31. Frosted Flakes At 2Am
CHAPTER 31
FROSTED FLAKES AT 2AM
NORA
PRESENT DAY
It's 2:03 AM and my thoughts are deafening. I slip out of bed, my bare feet silent against the wooden floors as I pad downstairs to the kitchen. The familiar path to the Frosted Flakes feels like muscle memory—a comfort I can't explain. I reach for a mug instead of a bowl, an old habit that will never be broken. The faint creak of stairs breaks through my reverie, and I turn to find Nate standing in the doorway, hair tousled and shirtless. Even exhausted, he looks like he stepped out of a Greek myth—all sharp angles and perfect shadows with a body I’m struggling to keep my eyes off of.
"Late-night snack?" His trademark smirk appears, the one that still makes my heart stumble over itself after all these years.
"Old habits die hard.” I shrug, grateful for the dim light hiding the heat in my cheeks. "Why are you up?"
"Couldn't sleep."
I don't push because I know the way secrets feel safer in the dark. I have my own demons I'm not ready to share—the nightmares where Evan's weight suffocates me, where Dad's final words echo endlessly.
Nate moves into the kitchen with fluid grace, retrieving a spoon before claiming my mug of cereal without asking.
"Still eating cereal out of a mug, huh? You know bowls exist, right?"
I roll my eyes, reclaiming my midnight snack. "Shut up. I like it this way. It's efficient."
"Efficient?" His laugh is low, intimate in the quiet kitchen. He leans against the counter, eyes lingering on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "You're still a little weirdo."
A small laugh escapes me. "It was Dad's idea, actually. We'd eat Frosted Flakes together in mugs like it was some covert operation. Mom never knew—it was our thing."
Something unreadable crosses Nate's face as he looks down, stirring milk with his stolen spoon. "Your dad was one of the best people I knew."
The words hang heavy between us, and I know we've stumbled into a moment we've been dancing around. I try to redirect.
"I'm sorry," I say softly, setting down the mug. "For how I acted the other day. After..." His name sticks in my throat like broken glass. "You were just trying to help, and I??—"
"Stop," he interrupts, voice gentler than I expect. "You don't have to apologize. If anyone should be apologizing for fucking things up, it's me."
Confusion knots in my chest. "For what?"
He exhales roughly, running a hand through his hair. "For not being there for you and Ol when I should have been. Your dad... he was more of a father to me than mine ever was. But I—" His voice catches, revealing a glimpse of the pain he's buried so deep.
"It's okay." I whisper.
We stand suspended in this moment, years of unspoken words filling the air between us. His eyes lock onto mine, and the kitchen shrinks until there's nothing but us. His fingers brush mine, sending sparks racing up my arm. The mug in my hands feels like an anchor keeping me from floating away.
"I'll never forgive myself for missing the funeral. And I don't expect you to forgive me for??—"
"I do,” I cut him off. "Forgive you. So how about this—a clean slate?” I manage, trying to steady my racing pulse. "I think it's time we both just move forward, with everything."
He closes the distance between us. His hand grazes my cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the simple gesture setting every nerve ending alight.
"I like the sound of that plan."
The air feels thin, like we're standing on a mountaintop instead of in the kitchen at 2 AM. His eyes study me with such tenderness it makes me feel raw, exposed. They're the kind of eyes you could drown in, and I always have. Something about him makes me feel more alive, less lost, and that terrifies me as much as it thrills me.
"Speaking of plans," he murmurs, gaze flickering to my lips again, lingering there just long enough to make my pulse quicken. "Want to come out on the boat with me?"
I swallow hard because the thought of being alone, with Nate, in the middle of the ocean, scares the living shit out of me. My throat is suddenly desert dry.
"I... I have plans."
"You have plans?" His smile turns teasing as he steps closer, reducing the space between us to something dangerous.
"Why is that so hard to believe?" I'm half offended, though my voice betrays me with a slight tremor.
"Well, I haven't told you when we'd go yet." His voice drops lower, more intimate. His devilish smirk makes an appearance as he crosses his arms across his broad chest, the movement pulling his shirt tighter.
My laugh comes out shaky. "Okay, maybe I don't have plans."
“Good. We’ll go over the next couple of days,” he says, voice barely above a whisper now, the space between us nearly nonexistent.
"Sounds like..."
"A plan,” he finishes with that smirk.
Our eyes lock, and the connection jolts through me like lightning. It's as if he's reached inside and touched something I didn't know existed, something I've never felt before. His gaze holds me captive, seeing straight through me and I hate it. That desperate feeling climbs from my belly to my chest, closing my throat until I gasp, finally breaking eye contact. The heat, the proximity—it's overwhelming. If I don't leave now, I might do something I'm not ready for. Something that could change everything.
"I should, uh, go to bed.” I retreat, forcing a smile.
"Yeah," he says softly, but his eyes tell me he knows exactly what I'm doing. "Goodnight, Leni."
"Goodnight, Nate."
I turn and flee the kitchen, heart thundering against my ribs, but not before stealing one final glance at him. Whatever this is between us, it's far from over.
It feels like it's only beginning.
Golden light stretches across the lake like honey, dawn painting the water in watercolor shades of pink and orange. Jake and I paddle out in comfortable silence, our boards cutting gentle ripples through the glass-smooth surface. There's a peace out here, watching the world wake up in silence.
Jake glances over, his paddle slicing through water with practiced ease. "I'm glad we're doing this."
"Paddle boarding?"
He laughs, the sound carrying across the water. "Well, yeah, paddle boarding, but the list too. I know it's been rough lately. I guess," he pauses, lowering himself to sit on his board, feet trailing in the water, "I just want this summer to remind you of better times."
My chest tightens at his thoughtfulness. "Jake?"
Those bright blue eyes meet mine, made even more striking by the early sun. "Thank you."
His smile could stop traffic—I've seen it happen. "So, how's the writing going?"
I sigh, tilting my face to catch the morning warmth. "It's coming together. Slowly. There's this block though, like something's stuck. It’s like this paralyzing fear of failing."
Jake gives me that look, equal parts concern and understanding.
"Remember when we were kids, and you had to prove you could do whatever Ollie and I were doing? When we decided to dive off the pier, you were terrified but determined to jump." He pauses, ensuring I'm following. "You were scared, but you did it anyway."
A soft chuckle escapes me, the memory warming me despite the cool morning air. "Yeah, I remember the shocking red mark on my stomach from hitting the water wrong."
"Yeah, I don't think you're entering the Olympics anytime soon." His laugh echoes across the water. "We can work on your diving skills this summer though. But the point is, you felt the fear, leaned into it, and jumped anyway."
Silence settles between us like morning mist.
"That's one of the things I've always admired about you."
"One of the things?" I raise an eyebrow, teasing. "How many things are there?"
Jake smirks, glancing over. "How much time do we have?"
The lightness eases the constant pressure in my chest, and I shake my head, smiling.
“My favorite thing though,” his voice softens. “Is the good you see in things—people, moments. You've always been that way."
“How do you mean?”
"Significant." The word carries weight. "You always find beauty everywhere. You notice things other people miss." His eyes meet mine beneath dark lashes, intensity crackling between us.
Over the years, I've collected my own list of Jake-observations: the way he fidgets when nervous, his fingers tracing absent patterns on his paddle; the sadness that lurks behind his easy smile, even when he tries to hide it.
I know Jake.
I see him, truly see him, and I notice all those things.
"I wish I could see myself the way you do," I laugh, more to myself than him.
Jake's expression softens, a smile tugging at his lips. "One day you will."
We drift in comfortable silence, the sun climbing higher, the world stirring around us. But here on the water, we exist in our own bubble of time.
"Ready to head back in?" He breaks the spell after some time.
"Sure." I carefully stand, finding my balance. "Race you?"
His eyes flash with that familiar competitive spark. "You read my mind."
Before he can steady himself, I shove my paddle against his board, sending him splashing into the lake. When his dark blonde head surfaces, I know I'm in trouble.
"Ohh, you play dirty, Lenora." He lunges for my board, tipping me into the frigid water.
The cold shock makes every cell feel alive. Jake's watching me with those bright eyes and that infectious smile. "What am I going to do with you, huh?"
"Race me," I challenge, already swimming for shore.
His laugh—sweet as honey—follows me through the water.
Jake and I burst into the house like kids, trailing water and laughter. The sound bounces off the walls, lifting some of the weight I've been carrying. My clothes cling to me, but I'm too invigorated to care. The sunrise paddle session was exactly what I needed—a moment of pure escape. Mom spots us from the kitchen, eyeing the puddles we're creating.
"You two better dry off before you soak my freshly mopped floors." She points to the towels by the back door.
Jake grabs one, tossing it over his shoulder with a grin. "Yes, ma'am."
"Nora," she says, wiping her hands. "Your phone's been going off. I think Camilla texted you about eighty times."
"Shit!" I smack my forehead. "I totally forgot I'm meeting her and Mia soon."
“I’ll give you a lift.” Jake offers.
When Jake drops me off I sit in my usual spot and pull out my notebook. But the words won't come. My mind is a tangle of grief, fear, and the humiliation Evan left branded on my soul. No matter how hard I push against this weight, it won't budge.
The door chimes, and I look up reflexively.
My stomach drops when I see Connor walk through the door.
He approaches with that entitled swagger, wearing what he probably thinks is a sincere expression.
“Nora, listen, uh, about the other night. I was just..."
I stare him down, his half-baked apology hanging stale in the air. "You were just what, Connor?"
His face hardens. "Jesus, I'm trying to be nice here. You don't have to be such a bitch about it."
“Just leave me alone," I cut him off, ice in my voice.
The door chimes again, and my heart plummets further. Evan. His eyes lock onto mine immediately, that predatory smirk spreading across his face. My skin crawls—he can smell fear like a shark smells blood.
"Well, look who it is," he drawls. "Where's the bloodhound? Your pet not around to keep an eye on you today, huh?"
I clench my jaw, but before I can respond, his hand brushes my cheek.
The moment his fingers make contact, my stomach lurches violently. A wave of nausea hits me so hard I can taste bile rising in my throat. My skin crawls, like thousands of icy spiders racing beneath the surface. My lungs seize, breath caught somewhere between inhale and scream.
"Come on, Nora, why the cold shoulder? We got pretty friendly last summer, didn't we? Thought we were past this whole 'I don't know you' act."
Connor's eyebrows shoot up as realization dawns. "So that's why you weren't interested," he sneers. "You already fucked my cousin?"
It’s no wonder they’re related—poison runs in families.
Reality fractures around me, the ground beneath my feet suddenly unstable. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out everything except the sickening memory his touch drags to the surface. Before I can defend myself, shame burns up my neck like acid, tears threatening to spill. The humiliation, the fear—it's as fresh as yesterday. I want to run, but I'm frozen in place, my body locked in a horrifying replay I can't escape.
Then, like an avenging angel, Camilla's voice cuts through the toxic air.
"You know what we need that only you two can provide right now?" She storms over with Mia close behind, both radiating protective fury.
"Your absence," Camilla snaps. "Now get lost, both of you."
Connor scoffs, his smug grin faltering. "What's your problem, Camilla?"
"Isn't it clear?" Her eyebrow arches perfectly. "You. You're my problem." She dismisses him with a flick of her wrist.
Evan snickers, nudging Connor. "The chicks in this town are fucking insane."
Camilla's head snaps to him. "I'm sorry, but you are?" Her expression is perfectly deadpan.
"I'm—"
"Oh, that's cute. You thought I actually wanted to know." She waves him off like an annoying fly, turning back to Connor. “Did Daddy dearest not teach you how to follow orders, or do you just have a problem with your hearing because your head is shoved so far up your ass?"
Connor's smirk deepens. "I don't take orders from women like you."
"Oh, Connor. You've had your entire life to be a pretentious dick. Don't you ever get tired? Maybe take a day off once in a while, yeah?"
"No rest for the wicked, sweetheart.” He winks, making my stomach revolt.
Camilla's eyes narrow to slits. "Well, if ignorance is bliss, then you must be the happiest person on the planet."
Connor's confidence cracks, but Evan steps forward, sneering. "You remind me of a little chihuahua. All bark and no bite. Maybe someone ought to put a leash on you, teach you some obedience."
Camilla's death-glare could freeze hell. "Oh, Abercrombie," she purrs, voice arctic, "you really don't want to see me bite."
Evan leans in, biting his lip in what he clearly thinks is seductive. "Actually, I think I'd quite enjoy that."
Her expression morphs from deadly to disgusted. She surveys him like something stuck to her shoe before getting dangerously close to his face, so they're nose to nose.
"I'd rather shit in my hands and clap." Her voice drips venom as she appraises him again.
Connor's smile twists into something cruel, his lips curling at the edges.
"Bitch should really be your middle name."
"It is, right after Clara and in-between Annabelle." She mocks, voice dropping to absolute zero. “While it's been so highly entertaining watching you two fit your entire vocabulary into one sentence, why don't you take your privileged, white-boy asses and kindly fuck off. Or do I need to throw a stick?"
Evan bristles, clearly trying to regain control. "Jesus, you really are a fucking chihuahua—never knowing when to quit."
"Coming from the two idiots who, at this point, are grade A stalkers." Her smile could freeze fire. "Tell me, were you born this stupid, or did you take classes?" Her voice is light, almost playful, as if she's just warming up. "I mean, everyone's entitled to act stupid once in a while, but you two? You really abuse the privilege."
Connor tries to step in again, but Camilla's already steamrolling past him.
"And for the record, Connor, if you think your daddy issues give you a free pass to walk around acting like your own shit doesn't stink, newsflash, it doesn't. Not everyone wants to kiss your ass or suck your dick." She leans in slightly, her voice turning into a deadly whisper. "Grow. Up."
Connor's face flushes red, his smirk crumbling as her words hit home.
Mia snorts beside her, barely containing her laughter, and I almost lose it too, but the knot of anxiety in my chest only tightens, making it harder to breathe.
Camilla steps closer to them, arms crossed, her eyes narrowing even more.
"Now, unless you want to embarrass yourselves further, I suggest you both exit stage left before you make bigger idiots of yourselves."
Evan glares daggers at her, but it's Connor who tugs him by the sleeve, muttering something under his breath as they retreat. I release a shaky breath, my entire body trembling from the confrontation.
Mia turns to me, concern etched across her face. "You okay?"
"God, what is it with those assholes? Why won't they just leave you alone?" Camilla's question hangs in the air, and all I can manage is a weak shrug.
"Seriously though, are you okay?" she asks again.
I nod, but we all know it's a lie. I don't think I'll ever be okay while Evan's around, lurking in the background, ready to remind me of everything I wish I could forget. I'm not sure what else to tell them or how to tell them.
"Idiocy must run in the family," Mia observes.
"Well, their family tree must be a cactus 'cause they're all a bunch of pricks," Camilla adds.
I can't help but laugh, feeling grateful for them being here. "Thank you. Both of you."
"Girl, the only thing you should be thanking me for is not clawing dumb and dumber's eyes out with my nails." She holds up her hand, freshly painted fingernails wiggling in front of us.
"They're lucky I just got them freshly done."