Page 18 of June

I hadn't gone to the studio. I hadn't even changed out of my robe.

The confrontation with Aaron yesterday had gutted me in ways I didn't expect. I thought I'd been doing better—I was doing better. For months, I was rebuilding. Finding pieces of myself in places I forgot to look.

But yesterday cracked something open. Now, I just felt... raw. Quietly unraveling.

I padded into the kitchen, my hair still a mess, expecting the usual silence. Maybe a half cup of leftover coffee.

Instead, I found chaos. Waffles. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Toast with strawberry jam. Sliced mango and a pile of fresh blueberries. Fresh-squeezed orange juice. Even cookies. Chocolate chip. My favorite.

My dad stood in the middle of it all, humming off-key to some old-school jazz record, still in his flannel pajama pants and that faded NASA hoodie I bought him ten Christmases ago. He was holding a spatula like it was a weapon of mass nourishment.

I blinked.

"What... is this?"

He turned to me with a grin that lit up the entire kitchen.

"Cookies for my tough cookie."

I laughed despite myself, sinking into one of the chairs.

"You're ridiculous."

"Mm-hmm,"

he said, setting down a plate in front of me like it was a peace offering. "

You didn't go to the studio."

I picked at a piece of toast.

"I wasn't feeling it."

"June,"

he said gently, sitting across from me.

"You don't have to pretend."

I sighed and looked out the window.

"I was doing fine. I really was. I felt like myself again. Then he showed up and now... it's like I'm right back at square one. Angry. Sad. Small."

"You're not small,"

he said instantly.

"You're the biggest damn heart I've ever known."

My throat tightened.

"And you're allowed to feel angry,"

he went on.

"You're allowed to feel it all. He let you down. That doesn't just vanish because you've been healing. It's not a straight line. Some days you dance forward, other days you sit in your robe and eat bacon and feel like crap. It's all part of it."

I tried to smile.

"Very poetic, Dad."

He shrugged.

"What can I say? I've lived through my fair share of heartbreaks. And guess what? Every time, I thought I'd never get over it. Every time, I was wrong."

"I just feel... stupid."

"Don't you dare say that,"

he said, suddenly serious.

"You were brave enough to love someone with your whole heart. Brave enough to plan forever with him. And now? You're brave enough to keep going even when it hurts."

He reached across the table and took my hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

"You are not weak for feeling things deeply. That's your strength, Junebug. That's what makes you you. And anyone who can't see the magic in that? Isn't worth the front-row seat."

I looked at him, tears stinging the back of my eyes.

"I just want it to stop hurting."

"It will,"

he promised, voice quiet.

"Not all at once. But bit by bit. Some mornings you'll wake up and it'll be lighter. Some mornings you'll laugh at a dumb joke or burn your eggs or teach a nerdy boy how to waltz and forget, just for a moment, that your heart was ever broken."

Dad then smiled, then stood and walked around the table. He leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

"You're going to be okay, sweetheart. Not because you'll go back to who you were before him—but because you'll grow into someone even stronger. Even wiser. And still just as full of light."

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"And hey—when you dance your way through this? I'll be right here, watching. Always cheering."

I nodded, overwhelmed with quiet gratitude.

"Now eat,"

he said, patting my shoulder.

"Before I cry and start telling you about my first breakup with a girl named Belinda who only listened to ABBA."

I laughed again, full and real this time.

"God, please don't."

"Too late,"

he said, turning back to the stove.

"Dancing Queen changed my life."

He leaned down again and kissed my forehead. Not in a rush. Not distracted. Just that lingering, full-of-love kind of kiss that only dads can give.

"I'm proud of you,"

he whispered.

"Even on the days you don't move. Especially on those."

I blinked fast, nodding.

"Thanks, Dad."

After he left—muttering something about needing milk and bananas—I wandered back into the living room, still hugging a warm mug between my palms.

Then came the knock.

I froze.

I stood slowly, still wrapped in my robe, hair tied up in a loose bun that had mostly surrendered its shape. I wasn't expecting anyone.

When I opened the door, Liam stood there, holding a container cradled in both hands like it was fragile. And, of course, he looked perfectly him but more casual—dark hair neatly in place like the stars lined it up that way, a soft v-neck shirt that showed just a peek of his collarbone and a few freckles below, glasses slipping just a little down his nose.

But it was his eyes that stopped me. Piercing blue, clear and earnest.

"Um... morning, June,"

he said, voice soft and almost bashful.

I blinked, then caught myself staring at his neck and the hint of his chest.

"Oh—sorry,"

I mumbled, cheeks heating.

"I was just... do you have a tattoo?"

He chuckled and looked down, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah... I do...anyway,"

he held out the container toward me, almost like a peace offering.

"Made you something. Well, technically, my mom's recipe, but I added my own spin. It's a homemade blueberry crumble. With... um, star-shaped crusts. Like, galaxy crumbs."

I laughed.

"Galaxy crumbs?"

He nodded sheepishly.

"I thought it sounded cute in my head. Regret it immediately out loud."

"No, I like it,"

I said, taking the container.

"It's very... you."

"Which is to say chaotic, overly thematic, and possibly a sugar bomb?"

"Exactly,"

I said, grinning.

He looked relieved at my smile.

We stood there for a beat. Not awkward—just still.

"I just...you didn't sound okay yesterday and I wasn't sure if you'd be up for dancing today,"

he said, voice quieter.

"But I thought even if you weren't, I could bring you a snack and talk about random space stuff until you kicked me out."

I looked down at the container in my hands, heart folding a little.

"Come in,"

I said, stepping aside.

"I've got hot chocolate. And I think we both need a little universe in a bowl."

His smile grew, slow and real. "

Oh! you are speaking my language now"

he laughed.

"I'd like that."

He walked in slowly, taking in the soft lighting, the half-eaten breakfast on the table, and the stillness that lingered after a long morning. Then he glanced at me again, brow furrowed just slightly.

"You okay?"

I hesitated. Then nodded once.

"Getting there."

I set the crumble down, then turned back to him.

"I didn't go to the studio yesterday,"

I said.

"Aaron showed up. There was... a lot."

He didn't say anything at first. Just listened. His arms crossed loosely, head tilted like he wanted to understand every beat of it.

"I told him about my confrontaion with Aaron, how much he hurt me, about many insecurities he left me with and how I didn't even recognize myself after it.

"I'm sorry,"

I said quietly.

"For... dumping all this on you. About Aaron. I didn't mean to spiral into a monologue about my ex. It's not fair to you."

He blinked, taken aback for a moment, and then shook his head with that small, breathy laugh he did when he didn't want to sound too intense.

"June,"

he said, gently.

"you don't ever have to apologize to me for confiding"

I looked up at him.

"I don't see it as dumping. I see it as trusting."

He stepped a little closer, eyes searching mine.

"You let me in. That means more to me than you probably realize."

"But I—"

He held up a hand, softly, like he didn't want to cut me off, just hold the moment still.

"You're allowed to be in the middle of it. You're allowed to say it hurts and if you ever need to talk about Aaron again—or anything, really—you can. As many times as it takes."

I nodded, eyes burning.

He shifted, leaning a little closer.

"Can I tell you something nerdy?"

A broken laugh escaped me. "Always."

He smiled softly, then looked toward the window, like picturing something far beyond it.

He took a breath.

"Okay, so... you know the Pillars of Creation? The nebula?"

I blinked. "Yes?"

"Those big columns of dust and gas in the Eagle Nebula. They're beautiful. Legendary. But for years, scientists thought they were being destroyed by a nearby supernova. That they were already gone, and we were just seeing the light from the past."

I tilted my head.

"That's... dark."

"It gets better,"

he said.

"Turns out, they weren't gone. They're still there. Surviving. Even under pressure. Even with something trying to erase them, they kept shining. Kept making stars. New ones. Brighter ones."

He looked at me then, eyes soft.

"I know you feel like what Aaron did shattered you. But maybe all it did was clear the dust. Maybe you're not broken. Maybe you're becoming. Still building stars."

I stared at him, that ache behind my ribs cracking wide open—but this time, it didn't feel empty. It felt hopeful.

I took a shaky breath.

"You always do this, you know?"

"What?"

"Use space metaphors to emotionally wreck me."

He smiled.

"Occupational hazard."

"Thank you,"

I said, voice breaking on it, like all the emotion I'd been trying to hold together decided now was the perfect time to leak through.

Liam didn't rush to fill the silence. He just held my gaze, soft and steady, like he was anchoring me without even trying. Then he smiled—crooked and lopsided in that boyish, stupidly charming way that always seemed to show up right when I needed it most.

"Also,"

he said with a casual shrug.

"the crumble's not bad, right?"

That cracked something open—I let out a watery laugh and wiped at my cheeks.

"It's ridiculous. Cosmic even."

He perked up, eyes lighting with mock pride.

"Thank you. I like to think of it as a universe of flavor packed into a single bite."

I laughed again, shaking my head as he nudged the tray toward me with a grand little flourish.

"Well,"

he added, his grin widening.

"I am an astronomo-baker."

"A what now?"

He puffed out his chest dramatically.

"Astronomer by day. Baker by heartbreak. It's a niche field."

"Oh, is that what you do with all that cosmic dust and stardust metaphors?"

I teased.

"Turn them into dessert?"

"Exactly,"

he said solemnly.

"Each crumble is scientifically calibrated to soothe existential dread and post-breakup spirals."

"Oh, good,"

I said, taking another bite.

"I was worried I'd need to sign a waiver."

"You technically still do,"

he quipped.

"You're ingesting interstellar emotions. May cause side effects like warmth, emotional safety, and, unfortunately, developing a soft spot for nerds with poor dancing skills."

I nearly choked on my bite from laughing, then looked at him—really looked at him. His eyes were piercing, almost too blue under the glasses, and his hair had somehow found the perfect spot today, like it had an agenda to ruin me slowly.

"You know,"

I said softly.

"for someone who talks to stars for a living, you're awfully good at making someone feel grounded."

His expression shifted then, from playful to something a little gentler. A little deeper.

"And for someone who dances like sunlight,"

he said.

"you're good at holding the weight of the world."

I couldn't say anything else.

"Now eat the rest before I start quoting Carl Sagan again,"

he said, breaking the moment with a teasing glance.

"Oh God, please don't."

"But we are all made of star stuff, June—"

"I will throw this crumble at you."

He grinned.

"Worth it."

And just like that, for the first time in too long, the ache in my chest didn't feel so lonely.