jade, and definitely that monstera,” Mom continues. “It’ll really brighten up your space.”

“I appreciate that, but we’re still in the renovation stage.” Just what I need, plants that could probably survive an apocalypse while I’m still trying to remember if I watered myself today. I stir my iced coffee with a plastic straw and watch the ice cubes clink. “We haven’t even picked out paint colors yet.”

“Do you need furniture? Décor, wall art, kitchenware?”

“I think we’re all set.”

“What does Isaac like?”

I refrain from saying, my vagina . “We’re both kind of minimalistic. Less is more.”

Queenie hums with appreciation. “You scored yourself a good one. My second husband was a hoarder.”

“Andre, right?” Mom inquires, her eyes flashing with old memories. “He had that commemorative ketchup packet shrine.”

“Man couldn’t throw away a single packet from 1987 to 2003.” Barking a laugh, Queenie swallows the rest of her mimosa. “Still leagues above Darrell and his emotional support mannequin.”

They both cackle, shouting in unison, “Margaret!”

As the two women play catch-up, I check the time on my phone. Isaac dropped me off at the café an hour ago while he left to go run errands in the city.

Errands.

The word sounds way too domesticated. Realistically, he’s probably lurking around a 7-Eleven, giving the store clerk the kind of stare that makes people confess to crimes they didn’t commit.

I nibble on my croissant, watching pedestrians drift past the San Francisco café as the sun pours down like a golden spotlight. A smile tugs at my lips, and I close my eyes, soaking in the warmth. There was a time I missed the sun more than anything. Then came the time I resented it—the glow made everything feel too bright, too perfect, like a happiness that couldn’t hold.

Now, I let it wash over me without expectation, taking what it offers. The world keeps moving, and I’ve learned to move with it, even when the light fades.

“What are you doing for work now, honey?” Queenie asks me, dabbing her lips with a napkin and leaving a ruby kiss behind.

Tugging on my ponytail, I straighten in the chair and stretch my smile. “I got a part-time job at a native wildlife sanctuary.”

“Spiders?” Mom wonders, her eyes wary.

“One. A giant, hairy tarantula, much bigger than Festus.” I grin when she winces, then glance down at the table. “Also…I just enrolled in a forensic science program at the community college.”

Mom drops her sandwich and gapes at me. “What? You didn’t tell me.”

“I signed the paperwork yesterday.” I chew on my lip, unable to tamp down the excitement whizzing through me. “I figured it’s never too late to pivot.”

She blinks half a dozen times, processing. “Forensics? After everything you’ve been through?”

“Yeah. If any good has come from my experience, it’s that I have a newfound appreciation for how the smallest details can make the biggest difference. So much can be hidden in plain sight—a single piece of evidence can unravel a whole story.” My eyes glaze over, adrenaline buzzing in my chest. “I spent years analyzing every little thing that could’ve gotten me out of that situation. Now I want to use that focus for something more…productive. I want to help others find answers.”

Queenie and Mom share a glance, their faces tenderizing before they both look over at me. My mother’s eyes water. She nods, reaching for my hand and squeezing gently.

Her dragonfly ring still rests on her finger, shimmering under the California sun— resilience and change , she told me.

Queenie sighs, clicking her tongue. “Always knew you were meant for big things. You live your life the same way you tell your stories: unapologetically.”

I fold my hands in my lap, my attention panning between the two strongest women in my life. Both mothers in their own way, both guiding lights. “It’s how I was raised.”

A familiar engine roars up beside us, and I glance left, catching sight of a rust-colored Jeep. My chest sizzles like a firecracker. It’s hardly been six months, and my physical reaction to seeing Isaac Porter in the flesh has never waned, not for a second.

Cheeks warm and pulse fluttering, I watch as he hops out and shuts the door, strolling behind the vehicle and finding my eyes across the sidewalk. The smallest smirk ticks up his mouth as he wedges a hip against the Jeep’s rear and folds his arms, watching me from a few yards away.

I know that look.

There are suspension ropes in the trunk.

Mom clears her throat, pulling me from the invisible current crackling between Isaac and me on a downtown city street. Queenie whistles under her breath.

Flustered, I reach for my iced coffee and chug half of it. “What?” I say through the swallow.

“King Kong is looking at you like he just found his new favorite skyscraper,” Queenie mutters with a wink.

Mom’s lips press into a thin line, but her eyes gleam with amusement. “I hope you warned him you’re not exactly a damsel.”

I chuckle. “Pretty sure he figured that out when I made him carry my groceries up three flights of stairs.”

“Good man.”

I wave at Isaac, summoning him over to the café patio. Begrudgingly, he looks both ways, almost like he’s searching for the nearest escape route.

Not much has changed.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Isaac enters through the gate, rifling his fingers through his hair and pausing a few steps from the table. He sends a nod to my mother and Queenie, then stuffs his hands into his pockets, shuffling from foot to foot.

Smiling widely, I reach for my purse and pull out a wad of bills, tossing them onto the table. “That’s my cue,” I say, standing from the chair. “I’m so glad we could do this today. I really needed it.”

Mom jumps to her feet, drawing me into a firm, motherly embrace. Her necklaces and bracelets jangle as she clutches me, smoothing a hand through my hair. “Love you, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”

I close my eyes and savor the moment. “Love you, too.”

“I’ll be staying with Queenie for the weekend. Allison is watching the animals.”

“Give her the biggest hug for me when you get back.”

“You know I will,” she says, inching away. “Let us know if you need help with the move.”

I nod. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

The two women exchange a mischievous glance. “With the amount of tequila on the menu, we won’t remember much of it.”

Laughing, I move away, blowing a kiss to Queenie as she raises her empty glass in my direction. Isaac grabs me by the hand the moment I’m close enough, linking our fingers together. His rough, calloused palm cradles mine and I sink into the warmth, the undeniable connection.

I peer up at him, a light breeze making my ponytail catch flight. “Hey. I missed you.”

We saunter onto the sidewalk and stroll past his Jeep, heading toward the downtown district that’s teeming with families and shoppers. Isaac glances skyward, squinting at the sun. “I know.” Then he looks down at me, his features softening as he scans my face, my dreamy-eyed expression, as my tongue pokes past my lips. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

I grin, tilting my head. “Oh, yeah? What kind of trouble?”

He leans closer, his voice dropping low. “The kind I can’t seem to stay away from.”

“Good. Sounds like my plan is working.”

His lips twitch in that almost-smile of his, the one that melts me every time.

These little moments are everything these days: the wind in my hair, children laughing, birds singing from treetops, the salt breeze on my skin.

His hand in mine.

I take nothing for granted anymore. I know, more than most, that these precious seconds are what stitch the canvas of life together. Tiny, fragile pieces that might seem small on their own, but together—they make us whole.

Pausing on the sidewalk, I pull my hand from his and point at the building signage on my right. It must be fate. “Oh! Pitstop.”

He frowns, his gaze following my finger. “Really?”

“I promised, right?”

His eyes dim for a beat, glazing over with memory, before sparking back to life. He waves me off, nodding.

I return ten minutes later, finding him right where I left him, leaning back against the brick siding. Tossing him a pack of cigarettes from the adjacent convenience store, I hold up my other treasure and waggle my eyebrows. “Ready to try it?”

“Do I have to?”

“It’s our thing. You bring the bubble tea, and I bring the cigarettes.” I shrug. “I saved you a trip and grabbed both.”

Grumbling, Isaac snatches the pink drink from my hand and takes a sip. His face immediately sours as he ingests the strawberry milk tea. “Disgusting, as predicted.” He hands me back the giant plastic cup. “Enjoy your sludge.”

With a chuckle, I watch him flip the cigarette box open a few times, drawing one out, then pushing it back inside. “What were you up to while I was at lunch?” I ask, slurping from my straw.

Isaac hums under his breath. “If I tell you, I’d spoil my very specific plans for later.” He glances back toward his Jeep and tucks the pack of cigarettes into his pocket. “Maybe I got you something, too. Your birthday is coming up.”

My eyes round through a gasp. “I knew there were suspension ropes in your trunk.”

“Along with gags and zip ties.”

I bite my lip and smile, stepping toward him. Swallowing, I clasp his face with both hands, finding his gaze and watching as the gold flecks flicker, swirling with brown. “Weird way to say you love me.”

His eyes shimmer with affection and heat as he reaches for me, tugging me close. Then he rests his chin on the top of my head and inhales deeply, pressing a kiss to my hair. “I tolerate you.”

“Yeah,” I whisper back, sliding into the warmth of his arms, knowing I finally found my place. My home. It’s more than four walls—more than a box on the ground, or a roof over my head. It’s the steady beat of his heart against mine. It’s safety and chaos, comfort and fire.

It’s him. It’s us.

“I tolerate you, too, Isaac.”