Page 108 of Pets in Space 10

The Kimura family estate, my home, looms ahead, a sprawling silhouette against the afternoon sky.

It’s meant to be imposing, I think, a testament to two generations of Kimura history on Orihimé.

Right now, it looks tired despite the gardens in bloom and the abundant greenery.

(Thanks, Dad.) A bright blue tarp flaps on a section of the roof, a temporary bandage over a wound in need of surgery.

Even the air feels different here — heavy with the scent of damp wood and something vaguely musty.

My knee throbs in rhythm with the limp I try to hide as I push open the complaining front gate. Each step up the worn path is a tiny battle, a war between what I want for my family, for me, for this house, for my life.

“This place has not gotten any better with age,” Raimei grumbles from the bag, his voice muffled by the fabric.

“It’s called character, fuzzball,” I mutter, fumbling with the stubborn lock on the front door.

“And home. And don’t act like you haven’t lived here for years.

” The door gives way with a protesting groan, swinging inward to reveal the familiar dim hallway.

The overhead light hasn’t worked in years, so I reach over to the lamp on the console table and turn it on.

“Character,” Raimei echoes. “Is that what we call impending structural collapse these days?”

I ignore him and deposit the bag near the entryway. I sigh as I stretch carefully, the ache in my knee radiating up my thigh. The conversation with Rhys replays in my head. His explanation, the raw apology in his eyes, the undeniable spark still flickering between us despite everything.

Complicated.

That was an understatement.

I follow the sound of rhythmic chopping towards the kitchen.

Sure enough, Demi stands at the large, scarred wooden island, attacking a pile of root vegetables with impressive ferocity.

Her brow is furrowed in concentration, her colorful hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.

The setting sun streams through the window, illuminating dust dancing in the air like tiny, indifferent fairies.

“Hey,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, trying to appear casual.

Demi glances up, her knife pausing mid-chop. Her eyes immediately drop to my knee brace. “How was therapy? Did Hana torture you sufficiently?”

“Today wasn’t therapy day. That was two days ago, and it was the usual blend of agony and encouragement,” I reply, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “She thinks I’m making progress.”

“Progress is good.” She resumes chopping, the knife hitting the cutting board with sharp, definitive thuds. “So, what did you do after work today?”

Here we go. I brace myself. “Actually, I… I tried a yoga class Hana suggested.”

Demi laughs as she swipes the veggies to the side. “Yoga? Since when are you the yoga type?”

“Since my knee decided to revolt and my therapist strong-armed me into it.” I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. I hobble forward and grab a raw carrot from the pile. “It was… interesting.”

“Oh yeah?”

I take a breath. Might as well rip off the bandage. “Yeah, the instructor was Rhys.”

Demi freezes, and her eyes narrow, her whole body tensing. She sets the knife down on the cutting board. “Rhys? That Rhys? The one who ghosted you into oblivion last year?”

“The very same.” I crunch on the carrot.

“Rosa, no.” Her voice is flat, hard. “Absolutely not. You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not serious about anything,” I counter, laughing. “I was surprised. It was awkward. We talked. It’s fine.”

“Talked? What’s there to talk about? He disappeared! Left you hanging after…” She trails off, but I know what she means. After I’d come home buzzing from the date, hopeful, only to spend the next week checking my messages like a fool.

I think about the conversation at Café Mela, how I’d walked in ready to hate him.

How I’d wanted to maintain the righteous anger that had kept me company for months.

But sitting across from him, watching his face as he explained about Chloe, seeing the genuine regret in his eyes.

.. something had shifted. Before our talk, he was just The Ghoster, a cautionary tale I told myself about men and dating.

Now he’s... yeah.

Complicated.

Human.

Still attractive as hell, which is infuriating. And there was the moment when his fingers brushed my elbow, sending sparks through me that had nothing to do with anger. I’m not ready to forgive him, not completely. But I’m not ready to walk away either.

“He explained,” I say, keeping my voice even.

Her eyes widen. “Explained what?” She’s very still, and I remind myself of how protective she is. Funny that, seeing as she’s the youngest of us all. But she has the heart of an artist, caring and true. It’s annoying sometimes, but she always means well.

“There was… stuff. With an ex. It was messy.”

“Or cowardly.” Demi crosses her arms. The protective sister vibe is radiating off her in waves. “He hurt you, Rosa. Badly. Why would you even entertain…”

“I’m not entertaining anything. I just… heard him out. And honestly? The yoga might help my knee.” It’s a weak defense, even to my own ears.

If I were helping a therapy patient, I would tell them to guard their heart. To not get involved again. To move on. Why can’t I follow my own advice?

“Oh, I bet it helps his ego, having you show up in his class after what he did.”

“That’s not fair, Demi.”

“What’s not fair is him getting a second chance to mess with your head. You should find a different yoga studio. I bet there are at least ten in town.”

The back door slams open, and Dad strides in, brushing dirt from his hands.

Denshi Kimura, former mayor, current meddler-in-chief of his children’s lives.

He’s probably been working in the garden all day, barely stopping to eat.

He loves it. His obsession with the garden, though, is better than his obsession with us.

He stops, his gaze sweeping over Demi’s rigid posture and my defensive stance.

“Everything all right in here?” His eyes land on my knee brace. “How’s the recovery coming? Physical therapist happy?”

“It’s coming along,” I say, forcing a smile. “Slowly.”

“Good, good.” He nods, though his eyes still hold an assessing look. “Focus on that. Get strong. We need you back on the field. And focused at the Agency. I’ve been hearing whispers about budget uncertainties down there.”

My stomach tightens. Of course, he’s heard whispers. He has ears everywhere. This must be worse than I thought. “Just rumors, Dad.”

“Rumors often have roots in reality.” He glances between me and Demi. “What was the commotion?”

Demi opens her mouth, probably to rat me out about Rhys, but I cut her off. “Just discussing… therapeutic options. For the knee.”

The last thing I need is Dad sticking his nose into my personal life.

I’ve watched him do it to every single one of my sisters — interrogating Winta’s dates, “coincidentally” showing up at Tilli’s workplace, manipulating Suri’s relationship with her ex, and even trying to micromanage Myra’s career pursuits.

Each time, it ended in tears, arguments, or both.

He means well. But his version of “helping” is more like bulldozing through our boundaries with his own ideas about what’s best. I’ve managed to fly under his radar so far, partly because I’m one of the youngest and partly because soccer kept me busy.

But now? With my knee injury and potential job uncertainty, I’m a prime target for the Denshi Kimura Improvement Plan.

If he finds out about Rhys... I can already imagine the background checks, the “casual” drop-ins at the yoga studio, the thinly veiled interrogations. No thank you. Some things need to stay private, and my complicated feelings about a certain yoga instructor qualify.

Dad frowns. “Stick to what the professionals tell you. No need for risky experiments. And no need for distractions.” His gaze sharpens, lingering on me for a second too long.

He knows something’s up. Dammit. The man has a nose for drama.

“Your career and your physical health, those are the priorities right now. Romance, complications… they can wait.”

Heat flares in my cheeks. It’s always the same — focus, priorities, expectations. As if life is just a checklist he expects me to complete.

“Right,” I say, my voice tight. “Priorities.” I push off the doorframe, the movement jarring my knee. I head to the fridge and grab my usual ice pack from the freezer. “I’m going to go ice this.”

I limp away, leaving Demi fuming and Dad frowning, the weight of their disapproval settling onto my already burdened shoulders.

Down the hall, my bedroom feels like a time capsule.

Worn textbooks sit stacked on dusty shelves, posters peel at the corners, and a faint crack runs through the ceiling plaster.

I spot a determined line of ants marching across the windowsill to a forgotten crumb.

Great. Add pest control to the house’s endless list of needed repairs.

Sinking onto the edge of my bed, I arrange the ice pack around my knee, the cold a welcome shock against the dull ache. Raimei hops up beside me, nudging my hand with his wet nose.

“Well, that was fun,” he comments. “Family discussions. Always so uplifting.” Raimei settles into a furry donut beside me. “You’re quiet. Contemplating your poor life choices?”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the support.”

“I’m merely pointing out that your track record with men is... questionable. Though this one did have nice biceps.” He sniffs. “And he smelled like sandalwood. Not terrible.”

“Are you giving your approval? You growled at him the entire time.”

“I maintain a healthy skepticism of all humans who aren’t you.” He stretches, tiny paws extending. “But I saw how he looked at you. Like you hung the moon or something equally nauseating.”

I roll my eyes. Not quite. “He ghosted me.”

“Yes, and you humans never make mistakes.” His tone drips with sarcasm. “Look, Rosa. Your knee is broken. Your job might be too. Maybe your heart deserves better odds.”

I blink, surprised. “That was... almost profound.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he huffs, closing his eyes. “Now scratch behind my ears. I’ve exhausted my wisdom quota for the day.”

I sigh, leaning back against the pillows and scratching as I was told to. Demi’s anger, Dad’s controlling concern, the ghost of Rhys hanging in the air… it’s all too much. I should listen to them. I should delete Rhys’s contact info, focus on PT, brace for the I.A. layoffs, and take up knitting.

But…

The memory of Rhys’s apology, the sincerity in his eyes, the way he looked at me across the café table… it tugs at something inside me. And Hana was right; the yoga, despite the instructor drama, had felt good. My muscles were looser, my mind quieter, at least until Rhys appeared.

Maybe Demi is right. Maybe Dad is right. Maybe Rhys is just a complication I don’t need.

Or they’re wrong. This could be exactly what I need, something unexpected, something that challenges me, something not defined by my injury or my job insecurity.

I close my eyes, the cold seeping into my knee, the rhythmic flicker of the roof tarp fluttering in the breeze a strange sort of metronome.

I’ll go back. To yoga. Just for the knee, I tell myself. Just to see if it helps. And if Rhys is there? Well, I’m an adult and I can handle it, right?

My mini tablet buzzes on the nightstand, its screen illuminating the dim room. I squint at the notification, my heart doing a ridiculous little flip when I see Rhys’s name.

“Tomorrow, 6 p.m. Beginner class. I promise not to make you do headstands. Yet. - Rhys.”

A warm flutter spreads through my chest, followed by a wave of self-doubt. This is stupid. I’m stupid. I should be running in the opposite direction, not contemplating more yoga with the man who vanished from my life without a word.

And yet...

My finger hovers over the screen. The message is what he promised. Communication. Simple, direct, with just enough playfulness to make me smile despite myself.

Maybe Raimei is right. A distraction is a good idea.

Decision made. I set the tablet down, the image of Rhys’s face lingering behind my eyelids as I drift into a pre-dinner nap, the creaks and groans of the old house whispering warnings I choose, for now, to ignore.