I muster a small smile, murmuring, "That's good."

Jake studies me for a moment. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, just tired," I lie smoothly, and he lets it slide.

After dinner, as our moms head out for their night, while the boys take off for the carnival, I settle back at the table outside, determined to immerse myself in writing. The house falls silent, filled only with the soft hum of the dishwasher and occasional creak of the floorboards.

Outside, the air is warm, thick with the scent of grass and salt from the lake. Crickets chirp softly, their sounds weaving into the night's calm. The sky stretches vast and navy above, dotted with stars, traces of sunset lingering at the horizon in stubborn strokes of purple and blue. Trees stand still, their leaves whispering secrets in the gentle breeze. Everything feels distant, simpler. Tonight, at least, the world is quiet, and I am at peace with its silence.

As I stare at the blinking cursor, trying to find words that could capture a love as deep as Alfie and Gracie's, the sudden sound of footsteps on the stairs sends a jolt through me. My heart hitches—I was sure I was alone. Looking up, I see Nate walking into the kitchen. The light falls across his strong jaw and angled features, casting subtle shadows that play up the intense look in his deep-set eyes. He's dressed casually in a black t-shirt that fits snugly across his broad shoulders, complemented by a backwards baseball cap that somehow adds to his rakish charm.

"I thought you'd gone to the carnival," he comments casually as he heads for the fridge.

"I need a break from crowds and drama," I respond, eyeing him warily. He moves with a familiarity that seems out of place after our strained talk. "Why didn't you go?"

He shrugs, leaning against the counter. "Same reasons."

I tilt my head, studying him. "Don't enjoy crowds and cotton candy?"

He lets out a laugh, then his jaw tightens. "When I was ten, yeah." He avoids eye contact, and I suspect it's because of our earlier conversation. "Where've you been hiding all day?"

"Just around, trying to find the right spot to write," I admit, aware of his intense focus. "Still haven't found it, so I'm settling for here tonight. At least the view's decent."

His eyes drift to my computer, curiosity flickering across his face. "What are you working on?"

It feels odd talking like this—almost normal, as if we're skirting around deeper issues, both of us waiting for the other to drop their guard again.

“Remember Alfie from the bookstore in town?" I say, leaning back. "He inspired something in me today."

A slow grin spreads across Nate's face, unexpectedly gentle. "You know, my favorite story you ever wrote was the one about Daisy and Archer's adventures to Illyria."

I blink, taken aback. "You remember that?"