They’re chatting, and she’s laughing beautifully when my phone dings with a message, snatching my attention. I glance down to see that it’s my brother, Eli.
Bro. Guess what?
I lean back in my chair and type my response.Hit me.
The typing bubbles appear, vanish, then return.I got a job offer.
I sit forward.What? Where?
US. Big IT company. They’re sponsoring me.
For a second, I just stare at the screen.Fuck yeah! You’re moving here?
Looks like it.
A laugh breaks out of me, and I drag a hand over my mouth. My little brother in the States. Closer than he’s been in years.
Where in the US?I type quickly.
Boston.
Shut the fuck up! That’s not far from Mistberry Cove.
I know. I checked.
I picture him at twelve, shut away with his computer, pretending he was only gaming when he was already ten steps beyond the rest of us and quietly becoming brilliant.
I type back, slower this time.That’s incredible, Eli. I’m proud of you. And so happy we can catch up.
A pause.Thanks, bro.Another message follows.I’ll send details later. Still shaking. Just wanted you to know it’s happening.
My throat tightens, and the studio blurs at the edges for one stupid second.Send everything when you have it. Dates. Paperwork. Anything you need. I’ll help you find a place. You can even crash with us for a while. I mean, I have so much to tell you too. I might have an Omega!
Hell yes! I wanna hear all of it, but it’s crazy early in the morning here. Just wanted to let you know.
I appreciate it.
Love you, old man.
I smile down at the phone.Love you too.
I set it beside the keyboard, but I don’t go back to the footage straight away. I just sit there, staring at nothing, letting the truth settle. My brother is moving closer, and I fucking love that.
Brody catches my attention on camera one. He nods my way, and that’s my cue. I hit Record on both feeds, fine-tune the overheads, and settle in.
There’s no preamble. Brody’s method is always “motion first, then personality.” He’s cracking eggs one-handed, fast, shells flicked into the trash without a glance. Claire reaches across him for the cream cheese, and their arms tangle. She laughs, startled, and the sound travels through the speakers and up my spine.
Lots of whipping, all by hand, of course, so Brody’s muscles flex, his favorite damn thing to do on the camera. Cream cheese splatters across the counter, and Claire yelps, a streak of white across her cheekbone. Brody catches a glob on his finger. He holds it out to her. She hesitates. Cheeks burning. Then she leans forward, and her lips close around his fingertip, and fuck me, the internet is going to eat this up.
I gasp loudly.
Damien lands on the counter from his stool with the heavy, proprietary thud of a cat who has timed his entrance for maximum disruption. He paws at Brody’s arm, who then scoops him up one-handed, still stirring with the other. Damien stretches his neck toward Claire and presses his nose against her cheek. She nuzzles into him, rubbing her face against his fur, her grin wide and unguarded.
I switch to camera two and zoom in. Their faces fill the screen, the cat’s golden eyes half closed, Claire’s lashes dark against her skin. I take three screenshots for the socials, then zoom back out.
Claire pours in vanilla and then cream, Brody folding them all together.
By the time they pour the cheesecake batter into the tin, there’s cream cheese on the counter, sugar dusting Claire’s apron, and a smear of batter on Brody’s forearm that she keeps pretending not to notice. Claire scrapes the bowl with serious concentration, but Brody catches the edge of the spatula with one finger, tastes it, and gives the camera a look that will absolutely destroy the comments.