Page 46

Then, her eyes find mine and the theatrics drop. She strides the last few steps and pulls me into a hug that’s all arms, warmth and fierce, steady grounding.

Not gentle. Not hesitant. The sort of hug that says: You're not alone.

“You’re here,” I murmur, the emotion catching hard in my throat.

“Where else would I be?” she says, squeezing tighter. “You think I’m letting you go through this on your own?”

Before I can answer, there’s a blur of motion to my right. Mia barrels across the lawn, braids bouncing, a blur of pink and freckles, all limbs and energy. “Naomi!” she cries, her voice cutting across the twilight like a spark.

Naomi spins, arms already open. Mia launches into her without hesitation, and Naomi catches her, laughing as she stumbles back a step under the force. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!” Mia beams.

Naomi turns, arms already open. “Figured I’d better show up before you replaced me with one of Kieran’s rockstar mates.”

“Too late,” Ryder declares, suddenly beside them with an arm slung around Mia’s shoulders. “She’s already chosen me. Bonded over fairy lights.”

Mia snorts, pleased with herself. “He says I’ve got ‘superior coordination skills’.”

“She does,” Ryder confirms. “Outshone me in every department. It’s a bit humbling.”

The laughter swells again, and it wraps around the entire group like another layer of the gathering night.

Through it all, Kieran lingers by the drinks table, watching with a quiet, steady smile that lands somewhere deep in my chest.

And somehow, in all this chaos, all this light. I feel something settle inside me. I’m not just existing anymore. I’m living again.

And it’s because of him .

I drift toward Kieran before I can think about it, drawn like a thread pulling taut between us.

He doesn’t look at me right away. His attention lingers on Mia and Ryder, who are now trying to convince Naomi to help hang a paper lantern from a wobbly ladder.

But I can feel the shift in him as I step closer.

“You had something to do with her being here, didn’t you?” I say, keeping my voice low so it doesn’t carry over the noise behind us.

He shifts his weight, mouth pulling into a sheepish half-smile. “Maybe.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Maybe?”

He drags a hand through his hair, messing it up even further, and lets out a breath. “She needed to be here,” he says. “You needed her. I didn’t think you’d ask... so I asked for you. I figured... if it were me, and I was going through something, I’d want my person close. And Naomi’s yours.”

A beat passes between us. The noise around us dips just enough for the moment to feel private. Like the night has made space for it.

“I didn’t want to make it harder,” I say quietly. “Didn’t want to burden anyone.”

He steps closer, close enough that the heat of him cuts through the chill between us. “You’re not a burden, Ellie,” he says, and there’s something fierce in his voice now. “You never were.”

I look away, blinking fast, swallowing against the lump rising hard in my throat. “Thank you,” I manage, the words soft but steady. “I don’t think I realised how much I needed her until she got out of that taxi.”

His eyes soften too, and he gives a small, almost bashful shrug, like it’s no big thing, like showing up for me isn’t extraordinary.

But it is. It’s everything.

“I just wanted you to have something good,” he says. “Even if it’s just one night.”

Somehow, I believe him. In this strange, beautiful, unsteady new beginning that doesn’t feel so impossible anymore. And for a moment, I just stand there, taking it in, letting it land.

I sink into one of the old deck chairs pulled up around the fire-pit, tugging a faded plaid blanket over my knees. The fire’s burning low now, its glow flickering gold across the garden like the night itself is breathing out, finally exhaling after a long, full day.

Everything has softened. Bellies are full. Hearts feel lighter. The buzz of laughter hums through the air, wrapped in the scent of wood smoke and scorched marshmallows.

From where I sit, I can see the whole evening unfolding like a snapshot I'll want to tuck away forever.

Mia is curled up on a hay bale nearby, her legs tucked beneath her, Buddy snoozing at her side like a fluffy little guardian. Ryder has just finished tucking a blanket around her, gentle for someone who was halfway to doing an aggressive worm across the garden two hours ago.

His usual chaos has quieted into something softer, something almost protective.

Near the drinks table, Naomi is holding court, animated and wild as she waves her hands in grand gestures, arguing about something I can’t quite make out. Either way, she has the guys in the palm of her hands.

Theo’s hiccupping with laughter between sips of beer, Luca’s pretending to be scandalised, and Naomi’s cheeks are flushed pink from wine and glee.

And Brian, bless him, is still pottering around like the quiet heartbeat of it all, gathering empty glasses with one hand, humming something soulful under his breath.

Every so often, he stops to adjust a lantern or poke at the fire—the flames dancing up to meet him like old friends. There’s peace in him tonight. A kind of calm that feels stitched into the stars overhead.

It’s perfect. Not in the curated, posed way David always insisted things should be. It’s the perfect you don't plan for—it just happens. The kind you fall into, without even realising how much you needed it.

Then… I feel him before I see him. The soft crunch of boots against grass. The shift of the air around me. Kieran moves into my periphery like he belongs there, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, firelight highlighting the stubble along his jaw in molten gold.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just stands there, close enough that the edges of our spaces blur, and it’s all I can do not to stare.

Because he’s devastating like this: backlit by firelight, hair a little messy, his soft hoodie clinging to the breadth of his shoulders, faded denim slung low on his hips.

He’s all easy warmth and quiet strength, and the sight of him winds something tight and aching low in my stomach.

It’s stupid how just the simple way he’s standing there can make me feel like the ground might shift right out from under me if I’m not careful.

His gaze sweeps across the lawn, taking it all in, and then lands on me. "Looks like they’re holding up alright," he says, nodding toward the chaos near the drinks table.

"For now," I reply, tucking the blanket tighter around me. "Give it twenty minutes and someone’s going to start a very bad rendition of 'Wonderwall.' "

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound curling around the edges of my heart. "My money’s on Naomi. She’s had her eye on that speaker all night.

I laugh, soft and genuine.

For a moment, we just sit there in the firelight’s warmth, the evening settling deeper around us.

And then he shifts, only slightly, but enough that it feels deliberate. An invitation. A spark. "Come dance with me," he says, voice low.

I blink up at him. "What?"

He holds out a hand toward me, palm open, patient. "Just one," he says, that familiar, boyish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The breeze lifts the edges of my cardigan. Somewhere nearby, a slow song winds through the night air, wrapped in the glow of fairy lights and firelight.

I should say no. I should retreat into the safety of stillness.

But looking at him with his hand outstretched and his eyes steady. It’s impossible to lean away from it.

So I slip my hand into his, and he pulls me to my feet, like we’ve done this before in another life.

Kieran’s fingers close around mine, warm and sure. The heat of him sinks straight through my skin. The callused press of his palm, the rough brush of his fingertips, the quiet steadiness in the way he holds me.

He leads me toward the patch of grass strung with fairy lights, the music from the barn spilling out in soft waves. His hand moves to my waist with the same careful reverence, the other still cradling mine like it’s something precious.

We sway together, barely moving, just enough to call it dancing. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, tracing invisible circles that feel more intimate than any kiss. I rest my free hand on his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing beneath my fingers, the steady heartbeat of him.

He smells like smoke, bergamot, and clean cotton, and it wraps around me, blurring the rest of the world. I tilt my head against him and let someone else hold the weight with me. Just for a moment. Just until it feels a little less heavy.

“You having a good night?”

I nod against his chest, my throat too tight for anything else.

When I glance up, he’s already looking at me. Like whatever I’m carrying, he’s already decided he’s strong enough to help shoulder it.

I feel his hand shift ever so slightly at my waist, fingers slipping beneath the open edge of my cardigan.

His thumb finds the thin fabric of my dress—barely a touch, barely a breath—and still, my whole body stills.

My breath catches like it’s snagged on a wire.

His hand is warm and steady, the kind that undoes you.

And I feel it. Not just on my skin, but somewhere deeper.

Like a spark catching a thread. Like the beginning of something that could burn.

I close my eyes for a second, trying to hold on to this moment. Because it’s… different. Not flashy or overdone. This? This is barefoot on the grass, stars overhead, laughter that’s real and easy. It’s comfort. Peace. This is him .

There’s a pull in my chest, low and insistent. Not fear. Not guilt. Something rawer. The need to tell him. To say it all out loud. Because he deserves to know. Because maybe saying it will make it real. And maybe once it’s real, I can let it go.

My voice catches in my throat for a second. But he waits, patient as ever, like he already knows I’m searching for the words.

“Hey,” I whisper, tightening my fingers where they’re curled in his hoodie.

He leans down a little, his forehead brushing mine, his voice low and careful. “Yeah?”

I swallow, the fire crackling somewhere behind us, the rest of the world slipping further away. “Is there somewhere we can go?” I ask. “Somewhere quiet?”

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. Just looks at me like he’s reading every thought tangled behind my eyes. And then he nods, the smallest, softest movement. No questions. No pressure. Just the same open hand he’s been holding out to me since the moment I called him.

“I know a spot,” he says gently, his thumb brushing once more over the back of my hand. “Come on.”

And without letting go, he leads me away from the firelight out toward the darkened fields where the stars gather like witnesses.