Because now there was no distraction left.
Because now I was here. In Northbend.
Because tomorrow mattered.
“Champs?” Lo chimed, already reaching for a bottle from the counter with one hand and holding up an empty flute with the other.
A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it. “How can I say no to you with an offer like that?”
“Decisão fantástica!” Lo popped the bottle with a sharp, celebratory crack, laughing as effervescent bubbles spilled over her fingers and onto the counter.
“Oh, I think I know that one,” Lucy added, stepping closer and handing her a glass. “Fantastic decision?”
I nodded, accepting the flute Lo passed me and taking a slow, steady sip.
Ezra huffed softly from the dining table, where he’d settled into one of the chairs that looked slightly too small forhim. The wood creaked under his weight as he leaned back, a beer bottle resting loosely in his hand.
“Ready for tomorrow?” His gaze lifted to mine over the rim.
I crossed toward the couch, Bento weaving around my ankles like he’d been waiting for the exact moment I slowed down. He hopped up onto the cushion ahead of me, turned in a tight circle, then glanced back like he expected me to follow instructions.
I sank down beside him, scooping him into my arms.
“Sure,” I managed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach all the way through.
Ezra’s eyes didn’t move from me.
Lo pushed off the counter immediately, crossing the space in a few quick steps. “That is not convincing at all.”
I pressed my lips together, gaze drifting past her toward the windows.
The light here was different.
Chicago had been sharp—wind cutting between buildings, noise constant, everything moving faster than you could catch up to if you weren’t already running. It had demanded something from me every second I was there.
Northbend felt quieter.
Not slower.
Just… less aggressive about it.
Like I had space to breathe without proving I deserved the air first.
“I’m just being realistic,” I offered after a moment, my voice softer now.
Lucy leaned forward from the edge of the coffee table, elbows resting on her knees, her attention fully locked on me. “Realistic or defensive?”
“Prepared.”
“For what?” She tipped her glass back, then lowered it again, watching me over the rim.
“For it not working out.”
The words came out before I could smooth them. Before I could make them easier to hear.
Silence settled—not heavy, just there.
Lo stopped directly in front of me, steady and unflinching. “This is going to work out.”