Chapter 28

A little heads up that there is a sex scene at the end of this chapter that is slightly more explicit than previous scenes. If that's not your cup of tea it starts after the dinner scene. 

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The sun hovered overhead, casting lazy beams across Cousins Island. The sky was a wash of pale blue, its brightness dancing on the dark clay roof tiles. Up on the roof, Conrad worked shirtless, hammer poised in his hand as he pried away cracked shingles. A bead of sweat slid in a thin ribbon down his spine, tracing the curve of his back before disappearing at the waist of his shorts. Each measured thunk of the hammer punctuated the morning air, blending seamlessly with the cries of gulls overhead and the gentle slap of water against the dock below.

By the pool, Amelia reclined on a cushioned chair, sunglasses perched on her nose while cicadas hummed their steady chorus. Her book lay open on her lap, but her attention drifted upward, drawn to Conrad's deliberate movements—brow furrowed, every swing controlled. The scene felt reassuringly domestic, a quiet routine—until the air shifted, carrying that subtle murmur of someone's arrival.

Amelia didn't need to look up to know it was Belly who'd stepped onto the patio. She could feel the tension ripple through the space like a shadow sliding across sunlit tiles. Belly lingered by the glass doors, towel wrapped around her waist, legs gleaming with sunscreen. Her gaze flicked from Amelia to the rooftop and back again, lingering perhaps too long on Conrad's broad shoulders as he reached for another shingle.

In the day since Belly's breakdown, the house had fallen into a tentative truce. Amelia sensed Belly's uncertainty—she couldn't quite read her, couldn't pin her down. Amelia, for all her distaste for the prim corridors of her boarding school, understood that sometimes the best tactic with a troubled girl was polite distance. No fire can burn without a spark, but her father had always warned her that some sparks were necessary.

Amelia's fingers hovered on the page, her dark lenses hiding the direction of her gaze. Without lifting her head, she flipped to the next chapter. "The view from the house is stunning, isn't it," she called, voice soft. "Though some sights are far more... captivating than others." Belly's knuckles whitened around her towel, her shoulders tensed. "I—I didn't realize anyone was even up there," she stammered.

Amelia let out a quiet hum, the corner of her mouth lifting as she traced a line of text. "Funny," she said, "how we notice things we're not exactly looking for."

The air hung thick and still, the only movement the lazy drift of a seagull's cry far off over the water. Every now and then, the filter at the side of the pool hummed and gurgled, punctuating the silence. Beneath it all, Conrad's distant whistle rose and fell, a bright, unconcerned tune as he hammered away on the roof above.

Belly slid to the very edge of the pool, toes skimming the cool surface. Sunlight caught the diamond of her engagement ring and scattered little rainbows across the rippling water. She tapped her foot absently, watching the distorted lines of the eaves dance on the surface.

Amelia snapped her book closed with a quiet click and set it neatly in her lap. She shifted in her lounge chair, eyes lifting over the pages. "Thinking of going for a swim?" she asked, tone neutral but curious.

Belly paused mid-kick. "Maybe," she said, voice low. "Just... cooling off."

Amelia nodded against the glare of the sun. "It's hot today," she said lightly. "You might want sunglasses if you do dive in—the glare off that roof is brutal."

Belly's head jerked up—hearing the slight edge in Amelia's voice, she braced herself for a criticism. Then she realized Amelia's gaze wasn't on her at all, but on the distant horizon. "Right," she murmured, rubbing at her arm. "Yeah. Good idea."

Another hush fell, filled only by the soft rush of water and the occasional leaf stirred by a breeze. At last Belly couldn't hold it in. "So... you know about me and Conrad?"

Amelia remained perfectly still, her face unreadable behind her sunglasses. Belly swallowed, words tumbling out faster now. "That day, when you mentioned—I mean, I could tell you knew something, but we never really discussed what exactly—" She let the sentence dissolve into the humid air.

Amelia set her sunglasses on the small table beside her, folding them with deliberate calm. She looked up then, her eyes perfectly steady, her expression unreadable. "Yes," she said simply.

Belly's heart thudded. "Everything?" she asked, voice small.

Amelia tilted her head, watching her like someone examining a painting they're still undecided about. "Everything," she confirmed. "I'm not one for half-truths in my relationships."

Belly swallowed, the weight of admission catching in her throat. "I guess... that's good? I mean, honesty."

A faint smile tugged at Amelia's lips—just the hint of one. "It is. Although," she paused, fingers drifting over the edges of her book, "it's not every day you meet your boyfriend's first love and then end up living in the same house."

Belly's mouth opened, then closed again. "That was—well, that was a long time ago. We were kids."

"Were you?" Amelia asked softly, not unkindly. She leaned forward slightly, arms resting on the chair arms, watching Belly's face. "Sometimes what we feel when we're young... it doesn't fade as cleanly as we expect."

Belly's breath hitched. "It's not like that now," she insisted, though her voice wavered between defensiveness and shame.

"Oh, I know." Amelia leaned back, draping one arm over the top of her chair. Her tone was casual, but the look in her eyes was anything but. "You're marrying Jeremiah. So it's not like I have to worry about you making eyes at Conrad, do I?"

The words were laced with a teasing lilt, yet the line she drew in the sand was unmistakable. Belly felt her cheeks burn. "Of course not," she said hastily, a brittle laugh escaping her. "That would be... really weird."

"Very," Amelia agreed, slipping her sunglasses back on and turning her gaze back to Belly as if sealing the unspoken accord. "I'm glad we're on the same page."

For a moment, Belly just froze, the tension coiling tight inside her. Then she shrugged out of her towel, let it tumble to the deck, and dove in without another word. The splash rang out sharply—enough to startle a nearby bird into flight.

Water flowed over the tiles, sending a cool mist into the air. Amelia relaxed back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other, watching the surface settle into gentle ripples. A faint, knowing smirk curved her lips—soft, almost sympathetic, but edged with something sharper.

For a second, she almost felt sorry for Belly. Almost.

Then she picked her book back up and turned the page, as though none of it had happened.

Above them, Conrad paused, hammer in hand, and peered down with a bright grin. "Everything good down there?"

Amelia glanced up and met his eyes. Her smile this time was warm, genuine. "All good, love," she called. "Just some girl talk."

Below, Belly's arms slowed mid-stroke, and she sank beneath the water, the soft chuckle from Amelia dissolving in the pool's gentle hush.

The afternoon sun bore down like a living thing, pressing its warmth into every inch of pavement. Sweat beaded at Conrad's brow as he guided his car around the last bend before town, the metal hood gleaming dully in the haze. He reached out through the open window, letting the humid breeze wash across his arm—warm, but a welcome contrast to the stifling stillness inside the house. On the radio, a gentle acoustic guitar meandered through lazy chords, drifting in time with the heady pulse of late summer at Cousins.

He reminded himself of his to-do list—stop for fresh produce, pop into the hardware store for a new lightbulb, maybe grab Amelia's favourite dark roast on the way home—but mostly, he simply relished being out of earshot of indoor quiet. After her morning soak in the sun, Amelia had been perched at the kitchen table, laptop open, jaw clenched, eyes flicking across the screen. Conrad adored that calm devotion she brought to her work—yet he could sense a tension beneath it, some unspoken worry tugging at her focus. He found himself picking and choosing his words around her lately, not from obligation but because he cherished her opinion more than his own ease.

He couldn't help smiling at the memory of her just before he left. Hair piled in a haphazard bun, a streak of pen ink along her cheek, brows furrowed in concentration. He'd leaned over, kissed the crown of her head, and murmured, "I'll be back soon," tucking in a promise that felt both small and infinite.

Conrad tapped the steering wheel, voice light. "Hey." He pretended Amelia was beside him. "Just wrapping up a few things downtown. Anything we need?"

From the car's speaker came her soft laugh. "Just you," she teased, and he could almost see the playful arch of her eyebrow.

"Corny," he shot back, chuckling.

"You love corny," she countered.

"Debatable." His grin faded when he noticed movement ahead, a figure clearly struggling near the curb.

He eased off the gas. "Hold on—"

Amelia's tone sharpened. "What's wrong?"

"I think that's Belly," he said, squinting. "Looks like she's lugging half a department store—bags, boxes, even a wilting bouquet—and wrestling with her bike."

Amelia paused, as if weighing the scene through his words. "Then go help her," she said simply, as if she'd spoken the obvious truth.

Conrad leaned into the seat, exhaling. "Wouldn't that be weird?"

"Why weird?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know—she might think I'm pitying her." He hesitated. "Or reading too much into it."

A gentle firmness entered Amelia's voice. "Avoiding her makes it ten times more awkward. Just help. No hidden agenda."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You're too reasonable sometimes."

"That's why I stick around."

He laughed softly. "Among other things."

"Go on, hero," she coaxed. "Rescue the damsel and her shopping bags."

"Copy that, love you." He hung up, slipped the phone in his pocket, and climbed out into the thick air.

Belly flinched as he approached, arms piled high with mismatched parcels teetering like an amateur Jenga tower. The heat pressed against her skin, reddening her cheeks and gluing stray strands of hair to her neck. For a moment, she looked as if she'd been startled out of a daze, eyes widening when Conrad slowed to a halt before her, shoulders relaxed and a friendly smile already in place.

"Need a hand?" he asked, nodding at the bicycle propped against a lamppost, its basket overflowing.

She blinked, then turned, cheeks still flushed. "Conrad! Oh—uh, no, it's fine, really. I've got it."

He cast a glance at the growing heap of packages and raised a brow. "You sure? Because it looks like those bags are seconds away from filing for workers' comp. And I have a feeling the bicycle wasn't built with a trailer big enough for all of those."

That earned a reluctant laugh, and she relented, handing him a couple more bags along with the bicycle's handlebars. "You really don't have to."

"I know," he said lightly, redistributing the weight in his arms into something that resembled balance. "But I'm already here."

They headed toward his car in companionable silence, though it felt heavier than the boxes he carried. She tried to fill the gap. "So, um, Amelia didn't come?"

He shrugged. "She's working. Said I could handle the errands solo."

Belly's lips curved faintly. "She trusts you a lot."

"She does," he said without hesitation, surprising even himself by how easily the words slipped out.

When they reached the car, Conrad popped the trunk and maneuverer the bike in first. Belly began unloading the bags into the backseat, her movements careful, almost hesitant. She stole glances at him, as if she might unspool some thought but couldn't quite find the thread. Conrad sensed that old tension—unspoken, familiar, like a refrain you know too well.

He handed her the last bag and brushed his palms on his shorts. "You good?"

Belly nodded, voice barely above the hum of passing cars. "Yeah. Thanks for... this."

"Anytime," he said, though the word felt foreign—too straightforward for the history wrapped around them.

Inside the florist's shop, air scented with roses and eucalyptus—and a hint of citrus that felt oddly refreshing in the summer heat—Conrad held the door open. The bell above tinkled as Belly stepped in, wiping a damp strand from her forehead.

"You didn't have to come in," she said softly, scanning rows of blooms in every colour imaginable. "You could've just dropped me off."

"Amelia would kill me if I left you to juggle all this alone," Conrad replied, tone easy but warm. He gave her a small, encouraging smile and drifted toward a display of white hydrangeas, their petals like snowflakes almost too pure to touch.

Belly approached the counter, eyes drawn to an arrangement bursting with peonies and orchids. "Wow," she breathed, leaning closer. "Those look gorgeous."

The florist behind the counter, a woman with curly hair and a practiced smile, looked up from her clipboard. "They're for a wedding this weekend. So, what can I do for you?"

"Um," Belly started, fingers twisting the strap of her bag. "I'm having an event."

"Okay," the florist said brightly. "Can you tell me more about the vibe of your event?"

Belly hesitated, glancing at Conrad for reinforcement. "It's nothing fancy. Just a party on the beach."

"Alright... well, how about orchids? We get them flown in weekly from Hawaii."

Belly's eyes widened. "Oh... that might be a bit out of our budget."

"What's your budget?"

"Small," Belly admitted. "Very, very small."

"Oh..." The florist paused, pen hovering over her page, and the silence stretched like taffy. Belly forced a polite smile. "What about peonies? Are they super expensive?"

From across the shop, Conrad grinned. "Oh, I love peonies. My mom had them in her bouquet when she got married."

The florist's perfectly arched brows lifted. "Oh, so it's a wedding."

Conrad froze, cheeks flushing. "Mm." He leaned toward Belly whispering sheepishly, "sorry."

Belly's laugh was thin and nervous. "Uh, yeah. A very small, very casual wedding."

The florist nodded and flipped through a binder, pages rustling. "Well, I'm gonna need a few more details before I can give you a proper estimate."

"Yeah, sure," Belly said quickly. "Um, we'll need four floral arrangements and then, uh, two bouquets... one for me and one for my maid of honour."

"Will you want corsages for the mothers of the bride and groom?"

Belly shook her head. "No, we won't need those."

"And what about you? Will you want boutonnieres for yourself and your groomsmen?"

Conrad nearly choked on his own surprise. "Mm, no. Oh, no, no. I'm not the groom."

Belly offered an awkward little chuckle. "Yeah, he's the—he's the brother of the groom."

The florist didn't bat an eyelash as she turned another page. "We have a $5,000 minimum spend for weddings."

"Five..." Conrad coughed, nearly dropping his hand from his pocket. "$5,000?"

"I can assure you, our prices are competitive," she said smoothly, as if quoting a datasheet.

Conrad glanced at Belly, mortification flickering across her face. He cleared his throat. "Mm-hmm. Um, can you just give us like two seconds?"

The both stepped to the side, and he lowered his voice until it was just for Belly. "Okay, what if you just used my mum's hydrangeas? They're at least as nice as whatever she's got, maybe nicer, and they're not five grand."

Belly blinked, surprise softening into relief. "Okay. Yeah."

"Is that okay?" he asked, voice gentle.

She nodded and turned back to the florist. "Um, thanks for your time," she said quietly.

"Of course," the florist replied, already half-looking away as she prepared to move on to her next customer.

Belly exhaled, leaning against the counter. "Let's just get out of here."

Conrad nodded, swinging the door open. "Thank you," he called back politely, and together they stepped back into the stickiness of the afternoon, parcels forgotten for the moment beneath the weight of what lay ahead.

Back in the car, the silence felt heavier than the bags in the backseat. Belly sat against the passenger seat, shoulders rounded, her gaze fixed on the shrubbery across the road. Conrad's foot tapped an idle rhythm on the brake pedal, his other hand drummed the steering wheel, knuckles whitening with each tap.

At last he reached over and nudged the bakery box toward her. "Aren't you going to try one?" he asked, voice low, almost hopeful.

She blinked, startled out of her reverie. "Hmm? Oh. Yeah, sure." Belly lifted the lid and revealed rows of perfect cupcakes, each adorned with swirls of glossy frosting. She plucked one from its cradle and sighed, as if lifting more than just cake.

"Isabel Conklin's not excited to eat a cupcake? Who are you?" Conrad teased, arching an eyebrow.

Belly managed the barest curve of her lips before she bit into the chocolate swirl. She chewed thoughtfully, eyes drifting to the label stuck on the box's edge. "Mm-hmm." She tapped the wrapper with a fingertip. She then picked up a different cupcake, repeating the process. Conrad rose an eyebrow at her muted reaction, "well?"

Belly swallowed her bite, then pointed at the cupcakes with mechanical precision. "That dark one is seventy percent cacao," she said flatly, "and the darker one is eighty."

He squinted at the box as if it held secret code. "What's the difference?"

She shrugged, crumbs clinging to her bottom lip. "Honestly, I have no idea."

Conrad chuckled, shaking his head. The sound broke the tension for a moment, but Belly sighed again, the breath slow and deflating. "Doesn't matter anyway," she murmured. "We can't afford a cake from that place. So I guess we'll just... get a sheet cake from Stop & Shop."

He shifted in his seat, watching her dejected expression. "Okay, well... don't do that. What if you just did one layer. Said fuck the mirror glaze'—" belly snorts, "—and you just get regular milk-chocolate frosting? That's got to be cheaper than whatever fucking cacao bullshit they're selling. And instead of delivery, I'll pick it up."

Despite herself, Belly laughed, a quiet, surprised sound, just before her phone buzzed against her thigh.

She fished it out and touched the screen. "Oh. Hey," she said, switching to speaker. "Are you on the road?"

Jeremiah's voice crackled through, rushed and tense. "Hey, Bells, uh—no. Bad news. I'm stuck at the office and probably won't get to Cousins until late."

She frowned. "Seriously?"

"I know, I know, I suck."

"Jere, we were supposed to go to Michael's today."

He swallowed audibly. "This weekend, I promise. This thing for my dad has become a whole ordeal."

Belly pressed her lips together, eyes shutting in frustration. "Their pre-Fourth promotion ends today," she reminded him.

"I can't just leave."

Her pulse quickened. She inhaled slowly, trying to stay calm. "Okay, well—I have good news. I think we can still get the cake from your preferred bakery."

"Great, the two-tier mirror glaze?"

"Uh—slight change of plans. How about a one-tier chocolate cake with milk chocolate frosting, no cacao, but you can still keep the raspberry coulis."

Jeremiah hesitated, then sighed heavily. "Belly, cacao is the bean. It's what chocolate is made of. The whole flavour profile depends on that bitterness balanced by raspberry tartness. The cake is my one thing, and you said each of us gets one thing."

She glanced at Conrad, whose brows drew together in disbelief. Belly cleared her throat. "Yeah, I know I said that, but... we just have to be realistic. We can't spend seven hundred and fifty dollars on a cake."

"Then I'll put it on a card and pay it off later."

"Jere..." she began, voice softening, but a distant voice cut in—familiar, firm.

"Hey," Adam's tone drifted in from somewhere beyond the call.

Jeremiah exhaled. "Hey, I gotta go, okay?"

"Yeah," Belly whispered, but the line already clicked dead.

Silence stretched between them again, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner. Belly toyed with the cup holder, her knuckles white.

"I'm sure it's killing Jere not to be here," Conrad said at last, his voice gentle.

She lowered her gaze to her hands. "I know. I know it's stupid to get upset about Michael's. And I know he's busting his ass at your dad's company. But I just... I'm stuck here making all these decisions about things I don't really care about and that we can't even afford."

Conrad bit his lip, wrestling with his impulse to stay out of it. Belly's shoulders trembled as she spoke, voice wavering. "All that matters to me is making this commitment to each other in front of the people we love." Her words cracked on the last syllable. "I feel like I'm carrying all of this by myself... and I'm doing it alone."

Her voice broke. That was all it took.

Conrad closed his eyes, inhaled. When he opened them again, the resolve was there. He turned the key in the ignition—engine thrummed to life—then shifted into drive. "Then, fuck it. We're going to Michael's."

She looked up, startled. "Seriously? But what about Amelia?"

"Yeah, you said these coupons expire." He eased the car out of the lot, headlights splitting the darkness. He offered her a faint grin. "Let's go. Let's pillage corporate America. Amelia will understand."

A small, incredulous laugh escaped Belly. "Okay. Okay."

Conrad eased onto the road, anticipation flickering in his chest. Fuck, he thought, I hope she understands.

The air inside Conrad's car thrummed with the steady hum of the A/C and the soft crackle of an indie playlist on shuffle. Golden afternoon light slanted through the windshield, painting long, warm streaks across Belly's face. She sat sideways in the passenger seat, one leg tucked beneath her, fingers twisting at the worn threads of her denim shorts. Conrad's hand lay loosely on the steering wheel, his shoulders relaxed, but his jaw flexed now and then—like he was chewing on words he couldn't quite bring himself to speak.

Belly cleared her throat, breaking the quiet. "So..." She stretched the word out, as if coaxing the car's hum to hush for her. "How's med school?"

Conrad glanced at her, eyes soft in the late light, then flicked back to the road. His voice was calm, polite, edged with a distance she recognized all too well. "It's good," he said. "Definitely challenging at times, but... I find it fulfilling."

She offered a small smile. "That sounds like you—always chasing something tough but worth it."

He let out a short laugh. "Yeah, maybe." He hesitated, then asked, "What about you? How's college treating you?"

Her cheeks warmed. "I—decided to focus on sport psychology."

Conrad's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "Oh, wow. That's awesome."

She shrugged, glancing at the neat rows of houses passing by. "Kind of came to it in a roundabout way. Last year when I hurt my knee and had to quit the team" Her voice trailed off, and she picked at the thread. "My coach sent me to the team psychologist. Talking helped more than I expected. After a while, I thought, Maybe this is my calling."

A real smile blossomed on his face. "That's amazing, Belly. How's your knee now?"

She laughed softly. "Mostly healed. Feels strong again."

"Good." He eased off the accelerator for a moment, letting the car coast. The only sound was tires whispering over pavement and the faint rush of wind through the vents.

Then he spoke again, quieter. "I started seeing a therapist, too. Helped me handle the panic attacks. Amelia, she pushed me to try it."

At the mention of Amelia, Belly's head turned toward him, surprise flickering in her eyes. "Really? That's good, Conrad."

He nodded, gaze forward. "Yeah. It's been good for me."

Belly studied his profile, the way the sunlight caught the soft gold in his hair, the thoughtful crease between his brows, the steady confidence lingering in his voice. He looked... grounded. And something tightened in her chest.

"You just..." Her voice wavered, then steadied. "You seem like you've got it all figured out. California life, med school... a girlfriend."

She chuckled, but it sounded hollow. "You're... so grown up."

Conrad's eyes flicked sideways. "You've changed a lot, too."

"Have I?" she shot back, part teasing, part defensive.

"Yeah." He tapped the steering wheel lightly. "You're settled. You know your major. You've got a wedding to plan. You act like an adult."

Belly rolled her eyes, laughed. "Okay, Mr. Obvious."

He gave her a sideways grin. "Could you imagine where you'd be, four years ago?"

She didn't answer. The car fell quiet again, save for the playlist drifting on.

Conrad's tone softened. "That summer, I never thought I'd be here—driving you to Michael's to pick up wedding decorations, especially for your wedding with Jere," he added quickly, almost stumbling over the words. "Then going home to Amelia, who's probably crashed on the couch after paperwork."

He chuckled, but Belly's smile faltered. Amelia's name once again making the warmth drain from her cheeks.

She waited until he passed another block before she spoke, her voice casual but laced with something sharper. "You know? Your girlfriend's been a little... defensive lately."

Conrad's head cocks to the side in a moment of disbelief, hand tightening on the wheel. "Defensive?"

"She's kind of territorial," Belly said, lifting one shoulder. "Made comments about... you and me hanging out."

He turned toward her, brows knitting. "She's not territorial. If anything, she's the opposite."

"Really?" Belly sounded sceptical.

"Mhm." He flicked his gaze forward. "I almost didn't come for the memorial—didn't want awkwardness. She told me I should go. That I shouldn't let the past dictate what's right now."

Belly frowned. "So she'd be fine with us running wedding errands together if she knew?"

He laughed softly. "I was literally on the phone with her when I saw you. She knows I'm here."

She leaned back, eyes narrowing. "And she wasn't upset?"

"If she was, she'd tell me." His tone was gentle, almost proud.

Belly pressed an eyebrow. "No offense, but that's not usually how it works."

He shrugged, a fond smile curving his lips. "Amelia's different. She's honest—with herself and with me. One of the things I love most about her."

Belly's chest tightened, and the smile she tried to force trembled on her lips. Conrad's quiet affection for someone—someone who wasn't her—stung more than she expected. For the first time that afternoon, she regretted starting this conversation.

They rolled into Michael's party-supply store, the neon letters buzzing overhead. Inside, they fell into an easy rhythm, picking up swaths of tulle, debating ribbon colours, throwing faux flowers into the cart. Their banter was light, teasing, the old camaraderie slipping back between them. Belly's laughter rang bright in the aisles. Conrad returned every quip with a grin that melted some of the tension between them. There were still pauses—moments when they caught each other's eyes and an unspoken history shimmered in the air—but mostly, it felt like two friends rediscovering an old, comfortable groove.

By the time they reloaded the car with boxes of place-card holders and mason jars, the sun had dipped lower, turning the sky to tangerine. Conrad slid behind the wheel again; Belly stretched, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "I'm starving," she admitted, voice softening. "Should we grab something on the way home?"

Conrad chuckled. "I'm sure you can last ten more minutes. Besides, Amelia's probably whipping up dinner as we speak."

"Please?" she prodded, tilting her head.

He feigned exasperation, rolling his eyes with theatrical flair. "Fine. What are you craving?"

She brightened. "That peach stand we passed a few miles back?"

He nodded, turning onto the road that led out of town. "Peaches it is."

Minutes later, the car hummed along the quiet coastal road, the late afternoon sun glinting off the windshield. A gentle breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying with it the distant cries of gulls and the sweet, heady scent of ripening peaches from the orchards they'd just passed. Conrad kept the speed steady, the tires whispering over the smooth asphalt that wound its way between low dunes and scrubby grasses.

Up ahead, the little roadside stand came into view—a weathered wooden shack propped up by sawhorses, its peeling white paint warmed by the sun. A hand-lettered sign dangled from a nail: "Fresh Peaches." Beneath it, long tables crowded with baskets of fruit gleamed like amber jewels. The peaches were piled in loose pyramids, their velvety skins blushing pink and gold in the sunlight.

Conrad slowed as they approached the display. Belly unfastened her seatbelt and swung her door open, stepping out onto the sand-dusty shoulder. She brushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead and folded her arms, surveying the fruit with an eager look.

"You gonna have one?" she asked, eyes scanning the ripest peaches.

Conrad shook his head. "I'm allergic to peaches."

Belly's eyebrows shot up. "What? Since when? I've definitely seen you eat a peach before. Peach pie, at least."

"Since always," he said, shrugging. "I've had them before, but they make my mouth itchy."

Belly rolled her eyes dramatically, crossing the small gap between them and the tables. She reached out and picked up a plump peach, cradling it in her palm as if testing its weight. "Okay. Your loss. Oh, my God... that is a perfect peach. Oh, my God. I don't want to eat another one, 'cause there's no way it can be this good." She sank her teeth into the fruit, juice running down her chin and dripping onto her shirt. She paused, half-closed her eyes, and held the bite in her mouth, as though each second stretched the flavour into something sacred.

Conrad chuckled softly, a little awkwardly, leaning against the side of the car with his arms crossed. He watched her enthusiasm with a fond, half-smile. She was messy, exuberant, completely herself—an impulse of colour against the muted tones of sand and sky.

Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out a crisp five-dollar note and dropped it into the basket on the corner of the table. "Just grab some more if they're that good," he said.

He turned and pulled his phone from his pocket, thumbs moving over the screen. The LED glowed in the dusk light as he typed,

Heading back, got everything. Sorry it took so long. Did you want any peaches?

He hit send, then slid the phone back into his hand. Within seconds, it buzzed.

What am I going to do with peaches? You're allergic??

His lips curved into a small grin. He tapped out another reply:

I meant for yourself, not for baking.

Her next message arrived almost immediately:

Yeah and I'm not preventing myself from kissing you because of a 3 star fruit.

He paused, another message coming through as he finished reading the first

I'm fine, thank you though. Just drive safe and I'll see you soon. Love you x

Conrad's fingers hovered over the screen for a moment as he smiled at the message before he responded.

Love you too x

Belly noticed the subtle smile on his face, felt a brief pang in her chest, and quickly looked away, pretending to inspect the peaches so he wouldn't see how she'd been watching him text.

"You sure you don't want any? I probably shouldn't have them all myself," she said, her voice wavering slightly as she ran a finger along the fuzzy skin of another peach.

"I'm sure Jere would have some," he said casually, glancing at the time on his phone as though the moment weren't weighted. "You good to go?"

"Oh... um, yeah," she replied, shifting her weight and tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Then she paused, frowning down at her shirt. "Wait — I, um, I'm an absolute mess. I have peach juice all over me."

Conrad hesitated, looking around the stand as if searching for a cloth. "Oh, um... I'm sure I have a bottle of water in the back of the car you can use to rinse yourself off."

Belly exhaled, relief softening her features, and followed him to the open trunk. He unscrewed a small plastic bottle and handed it to her. She tipped it carefully, letting cool water trickle over her fingers, then dabbed at the corners of her mouth and the collar of her shirt. Tiny beads of water clung to her skin, catching the light, and she felt the warmth of Conrad's presence close behind her.

Once she climbed back in, Conrad closed the trunk and slid into the driver's side, then rolled down the windows just enough for a warm summer breeze to weave through the cabin.

They drove on in companionable silence for a few minutes, the coastline stretching out in waves of blue and green. Belly's mind wandered through the day's events—the laughter, the errands, the long, winding road—and she found something comforting in Conrad's steady presence beside her. Even in quiet moments like this, when words were few and the only sound was the gentle rush of wind and wheels, she felt a sense of ease settle over her, as familiar and reassuring as the steady beat of her own heart.

By the time they pulled back up to the house, the late afternoon sun was slipping orange-gold across the lawn. The engine clicked off, and Conrad unbuckled his seatbelt before sliding out. Belly stayed behind for a moment, pressing her shirt to her fingers to blot away the sticky peach juice that still clung to her skin. She breathed in the warm, herb-scented air drifting from the open windows. Inside, Amelia's humming and the soft sizzle of something cooking welcomed them.

Conrad stepped through the doorway with the bags, setting them gently on the kitchen island. The counter was strewn with fresh basil sprigs, rosemary sprigs, and a small terracotta pot of thyme, while a cast-iron skillet glowed on the stove. The aroma of grilled chicken—lemon-kissed, crisp at the edges—woven with garlic and parsley, filled the room.

"Perfect timing," Amelia said, turning from chopping lettuce at the far side of the island. Her apron was dusted with flecks of green, and she looked up with a friendly smile that softened her sharp British accent. "I was just finishing the salad. Did you guys have fun?"

Belly exchanged a quick glance with Conrad. Late afternoon light painted his face in streaks of gold and rose. He shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting in a half-smile, and came around the island. Resting his hands on her hips, he pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. "Yeah, we got it done," he said, voice easy.

"Good," Amelia replied, stepping over to gather the shopping bags. She navigated past open drawers lined with knives and wooden spoons, her eyes momentarily flicking to the bottles of white wine chilling in a silver bucket.

Conrad carried the last of the bags into the adjoining dining nook. For a moment, the wedding stress, the unspoken history between them, even the faint ache of childhood memories—everything seemed to fall away beneath the warm hum of family and the promise of dinner together.

They settled around the table 10 minutes later. Amelia had arranged the salad in a shallow bowl, drizzling it with extra virgin olive oil before tucking it beside platters of golden lemon-herb chicken that parted easily from the bone. Conrad lifted the bottle of wine, pouring generous glugs into each glass until the golden liquid caught the lamplight.

Conversation flowed effortlessly at first, laughter rising to meet the rafters. They debated the merits of recent TV binges—Conrad pacing out his opinions with grand gestures and Amelia defending herself with a playful roll of her eyes. Belly felt her shoulders loosen, the tight coil in her spine finally giving way.

"No way," Conrad said, shaking his head so emphatically that a drop of wine splashed back into the bottle. "That ending was a complete cop-out."

"It was thematically consistent!" Amelia countered, poking the air with her fork. "The whole point was that he couldn't escape his past."

"A fireside hookup? Please. Most predictable scene ever."

Belly's laughter faded into a soft hum as she set her glass down. She leaned forward, light catching the curve of her smile and the glaze in her eyes from the wine consumed. "I mean, we did it." Her voice dipped to a teasing murmur. "I wouldn't say it's entirely out of the realm of possibility." She swirled the remaining wine, letting the memory hover in the depths.

Conrad froze, fork halfway to his mouth. The room stilled. Amelia's fork paused mid-lift, her gaze sharpening as she studied Conrad's face. His jaw flexed, then he cleared his throat, tilting his head as though to dismiss the moment. "Yeah... I definitely wasn't original back then," he said, forcing casual warmth into his tone. Neither woman met his eyes.

Belly's smile softened, nostalgia and something more flickering in her gaze. Amelia set her fork on her plate with deliberate calm, fingers tightening imperceptibly around the handle. "Sounds like quite the adventure," she said, voice polite but edged with restraint.

Silence edged back into their meal. Conrad launched into a detailed forecast of tomorrow's weather—highs and lows, chances of clouds—his words drifting above the table like delicate tension. Belly picked at a chicken bone, Amelia asked a few gentle questions about wedding plans, her British lilt growing just a shade sharper. Every word balanced on that earlier revelation, fragile as a soap bubble that they were all waiting to pop.

Then the front door swung open, and Jeremiah's cheerful voice cut through the hush. "Honey, I'm home!" His shoes thumped against the hardwood as he stepped in, shrugging off a light jacket.

"Jere, you made it!" Belly cried, relief brightening her features as she jumped up to wrap herself around him.

He grinned, tossing his keys in a dish by the door. "Wow. You're in a good mood."

She giggled as Jeremiah's eyes darted to the table. "Oh, you guys cooked?"

"Yeah," Belly said, brushing back a strand of hair. "Are you hungry? I can make you a plate."

"Cute. I just kind of want to eat you." His voice dropped into a teasing rumble.

Conrad rolled his eyes good-naturedly, happy that the tense atmosphere from before was dispelling. "There should be a plate of leftovers for you."

Amelia looked up, smile tight "I covered it and left it in the microwave, and we've got extra salad here—just help yourself."

Belly reached across the kitchen counter pointing to the fruit bowl. "Oh, uh, we also got... peaches!"

Jeremiah leaned close, planting a quick kiss on her neck. She shivered. "Uh, do you have any strawberries? I'm not really in a peach mood."

Conrad snorted. "No, man. Just peaches."

Belly laughed, and Jeremiah joined in, their easy rapport filling the room with warmth.

"No worries," Jeremiah said, eyes furrowing as he noticed the shopping bags placed to the side. He nodded toward the bags. "Uh... Bells, I—I told you I'd take you to Michaels tomorrow."

"Oh, no, it's cool," Belly replied, flushing. "Conrad took me, and, um, we used the coupons."

Jeremiah's laugh cracked like thin ice. "Wow. Just... wow." He clapped Conrad's shoulder, fingers lingering a beat too long. "Always stepping up, aren't you, bro?" Across the table, Amelia's gaze tracked the movement of Jeremiah's hand before meeting his eyes—a brief, moment of mutual recognition as two people trying to ignore the same elephant in the room.

"How was work?" Belly asked, unwinding the tension with warmth.

"Incredible," he said, voice falsely bright. "Everyone took off for the holiday weekend, so it was on me to finish a report on a company we were going to do a deal with. And... I caught them being shady with their numbers."

"Wow!" Belly exclaimed, leaning forward. "That's amazing."

"Yeah, Dad was super impressed. And he actually told me before I left—he's in... for the wedding."

Belly gasped. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my God, that's amazing!" she said, clapping her hands.

"Congrats, dude," Conrad added, lifting his glass in salute.

"Thanks, man," Jeremiah said, beaming.

Amelia smoothed her skirt and stepped forward. "Uh, I'm gonna head up and probably shower, but great to see you again, Jere. Don't forget to eat." She gave Belly a brief, guarded smile before slipping away down the hall.

Conrad rose next, shoulders squared but eyes flicking away. "I'm gonna go—have a good night, guys," he said softly, then left through the kitchen.

"Okay, but don't take too long," Belly called after him, voice light, though she bit her lip. "They're probably gonna light fireworks tonight."

Jeremiah's gaze lingered on the empty doorway. "Everything okay with them?"

"Yeah, of course," Belly said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "She's probably just tired of sharing him today."

"Funny, I didn't know he was yours to share," Jeremiah said, his smile tight as he reached for a glass.

Belly sighed. "It was nothing, Jere. We bumped into each other, he carried some bags. He told her where he was."

"Right." Jeremiah's laugh was hollow as he poured himself water. "At least someone was honest about their whereabouts."

Belly laughed, drunkenly brushing off his concern, and reached for his hand. "You're making this out to be something it's not. Come on, let's watch the fireworks." Together, they stepped out onto the porch, the sky darkening overhead as neighbours' distant pops and crackles dotted the evening air.

The night was thick with silence, but the quiet between Conrad and Amelia pulsed with words unspoken. Belly and Jeremiah had retreated inside, their voices faded to murmurs before disappearing entirely, leaving the house to creak and settle around them. Conrad sat on the edge of the bed, his knee bouncing restlessly, anxiously awaiting Amelia's emergence from the shower. The bathroom door creaked open, a billow of steam preceding her, framing her silhouette in the soft, diffused light.

She stepped into the bedroom, a towel draped over her head, rubbing gently at her wet hair. Droplets of water still clung to her skin, glistening like tiny jewels against her collarbones. The soft click of the door as it shut behind her seemed to echo, sealing them away from the world.

Conrad's eyes followed her every move, his voice a low murmur as he reached for her wrist. His fingers brushed against her pulse point, feeling the steady beat beneath her skin. "You were in there for a while, and you've been quiet since dinner ended," he said, his voice barely audible. "Is everything okay, Amelia?"

She pulled back gently, continuing to dry her hair as she moved toward the dresser. Her oversized shirt rode up her thighs with each step, offering him a glimpse of pale, smooth skin. "I'm fine, Conrad," she replied, her voice neutral.

He watched her, his eyes never leaving her form. His hands reached out, fingers brushing against the bare skin of her thighs where her shirt ended. "So, this isn't about what Belly said?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light, casual. "Because it would be silly for you to be jealous, Amelia."

She paused, the towel stilling in her hands. Her eyes met his in the mirror, her gaze unflinching. "Jealousy is such an ugly word, Conrad," she said, each word measured and precise. "If you wanted someone else—no matter who—I'd hope you'd have enough respect for me to be honest. Not hide behind lies and cowardice."

Her tone was calm, but there was a fire burning beneath it, a heat that made his chest tighten. The accusation hung between them, sharp and dangerous, cutting through the air like a knife.

Conrad stood up, crossing the distance between them in two long strides. His hands found her waist, tugging her back against him until her body pressed firmly against his chest. His fingers drifted upward, beneath her shirt, tracing the curve of her ribs, feeling her breath hitch beneath his touch.

"I'd be a fool to want anyone but you, Amelia," he whispered, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her ear. He pressed his face into her neck, inhaling the clean scent of her shower, his teeth gently grazing her shoulder. "You're all I want. Only you."

Amelia spun in his arms, her hand gripping his chin firmly, forcing him to look directly into her eyes. The intensity there made his breath catch. "I won't be with someone who chases after other girls, Conrad," she said, her British accent more pronounced with emotion. Her thumb traced his lower lip, a gesture both tender and possessive.

He stared at her for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, deliberately, he grabbed the hand holding his chin, turning her palm upward and pressing his lips to the centre of it. A slow, amused smile crept across his face. "You're incredibly sexy like this, you know?" he said, his voice low and husky. His free hand slid up her thigh, disappearing beneath the hem of her shirt, his fingers finding the lace edge of her underwear. "Commanding. Fierce."

She inhaled sharply at his touch but didn't back down. "My patience with her is wearing thin Conrad. I won't share," she expressed, her voice steady and sure.

"I don't want anyone else," he said, his voice dropping to a rasp as his fingers teased along the elastic. "You are it for me. Only you, Amelia."

"Good," she breathed, right before his mouth captured hers in a searing kiss.

The tension between them broke like a summer storm, fierce and consuming. His hands lifted her against him, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the bed. Their kiss deepened, teeth clashing, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan. He laid her down, his body covering hers, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress.

Her shirt was gone in seconds, his following immediately after. The feel of skin against skin drew a gasp from her lips that he captured with his mouth. His hands mapped her body with desperate precision, as if trying to memorize every curve, every reaction. When his lips travelled down her neck to her breast, she arched beneath him, one hand gripping the headboard above her.

"Conrad," she whispered, her voice breaking on his name as his tongue circled her nipple. Her free hand slid between them, fingers working at the button of his jeans with urgent need.

They moved together with the kind of synchronicity that comes from knowing exactly how to unravel each other. His mouth never left her skin as he shed the last of his clothes, his teeth marking a path down her stomach that made her thighs tremble. When he finally settled between her legs, her fingers twisted in his hair, guiding him exactly where she needed him.

His tongue delved into her folds, tasting her, teasing her. She cried out, her hips bucking against his mouth as he found her clit, circling it with his tongue before sucking gently. Her moans filled the room, her body writhing beneath him as he slipped a finger inside her, then another, curling them to hit that spot that made her see stars.

"Conrad," she gasped, her body tensing as he brought her closer to the edge. Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her, her body pulsing around his fingers.

He moved back up her body, his lips capturing hers, sharing her taste with her. She flipped them over, straddling him with a fierce grace that took his breath away. She hovered above him, her hair falling around them like a curtain.

"Mine," she whispered, sinking down onto him in one fluid motion that made them both cry out.

She began to move, her hips rolling against his, her body taking him deep. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he guided her movements, urging her on. Her moans filled the room, her body chasing another release.

He flipped them over once more, his body covering hers as he began to move, his hips thrusting against hers. Their bodies were slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The headboard slammed against the wall, their sounds of pleasure filling the room, spilling out into the hallway.

"Amelia," he groaned, his body tensing as he neared his own release. Her nails dug into his back, her body urging him on, begging for more.

His orgasm hit him like a freight train, his body pulsing inside hers as she came apart around him once more. They collapsed together, breathless and sated, the earlier tension dissolved into something much more cardinal and honest.

Afterward, they remained tangled together, sweat cooling on their skin, pulses gradually slowing. Amelia's cries had echoed through the house—louder, more urgent than ever before—and Conrad had made no move to quiet her. Something primal in them both had wanted those sounds to travel.

Down the hallway, Belly stared at the ceiling, counting the uneven breaths beside her where Jeremiah slept undisturbed. The sounds had faded in and out — moans, sighs, the rhythm of something she shouldn't be hearing.And, she couldn't lie to herself.She wasn't over him. Not even close.

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I know its a little wishy washy with Amelia and Bellys forgive and forget moments but I promise it'll all be resolved. Also I beg you to be honest with me regarding that sex scene as I'm stressing that it was cringe