Chapter 29

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen, rich and grounding, but it did little to settle the heat rising in Belly's cheeks. She stood by the counter, pouring herself a glass of orange juice she didn't really want, doing everything she could not to look up when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Her fingers trembled slightly as she twisted the cap back on the carton, droplets of juice splashed into the sink. She focused on the sharp scent of citrus, on the way the cold glass felt in her palm.

Amelia's laugh—soft, low, unmistakably intimate—reached her first. Then Conrad's voice followed, sleep-rough and warm, and Belly's heart fluttered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She swallowed, forcing herself to pretend she hadn't heard the slightest catch in her own breath.

Conrad entered first, barefoot, wearing a faded t-shirt and that sleepy grin that had once belonged only to Belly. He stretched, and glanced at her presence with a lazy curiosity. Amelia followed, hair still damp from a shower, her skin gleaming where water droplets clung to the curve of her neck. She placed a hand on Conrad's lower back as she passed, then reached for a mug in the cabinet with a precision that spoke of practiced domesticity.

"Morning," Amelia said easily, her tone calm but not unaware. She poured herself coffee, inhaling the steam. The mug felt comforting in her fingers as she offered a polite smile in Belly's direction.

"Morning," Belly managed, her voice tighter than she intended. She kept her eyes on the juice, watched the condensation creep down the glass like finger-painted tears. She could feel Conrad's gaze drifting toward her, curious at her silence and lack of eye contact, and her stomach flipped.

Jeremiah appeared behind her, his arm slipping around her waist, breaking the tension like sunlight through fog. He pressed his cheek to her hair. "Hey, we actually beat you guys down here for once," he said, smiling at Conrad. "Must be a first."

Conrad's laugh was light. "Tried sleeping in but couldn't. The gulls were loud."

Amelia bit back a knowing smirk and handed him his mug. "Or maybe someone just had a rough night."

Belly focused on her juice, pretending to inspect the tiny bubbles that clung to the inside of the glass. She could almost feel Amelia's eyes on her, calculating. She forced herself to take a slow, steady breath. The beach house walls were thin, but she'd managed to bury the sound of last night's awful, intimate noises under every excuse in her mind.

Oblivious to the undercurrent, Jeremiah leaned against the counter. "So, Belly and I were thinking of heading back to Boston for a few days. I need to head back for work."

"Oh, okay," Amelia said, tilting her head. She took a measured sip of coffee, letting it linger on her tongue.

Jeremiah then looked over at his brother. "Hey, don't forget dinner with Dad on Saturday. He's expecting us both. Seven sharp."

Conrad frowned slightly. "That's the same day as the bridal shower, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Jeremiah said, glancing between him and Amelia. "I'm sure Amelia will make it to the shower, right?" He smiled at her, hopeful.

Amelia's polite smile flickered but held. "I'll have to play it by ear in case work needs me, otherwise sure." She paused, eyes on Belly now. "Wouldn't want to miss it."

There was a brief silence—a beat too long—before Belly added quickly, "You don't have to. It's just a few friends, nothing major." Her voice wobbled at the end.

"Still," Amelia said lightly, stirring her coffee once before setting the spoon down, "it's a big day. I'll see what I can do."

Jeremiah slung his arm around Belly, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "Alright, we should get going before traffic gets bad." He glanced at his watch. "Plus, I promised Dad I'd pick up some pastries from the bakery in town."

Conrad nodded, giving his brother a half-hug, then a quieter, "Drive safe, yeah?"

"We will," Jeremiah said, grabbing the car keys. He turned to Belly. "You ready, Bells?"

Belly swallowed and squared her shoulders. "Yep. Let me just—" She set the juice down and followed him toward the door, her voice cheerful but tight. "Bye, guys."

"Bye," Amelia said, smiling faintly as she watched them leave. When the door closed, the house fell into stillness again—only the sound of the breeze through the open window, and the faint clink of Conrad setting down his mug.

Amelia turned to him with a knowing smirk. "You realize she couldn't even look either of us in the eye, right?"

Conrad groaned softly, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I noticed." He folded his arms, leaning against the island, trying to look casual.

Amelia's laugh was quiet, teasing. "Guess the walls here are thinner than I thought."

Conrad watched her, knowing they couldn't avoid what needed to be said like they had last night, and Amelia noticed the shift immediately. She stopped, arms folding across her chest, and stared at the spot where they'd just been.

He sighed softly. "We can't just use sex to avoid talking about our problems."

Amelia's lips curved into a humourless half-smile. "You didn't seem to mind it last night." Her voice was low but carried the weight of a night of simmering resentment.

"Amelia," he warned, tone low but careful.

She let out a long, shaky breath, fingers tightening on her arms. "I have held my tongue, Conrad. I have fucking held it this entire time. Out of respect for you. Out of respect for your family. But I am not a saint, and I have a limit that is being pushed."

He took a hesitant step forward. "I know," he said quickly, his voice soft, almost pleading.

Her gaze snapped to him, ice in her eyes. "I don't think you fully do. I can handle her looking at you with her big brown eyes. I can even handle you rekindling your friendship in spite of those looks. What I can not handle is her alluding to your past sex life at the dinner table." Each word was precise, measured. "And it is fucking diabolical that she even did that to start with."

"I know, Amelia, I swear." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt warring in his expression. "If you want, we can fly back to California today. Skip the wedding. Not look back."

Amelia threw her hands up, exasperated. "You're not listening to me, Conrad!"

He stepped closer, palms up in surrender. "Then what do you want me to do, Amelia? I love you. If I could rip my heart out and hand it to you as proof, I would. How can I convince you that I only want you?"

Her eyes softened for a moment, but her voice didn't. "I don't need proof. I'm not questioning you—or if you want to be with me. I'm pissed off that there isn't a line being drawn, and she doesn't realize how crazy her behaviour is."

"I know," he repeated, voice low. "I'll say something to her, okay? The next time I see her, I swear I will."

She shook her head. "It shouldn't take me being upset to prompt you to have that kind of conversation." Her tone stayed calm, controlled, but her pulse was visibly racing at the base of her throat. "Forget about your history with her. Think of her as just a girl who's engaged to your brother. Can you honestly say you're okay with Jere marrying a girl who clearly has mixed feelings?"

Conrad hesitated. "I don't think she has feelings for me—she's been with Jere—"

"Be fucking for real right now, Conrad." The words landed like a quiet slap. "I refuse to believe you're that oblivious."

"No, its—" he looked down, exhaling through his nose. "It's like you said that night of the memorial. I'm not oblivious to the looks, to the way she's been acting. But I think... it's like you said, she hasn't given herself the time to process what happened between me and her."

"That only works as an explanation, not an excuse."

"I'm not trying to excuse it. I don't want to excuse it." He rubbed his temples.

"Look, I know that you and Belly share a history that I will never honestly know the depth of. I know that your lives are always going to be entwined through Jere. Through Laurel and Steven. The last thing I want is to be the outsider who tears you away from people who've known you since before you knew yourself."

Silence filled the room, thick and humming. Amelia's chest rose and fell quickly, the only sound the faint lapping of water outside.

Finally, she said quietly, "If you don't talk to her, I will. And I will not be kind and sympathetic to her circumstances. And then the next time you'll see me is when I hand over my copy of the apartment key. This is the line. Am I being clear?"

Conrad nodded slowly. "Crystal. I wouldn't want you to stay with me if I couldn't do something as simple as this."

The tension ebbed, leaving something quieter—not peace, but understanding. Amelia studied him, her expression unreadable. "Are you going to be honest with your brother too?"

He let out a deep breath. "I don't—I don't honestly know. Would he even believe me?"

"I think you don't give him enough credit," she said softly. "He probably saw the way she was behaving well before you did."

Conrad's shoulders slumped. "You're right. I'll mention it when I see him next, at dinner while you're at the shower."

Amelia blinked, disbelieving. "You can't honestly think I'm going to that, do you?"

"Amelia, please." He stepped forward again, his tone gentle. "I promise I'm going to talk to her about the way she's been treating you."

"Regardless of how that conversation goes, it would still be weird for me to go." Her voice softened now, exhaustion seeping in. "It's her bridal shower, Conrad. I'd feel like a hypocrite."

He nodded. "Okay, yes, I'll admit it'll be weird. But..." He reached out, taking her hands in his, his thumb brushing the inside of her left ring finger—a small, grounding gesture. "One day, I'll be marrying you. And that means she'll not only be my sister-in-law, but yours too. And if that isn't enough, Laurel's always been like a second mum to me—her family's my family. She'll be our family."

Amelia exhaled slowly, rolling her eyes, but the edge in her shoulders eased. "As far as we know, Laurel isn't even going to be there."

"Steven will be," Conrad said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "And it might be a good place to reset things between you and Belly. A fresh start."

Amelia lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Right. And maybe I'll win a gold medal in gymnastics while I'm there." She meets his eyes, her expression softening despite herself. "Conrad. You know that's not how this works."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Come on, it's only one event. Please? For me?"

Amelia sighed against him. "God, it's infuriating when you're so calm and borderline reasonable."

He grinned. "Mm, you love me."

"Shut up." She shoved him lightly in the chest, stepping around him to leave the kitchen.

Conrad laughed under his breath. "Admit that you love me."

Her voice echoed from the hallway, teasing. "I'm walking away now!"

Conrad called after her, smiling despite himself, "Amelia Harrington, you know you love me!"

Her laughter trailed back through the house, drifting out an open window until it mingled with the sound of the waves.

I'm such a hypocrite, Conrad thought as the days passed.

It was one thing to agree to have a difficult conversation. It was another to actually do it. It was easy to tell yourself you'd handle things "next time" — easier still when you didn't see the person for days.

But looking up to see Belly walking up the front path as he crouched in the grass, hands covered in dirt and water spraying weakly from a busted sprinkler head, made that familiar weight sink right back into his gut.

She paused at the edge of the lawn, sun rippling across her bare arms. The look on her face did not put him at ease. She's already upset

"Hey," he said, voice hoarse, wiping his palms on his shorts. The words tasted foreign.

"Hi," she replied, slowing her step. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "What are you—?"

"Sprinkler head's fucked up," Conrad muttered, mostly to himself. He rose halfway, still holding the wrench. "Water's spraying everywhere." "Yeah, I see it." Belly stepped closer, peering at the jagged metal.

"So—how'd the club go?" He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, searching her face. "Fine," she said, voice neutral as she folded her arms.

"Oh. Cool." He ran a thumb along the wrench handle, then looked up at her. An awkward quiet settled, thicker than the summer heat.

Belly cleared her throat and glanced at the house. "Hey, are you still cool with me catching a ride into Philly tomorrow for the bridal shower?"

Conrad's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Yeah, should be fine." He stood fully now, tightening the nozzle with a satisfying click. "Amelia will actually be the one driving." He glanced sideways at Belly. "I'm taking the train to Boston that morning." "Really?" she said, brow lifting. "She offered?"

"Yeah—well, I asked if she wouldn't mind. I'd prefer for her to have the car in case she needs to head back for anything."

He turned the wrench over in his hand, unwilling to make eye contact.

Belly hesitated. "Um, is she still okay with coming? I didn't want to force her."

"Why wouldn't she want to come" Conrad's voice was mild, but Belly saw a crease appear between his brows. "Unless you don't want her there?"

"No, I'm fine with it," she said a little too quickly, rubbing her forearm. "I just—didn't want her to go out of her way." "Right," he said, nodding slowly. He set the wrench down and folded his arms. "And Laurel? Any update on whether she'll show up?"

Belly's smile wavered. "Nope."

"Okay." Conrad let out a breath, glancing at the way the sprinkler's hose kinked in the grass.

They both watched the water drip from the broken head, each lost in their own thoughts. He listened to the squeak of the porch swing and the breeze moving through trees. The moment stretched until Conrad realized he couldn't keep avoiding it.

He swallowed. "Actually—can we talk?"

Belly turned her head. "About what?" Her voice was light, but Conrad could see confusion flicker in her eyes.

"Us. And—well—Amelia." He dug his palm into his hair, refusing to meet her gaze. "That night at dinner—when you were, um, drinking—some of the things you said..."

Her expression tightened. "Why are we having this conversation now?"

He exhaled sharply. "You started talking about our sex life from over four years ago. In front of my girlfriend."

Belly groaned, crossing her arms. "Oh my God, it wasn't that big of a deal. I was tipsy, Conrad—" "It was a big deal to me," he interrupted, lifting a finger. "I'd like you to respect her—and our relationship—and not drag up irrelevant intimate stuff in front of her."

Belly rolled her eyes. "We're grown-ups, Conrad. We've had sex before, big surprise."

Conrads eyes narrow at her tone. "No. Don't try to brush this off. I just— I just want you to treat her with the same courtesy you treat me. Is that so hard?"

She huffed, eyes darting away. "I'm not the villain here. I made a mistake, I'm sorry."

He softened his tone. "I'm not trying to villainise you, Belly. But I need you to understand why it matters. I love her. I plan to marry her one day. If you're my family too, I need you on board, not pushing her away."

Belly's gaze faltered, and for a second she looked genuinely remorseful. "Okay. I get it. I'll be more mindful."

Conrad nodded, relief flooding through him. "That's all I ask." They stood in silence again, the broken sprinkler hissing between them like a third party to the truce.

"Alright," Belly said after a moment, sliding her hands into her pockets. "If there's nothing else..."

"Yeah," Conrad replied softly. "Nothing else." He watched her turn and walk up the path, her sandals leaving light imprints on the concrete.

He waited until the screen door clicked shut behind her before running a hand over his face. The air felt clearer now, but he was still rattled. Picking up the wrench, he knelt at the sprinkler again, focusing on the familiar task of unscrewing the damaged head.

Inside, the house was cool and smelled of brewed coffee and breezy linen. Amelia sat on the couch, knees tucked under her, laptop open and glowing. She looked up as he closed the door behind him.

"Belly's back," she said quietly.

Conrad paused, leaning against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up. "Yeah. We, uh, we talked," he said at last, stepping into the room. He perched on the edge of the coffee table, the faint tick of a clock the only other sound. "She promised to be more aware of what she says and does."

Amelia's face remained unreadable, but her eyes held a flicker of unease. "Okay."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "That means you have to let me know if she slips up again. She's had her warning." She closed her laptop deliberately, then turned to face him. "Okay," she said softly. "If she says anything, I'll let you know." Conrad nodded, gratitude easing the tension in his chest. "Thank you."

A comfortable silence settled between them, warm and cautious. He traced a line on the wood grain of the table. Finally, he ventured, "I'm thinking of calling Laurel. Try to see her tonight for dinner or something." He looked up, gauging Amelia's reaction. "Maybe if she reaches out, gets excited about the wedding, Belly will feel less isolated."

Amelia exhaled through her nose, that familiar crease appearing at her brow. "Do you really think she'll come around?"

"I hope so," Conrad said, scooting back and stretching.

She studied him for a moment, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Alright. Let me know how it goes." "Actually..." He reached for his phone, fingers hovering over Laurel's name. "Do you want to come with me?"

Amelia set her hands on her knees, shifting in place. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Nah, you go spend time catching up with your Laur." She leaned over and brushed a quick kiss against his forehead. "Give her my love, alright?"

Conrad smiled back, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Always." He tucked his phone into his pocket, feeling the weight of indecision press at him.

He lingered there a moment longer, watching Amelia return to her screen, the soft glow illuminating her focused expression. Then he rose, heading to the back door to check on the fixed sprinkler. Outside, he knelt in the grass again, the hissing water now a steady, controlled spray. He bent to adjust the nozzle, but his mind drifted back to the conversations of the day and how out of depth he feels.

The diner was dim and quiet, the kind of place Laurel always chose — intimate enough to talk, but never so intimate that feelings couldn't hide in the shadows. Conrad spotted her in a corner booth, posture straight, half-finished glass of water at her elbow. She looked up when he approached, and though her lips curved into a small smile, her eyes said I know you're here for something.

"Hey," he greeted softly, sliding into the seat across from her.

"Hey yourself," Laurel said, folding her hands on the table.

Before either could speak, a waitress appeared, pad in hand. "Can I get you guys anything to eat?"

Laurel shook her head. "I'm good, thanks."

"Uh, yeah," Conrad said, glancing at the menu for show. "I'd love just the... cheeseburger and fries. She'll do the same thing."

Laurel gave him a look. "Uh, none for me, thanks."

Conrad ignored her entirely. "And, uh, coffee, please."

The waitress smiled slightly, catching on to his quiet care. "Mm-hmm." She left with a knowing grin.

"Thank you," Conrad called after her, before clearing his throat.

Laurel leaned back. "So, what's up?"

Conrad took a breath. "I want to talk to you about the wedding. And why I think you should go."

Laurel scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Belly seems to be doing just fine without me. John will give in to her the way he always does. I'm pretty sure Steven's agreed to be Jere's groomsman — only he's too chickenshit to tell me. Adam's footing the bill. Taylor's the wedding planner."

Conrad's mouth twitched. "Mm, not anymore. Dad asked the woman he cheated on Mum with to take over."

Laurel froze mid-sip. "Kayleigh?"

He nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Before Conrad could answer, the waitress returned, placing meals in front of each of them and sliding a cup of coffee to his side. Laurel waited until she walked away, then turned back to him, brow furrowed.

"Does Adam know that you know?"

"Yup," Conrad said, leaning back in the booth. "We had a conversation not too long ago about it all. He said he'd 'try to do better,' but, you know... old habits die hard." His tone carried that dry, dark humour that only Laurel ever understood.

Laurel let out a low, disbelieving laugh. "And Jeremiah?"

Conrad shrugged. "I don't think so. Dad said he'd tell him himself, but I doubt he has at this stage.

"I cannot believe you kept that secret bottled up for so long."

Conrad smirked. "Who, me? It's, like, my thing."

They both laughed — the kind that eased the weight between them for just a second.

"Yeah, no, you're right," Laurel said. "It is your thing."

"Um..." He cleared his throat again, shifting forward. "Look, I didn't ask you to come here to talk about that. I want to talk about the wedding. I think you should be a part of it."

Laurel tilted her head. "You think Belly and Jeremiah should get married?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what do you think?"

Conrad sighed. "I think they love each other. And that they're gonna go through with this regardless of what anyone thinks. And I think Belly really needs her mum right now." He paused, lowering his voice. "She's not eating, Laurel. She's so sad. Amelia and I have come home to her sobbing. You should've seen her today — she's all alone. She doesn't have Jere, he's doing his internship in Boston."

Laurel's mouth set into a hard line. "Jeremiah is not thinking this through. He's not taking it seriously enough."

"Well, he's serious about her," Conrad said firmly. "This wedding is happening, Laurel. And if you aren't there for her, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Laurel studied him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Are we speaking honestly with each other here?"

Conrad gave a faint smile. "Don't we always?"

"Yes," Laurel said slowly. "That we do. So, tell me—what's your interest in all of this?"

"I just want everyone to be happy."

"Everyone?"

"Of course."

Laurel tilted her head, eyes softening. "And what about you, Conrad? Are you happy?"

Conrad's lips twitched into a small smile as his mind flickered to Amelia — her laugh, her messy bun, the way she always said shut up when he made her smile. "I'm the happiest I've been in a while, Laur," he said truthfully. "And I'll be even happier when this wedding is over and Amelia and I can go back to Stanford. Back to our routine."

Laurel leaned back, watching him with something between pride and melancholy. "Be completely honest — how much drama has there been at that beach house lately?"

Conrad groaned, leaning his head back against the booth. "You have no idea, Laur. I just—" He stopped, looking back at her. "You know more than anyone how much kindness Belly has to give, how big her heart is. So it's been..." He searched for the word. "Disappointing. It's been disappointing to see how the stress of everything's made her lash out, especially at the people who least deserve it."

Laurel nodded slowly. "And Amelia?"

"She says she's not a patient person," he said softly, "but she's held her tongue far longer than necessary."

Laurel's expression softened, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "So they're not really getting along?"

Conrad hesitated. "Laur, I love you so much, and you know how much our relationship means to me."

Laurel nodded in quiet understanding. "It's okay, Connie. I'm her mother. I know how Belly can get — you don't need to say any more."

Conrad exhaled, the weight of it catching in his chest. "I just—Amelia is everything to me. I don't see a future where she isn't by my side. And as much as I care for Belly, as much as our childhood and all our memories mean to me, I can't risk Amelia. She's told me where the line is, and I won't cross it. Not for anyone. Not for Belly."

Laurel smiled sadly, reaching across the table to cover his hand with hers. "I'm so glad you found your person, Connie. And she really is incredible. You know, Susannah would've been smitten with her. She'd probably make a hundred jokes about how she can't wait for you to marry her — and another hundred about how you'd give her the cutest grandbabies."

Conrad laughed softly, though his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Yeah," he said, voice rough. "Yeah, she would've loved her."

Laurel smiled gently, her thumb brushing the back of his hand. "She'd be proud of you too, you know."

Conrad looked down at the table, blinking away the sting in his eyes. "I hope so."

And for a long moment, they just sat there — two people connected by loss and love and the endless tangle of the Fisher family — quietly holding space for all the things they couldn't fix, but still hoped to heal.

The house was quiet when Conrad returned. The sky outside had deepened into shades of onyx, the air heavy with the lingering summer heat and the hum of cicadas. He shut the door softly behind him, kicking off his shoes and dropping his keys onto the console table with a familiar clink. The faint sound of running water came from down the hall, a gentle counterpoint to the silence.

Amelia was in the kitchen when he found her, barefoot, hair loose around her shoulders, rinsing a glass at the sink. The soft glow of the under-cabinet lights traced the curve of her cheek, her jawline, the slope of her neck. Conrad's breath caught. Even after all this time, moments like these still hit him with unexpected clarity—how had someone like her chosen someone like him? She glanced over her shoulder when he stepped in, her eyes finding his in the half-light.

"Hey," she said quietly, her voice a balm after the long evening.

"Hey." Conrad smiled, leaning against the doorway, just taking her in for a moment. "You waiting up for me?"

Amelia shrugged one shoulder, drying the glass with a towel, her movements deliberate and careful. "Couldn't sleep. The bed feels too big when you're not there."

He crossed the room, drawn to her like he always was, looping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She smelled like lavender and that fancy tea she always drank before bed. She relaxed into him almost immediately, her body fitting against his in that perfect way that still amazed him.

"How was Laurel?" she asked after a moment, setting the glass down on the counter and turning in his arms to face him.

"Good," he said, his voice gentle as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "She was... Laurel. Blunt, insightful, way too good at seeing through me. She asked about you."

Amelia's eyes softened. "Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. Told her you were the best thing that's happened to me in years."

Amelia gave a small, amused hum, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "Sounds about right."

Conrad exhaled slowly, letting his forehead rest against hers, letting the weight of the evening fall away. "I told her about how things have been. About Belly. About you. How patient you've been through all this chaos. She gets it."

Amelia turned slightly, searching his face, her eyes reflecting the dim kitchen light. "And the wedding?"

He nodded, his thumb tracing small circles on her hip. "I think she'll go. At least, I hope so."

"Good," Amelia said simply, her hand coming up to rest against his chest, right over his heart. "Belly could probably use that."

Conrad looked at her then — really looked at her — the exhaustion in her eyes, the quiet strength beneath it, the grace she'd shown in a situation that would have broken most people. Something swelled in his chest, overwhelming and certain.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," he murmured, his voice catching slightly. "The way you've handled everything here, with my family, with Belly... I know it hasn't been easy."

She shook her head slightly. "Conrad—"

"No, let me say this," he insisted gently, cupping her face in his hands. "You could have walked away from all this mess. Most people would have. But you stayed. You're here. And I need you to know how grateful I am for that. For you."

He breathes her in, letting her presence settle over him like a balm. "I missed you tonight," he murmurers.

Her lips curved faintly, her eyes bright in the dim light. "You were gone for like four hours."

"Still missed you," he whispered, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. "Every minute."

Amelia's expression softened, something vulnerable passing across her features. "You're such a sap."

Conrad chuckled and kissed her temple, then the corner of her eye, then her cheek. "Maybe. But I mean it. You're everything to me, Amelia. Everything."

She turned her face to catch his lips with hers, a kiss so tender it made his heart ache. When they pulled apart, she rested her head against his chest, and he held her closer, breathing her in.

"I love you," she whispered against his shirt. "Even when you're being dramatic."

"I love you too," he murmured into her hair. "Especially when you're calling me out on it."

They stood like that for a long while — wrapped in each other's arms in the quiet kitchen, the moonlight spilling through the window, painting silver patterns across the floor. The quiet between them was easy again, the kind that didn't need fixing. The kind that felt like coming home.

The morning air already felt heavy with warmth, the tang of salt from the nearby sea weaving through the blossoms of pale-blue hydrangeas that lined the driveway. A few stray petals drifted off, caught in the slightest breeze, and Amelia inhaled deeply, serenaded by the faint cries of gulls overhead. Dew on the grass glittered under the sun, an easy kind of beauty that betrayed the knot twisting in her chest.

She straightened the strap of her canvas overnight bag and gave it a final tug before setting it carefully in the trunk. Beside it sat a woven tote bulging with tissue-paper–wrapped gifts, pastel ribbons trailing like streamers. For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the scent of magnolias and saltwater ground her. Then she sighed, soft and incredulous. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she murmured to herself.

Conrad leaned against the smooth curve of the car's hood, one foot crossed over the other, a mug of steaming coffee cupped in his hands. A curl of steam rose and vanished in the morning light. "You'll be fine," he said, forcing his tone bright. But the tremor hiding behind his words betrayed him—he sounded almost too cheerful.

Amelia turned, arching one eyebrow in that exact look she knew could flay him alive. No more pretences. They both felt the truth, "fine" was the farthest thing from the reality waiting down the road.

Conrad cracked a grin anyway, as if defiance could ward off all their anxieties. "Forced proximity," he said, shrugging, "might be just what you two need to become best friends."

She snorted, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "Okay, don't push it, buddy."

He set his coffee down on the hood and stepped forward. His hands reached up to cup her cheeks—warm, familiar, comforting—and he gave a gentle squeeze, pressing her skin until her words came out all mumbled. "It'll be okay," he promised, voice softening. "And if it's not—you know I'll be right here when you get back. I love you, okay? Whatever happens, I've got you."

Her eyes rolled, but the corners of her mouth curved upward. For a heartbeat she let herself believe him, let the tension in her shoulders ease. Then she tugged away, glancing at the trunk. "We really should be heading off," she said, trying to sound brisk.

She leaned forward for a quick kiss by the driver's door—but before she could settle her lips, Conrad caught her waist and spun her gently until her back pressed against the cool metal. His voice dropped an octave, low and playful. "Is that really the goodbye you were planning on leaving me with?"

Amelia lifted her brows, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Hmm," she teased, "it's almost like someone doesn't deserve more."

His hands tightened at her hips. "And you wouldn't want to leave me with no lasting memories while you're off playing nice, would you?"

She shook her head, lips curving into an affectionate smirk. "You're such a baby."

He closed the distance between them, and the kiss was slow, luxurious, unhurried. Amelia felt the rise and fall of his chest, tasted the rich warmth of his coffee-stained lips mingled with a trace of salt air. Her fingers tangled in the soft fabric of his shirt as the world beyond their small, sunlit bubble fell away.

Somewhere behind them, a front door slammed shut. They didn't hear it.

"We should probably hit the road," came Belly's clear, practical voice from the top of the driveway.

Amelia broke away, cheeks still tinged pink, her breath coming in soft pants. She turned to see Belly standing there, arms crossed, impatience and something else—hesitation?—etched on her face. For a moment, Amelia's confidence wavered, but she squared her shoulders. "Yeah," she said, voice steadying. "Why don't you just toss your bag in back, and we'll get moving?"

Conrad stepped aside, rubbing the back of his neck like he was loosening invisible knots. "Drive safe," he said, meeting Amelia's eyes. "Let me know when you get there, okay?"

She nodded, scrubbing a hand through her hair. "I will."

He leaned in for one last, gentle embrace. "Love you."

"Love you too." She pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek, then shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans and slid into the driver's seat.

The engine turned over, rumbling softly. Conrad lingered a moment longer, his gaze drifting from Amelia to Belly, who'd climbed into the passenger seat and was fiddling with her phone.

Belly looked up, meeting his eyes. She swallowed hard, her cheeks heating under his silent scrutiny. Conrad's expression was straightforward, don't mess this up.

She nodded once, sharply, as if swallowing down more than just nerves. Then she buckled her seatbelt, and Amelia eased the gear into drive.

The car rolled forward, hydrangeas and gulls fading behind them, the morning sun glinting off the mirrors. Amelia pressed down on the accelerator, and with every mile they put between here and what lay ahead, her heart pounded a hopeful rhythm. Maybe it would all turn out fine. Maybe.

The highway stretched ahead in a ribbon of endless blue, each mile passing beneath the tyres with a soft, almost imperceptible thrum. Inside the car, the hum of the rubber against asphalt was the only constant, filling the cabin with a low, hypnotic vibration. A random playlist—pulled from the depths of some algorithm—wove through half-familiar tracks. An indie tune with tinny drums, a soft pop ballad whose lyrics drifted by unheard, and then a faint trace of guitar strings before plunging back into silence. Amelia's hands rested lightly on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, fingertips drumming an absentminded rhythm as though translating the road's monotony into something tangible. Outside, fields and forestry blurred past in the late-morning light. Inside, the air smelled faintly of old coffee and the lingering musk of upholstery.

From the corner of her eye, she caught movement in the passenger seat. Belly's head tilted forward, a small, rhythmic bob that nodded in time with a Harry Styles song she hadn't noticed at first, and for a moment, the tension coiled in Amelia's chest slackened. Belly's hair fell in gently around her face, she had her lips parted, mouthing along to the words nobody but she could hear.

Amelia cleared her throat. "You a fan?" she asked, voice low, slicing through the quiet like a blade.

Belly blinked, as if jolted from a dream. She glanced up, momentarily disoriented, then registered Amelia's curious expression. "Uh... sorry?"

"Of Harry Styles," Amelia clarified, glancing over. The sun slanted in through the windshield, lighting up her eyes. "Do you like his music?"

Belly tilted her head, a sheepish half-smile touching her mouth. "Yeah, I mean—who doesn't?" She shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know it's kind of everywhere these days, you know?"

Amelia let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and laughed softly. It was a quiet sound—almost lost amid the droning tyres—but it eased some of the unspoken distance between them. "Fair," she said. "He's got a good voice, and the live shows are really good."

They slipped back into silence. Amelia's knuckles whitened around the wheel, and she fought the urge to glance at Belly, wondering if she looked too tense, too closed-off. Belly tapped her fingers against her thigh, recalling Conrad asking her to just try.

"Have you, uh... ever seen him perform?" Belly ventured after a minute, tracing patterns on the seat with her fingertips.

Amelia shifted, and she turned her head just enough to meet Belly's eyes for a moment. "Yeah, actually. Got to see him at the O2 in London—just before I moved over here." She exhaled, a soft, distant smile tugging at her lips. "It was electric. The lights, the crowd... you could feel it in your bones."

Belly leaned forward, interest flickering. "Yeah?"

"Mhm." Amelia's gaze softened as she remembered. "I remember everyone chanting the lyrics, thousands of voices in perfect sync. He completely lost himself in the music. It was the kind of night you think you'll never forget."

Another stretch of road passed, asphalt slipping beneath them like a river. The car's interior grew warmer; Amelia's elbow rested on the window sill, and the faint, dusty smell of the outside world drifted in whenever she cracked the glass.

"And you?" Amelia asked quietly, breaking into Belly's reverie.

"Oh, me?" Belly sat up straighter. "Nope. Never got the chance." She managed a small laugh, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Oh." Amelia nodded once, returning her attention to the highway.

They drove on. Shadows lengthened as the sun dipped toward the horizon, and the fields glowed gold on either side. The playlist skipped to a new track—soft piano, melancholy but beautiful.

Belly swallowed. "What, uh... made you decide to move to America? If you don't mind me asking." Her voice was careful, as if testing the water.

Amelia considered the question for a moment, pressing her lips together. When she spoke, her tone was gentle. "I don't mind. It was... a mix of things. My dad passed away a couple years before I left, and after that, home didn't really feel like home anymore. I kept expecting him to shuffle into the kitchen, his muddy boots and that crooked grin, but he never did." She paused. "So I wanted something new. A place where I could... rebuild myself, I guess."

Belly nodded, empathy softening her expression. "Yeah. I get that."

"One night, I was up late, scrolling through university options, and I stumbled on a Stanford ad. I looked at the courses, read student blogs—everything about it felt electric. Within six months, I'd applied, got accepted, and was all packed up. It was scary as hell, but also exhilarating."

"Weren't you terrified?" Belly asked, blinking against the glare of the sun.

Amelia chuckled—a shaky sound. "Of course I was. Moving halfway across the world where nobody knows you? It's like stepping off a cliff. But there's freedom in that kind of fear. You're stripped down to just yourself, and you get to decide who you're going to be." She glanced at Belly in the mirror. "You'll see, with your Paris thing."

Belly frowned. "Paris?"

Amelia's head tipped to the side, eyebrows raised. "Yeah—didn't Laurel say you were doing a study abroad program there this spring?"

"Um..." Belly's voice wavered, and she shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not, actually."

"Oh." Amelia let the word hang in the air. "Why not?"

Belly took a breath. "It's right after the wedding, and Jeremiah's got one more semester here. I didn't want to be gone, you know? Leave him behind when he's finishing up. It just felt... too much."

"Right after the wedding," Amelia repeated, a slow nod. The steering wheel felt suddenly slippery in her grip. "Okay."

Silence settled again. Belly pressed her palms flat against her skirt, searching for words.

"Is that crazy?" she asked finally, voice small.

"Is what crazy?" Amelia's voice was even, but Belly thought she detected a flicker of curtness.

"Turning down Paris?" Belly's fingers clutched at the edge of the seat.

Amelia hesitated. Then, softly, "I don't know if I'm the person you want an opinion from on that."

"But you said you're uninvolved," Belly pressed, eyes bright. "Sometimes it helps—uninvolved opinions."

Amelia shot her a sideways look. Quietly, "Yeah. I did."

There was a pause so taut it might have snapped. Finally Amelia exhaled. "Look. At the end of the day, the only person who has to live with your choice is you. If you weigh the pros and cons—Paris versus staying put—and it feels right to you, that's all that matters. Other people's opinions... they're noise."

Belly offered a bitter laugh. "A polite way of saying I'm dumb."

"I didn't say that," Amelia replied, voice cool.

"So you agree with me, then?" Belly's words came too fast, coated in frustration.

Amelia bit her lip, thinking. "I didn't say that either."

Belly turned to face her more fully, frustration sharpening into defensiveness. "So what would you do, if you were in my shoes? Offered a chance to go abroad... but have to leave Conrad behind for months?" Her voice cracked on his name—Conrad—like it was too heavy to carry.

Amelia's grip on the wheel tightened. "If we're being honest, I can't answer that."

"Because you don't want to?"

"Because I'm not you." The pause that followed was heavy. Amelia's voice was soft but firm. "I wouldn't have gotten married in college. If Conrad had proposed, I'd have said, 'Let's wait.' We'd of had a long engagement, nothing would of happened until after graduation."

Belly's frown deepened. She turned away, tracing a crack in the vinyl door panel. "So you don't agree with our wedding."

"Stop twisting my words," Amelia said, forcing calm.

"You're being pretty clear," Belly shot back, voice small and wounded all at once.

Amelia's patience snapped. She gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles turning white, eyes locked forward. "My relationship with Conrad isn't your relationship with Jeremiah. I barely know either of you. My opinion shouldn't outweigh yours. But since you insist..." She took a breath. "Yes, I think turning down Paris for a boy is crazy."

Belly bristled. "It's not because of a boy." She jabbed a finger at herself. "It's because we'll be newlyweds. We have a life here. It's practical."

Amelia's eyes flicked to her. "Which still revolves around him, doesn't it? You said he has another semester. No matter how you word it, that is because of a boy."

Silence swallowed them. The car echoed with the muted starting chords of a new song—delicate guitar, notes that seemed to hang in the air like clouds.

Conrad's name fell from Belly's lips next, "He told me I was being rude the other day."

Amelia didn't reply. Her jaw worked, small muscles tightening.

Belly's voice was quiet now. "I never thought about him having someone else. Or bringing her here." Guilt tinted her words.

"We don't need to hash this out," Amelia murmured, tone low.

"I know." Belly pressed her lips together, her cheeks flushing. "I haven't made it easy, and I'm sorry."

Amelia closed her eyes for a moment, then exhaled. "I hate that 'new girlfriend hating the ex' and vice versa narrative. It's lazy. Patronizing. Women don't need to hate each other over a man."

Her voice softened, but remained firm. "But yes. You have been rude, Belly. Condescending. Disrespectful. You've made Conrad and myself feel unwelcome in his own home. Your behaviour has added stress to a trip that was orgninally to pay respect to his mother. And I'm not blind." She tipped her head slightly, eyes cutting as she saw Belly starting to open her mouth in protest. "Don't even try to deny it or I'll pull over. You can Uber the rest of the way. I'm not playing games."

Shame flared across Belly's face, quick and hot. She tucked her feet under her, hands twisting in her lap.

"I don't know why you're so invested in Conrad," Amelia continued after a breath. "Is it curiosity? Jealousy? I've the looks you give him. Heard the questions you ask, the comments you make. He's noticed, too. If anyone else has, I honestly don't know. But I just..." She shook her head. "I don't get it."

Belly's shoulders tensed. "I'm with Jeremiah," she blurted out, the words hanging awkwardly between them.

Amelia's eyes flickered towards Belly, her expression carefully neutral. "I never questioned that."

"I'm marrying him," Belly insisted, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt.

The car curved around a bend in the road. Amelia said nothing more, just nodded once, the gesture somehow both acknowledgment and dismissal. The radio played softly—some indie song about oceans and distance—but neither woman seemed to hear it. Their silence filled the car more completely than any conversation could have, weighted with all the things they wouldn't say aloud.

Belly watched the scenery blur past her window, each landmark bringing them closer to the bridal shower she did not want to pretend for.

____

Some of you might've noticed that I kept Amelia's description a bit vague on purpose with just a few broad details here and there. I'm curious though, when you picture her, do you just see a general "brunette girl," or do you have a specific face/person in mind?