Chapter 33
After a few days, the quiet starts to feel less sharp. I move through it, finding familiarity in my usual routine. Mornings go back to normal with coffee, work, Neptune pacing while I get his breakfast ready, my laptop already waiting for me at the table.
Work keeps me moving. Early mornings at the center, data to log, equipment to clean, reports to finish before someone calls me back outside again.
Some days I’m on the water long enough that the salt dries into my skin before I even realize how tired I am, other days I’m inside running samples or catching up on paperwork that never seems to end.
Coming home feels good again, kicking off my shoes at the door, Neptune circling my legs while the quiet settles around us, easy and familiar.
The Battlefield chat stays busy. April dropping voice notes full of chaos, memes showing up at random hours, June sending pictures from whatever city she’s in that week with the team, stadium tunnels, hotel views, or random snapshots that somehow turn into inside jokes within minutes.
It’s mostly nonsense, the way it always has been, but it keeps us feeling close even while all of us move in different directions.
Life here keeps moving in its quiet way.
Aiden has been working long days, and I haven’t seen him as often.
Sometimes days pass where the only sign he’s been around is the sound of his truck leaving early in the morning or the faint glow of lights at his place when I glance out the window late at night, but even when we don’t cross paths, he somehow still finds ways to show up.
Neptune always knows before I do. I’ll open the front door and find a small paper bag hanging from the handle, still warm, bagels wrapped neatly inside with a folded note resting on top, written in his easy, messy handwriting.
Figured you’d forget breakfast again. A.
Or a text message mid-morning.
Aiden:
Skye wants to see her best friend. I’m taking him on a walk for a bit.
His presence stays quiet, slipping into my day without asking for attention. Bagels on the porch, a quick text, Neptune coming home tired and happy after a walk.
Neptune loses his mind any time Aiden shows up to walk him, tail whipping so hard his entire body wiggles while I try not to smile too much watching them disappear down the street through the window, Aiden’s long stride easy and familiar beside him.
Sometimes I catch myself standing there longer than necessary, coffee cooling in my hands.
At the same time, they grow smaller in the distance, and I have to remind myself to step away before I overthink too much about how much I’d like to join them on their adventures.
I end up doing laundry at Aiden’s place more often than not, carrying my basket next door and knocking lightly before letting myself in.
“You bring snacks?” Uncle Mike asks, eyebrows lifting hopefully.
I hold up a bag of cookies, and he nods approvingly.
The sound of the washing machine hums through the house while we talk about everything and nothing, stories from his younger days mixing with updates about work, comments about Neptune’s behavior, little pieces of life slipping easily into conversation.
He loves to hear stories about my sisters and me growing up, and his face especially lights up when I open up about my mom.
Aiden comes and goes while I’m there, the back door opening with the sound of boots against the floor, the smell of cold air following him in as he pauses when he notices me. His smile is small but warm, as if seeing me there was exactly what he expected, even when it wasn’t planned.
“Hey,” he says, voice rough from the day.
“Hey.”
He grabs a drink, checks on Mike, scratches Neptune behind the ears when he pushes his nose insistently against his hand, and lingers just long enough for me to feel his presence settle into the room before he moves again, heading back outside or into another task.
Nothing about it feels forced. We exist in the same space easily, crossing paths without needing to fill the silence, and I find myself relaxing into those moments more than I expect.
Days pass like that, one folding gently into the next, routines settling into place before I really notice how comfortable they’ve become.
I run into Finn here and there—at the station, once outside the coffee shop, another time when I’m loading equipment into the truck — and every time he flashes that easy grin and asks when I’m going to let him take me out again.
He says it lightly, like a joke between us, but there’s always something hopeful underneath it that makes my stomach tighten in a way I’m not entirely sure how to answer.
I usually laugh it off, promise “soon,” and keep moving before the conversation turns into something bigger than I’m ready for.
Today starts like any other until the office administrator calls my name and tells me there’s a delivery waiting.
I’m not expecting anything.
When I walk out and see the arrangement, I actually stop short.
Forty-eight long-stem roses rise out of a crystal vase so heavy I have to brace both hands around it to shift it.
The roses are enormous, impossible to ignore, and my first thought is that everyone is going to see them and assume things I haven’t even figured out myself.
The gesture feels bigger than where we actually are, and I’m not sure what to do with that.
A small handwritten card is tucked into the arrangement.
I can’t wait to see you again,
Finn.
Cassie appears beside me, almost immediately, gasping loud enough that half the hallway turns to look.
“May. Oh my God. WHO are these from?”
“Finn,” I mutter, already wishing the floor would swallow me while she admires the arrangement.
“They’re gorgeous.”
“Admire while you help me carry,” I say, grabbing on to one side of the vase.
She helps me carry it to my truck, narrating the whole walk and asking questions I refuse to answer, and by the time I finally wedge the vase safely into the passenger seat, I’m laughing despite myself, shaking my head as she yells that she expects updates tomorrow.
The drive home smells like roses, and at every stoplight I catch myself glancing over at them, equal parts flattered and overwhelmed.
When I pull into the driveway, I’m still trying to figure out where I’m even going to put them.
I climb out, walk around to the passenger side, and immediately realize I should have left them at the office. I’m halfway through an awkward lift when a shadow falls beside me.
“I got them.”
Aiden’s voice is warm and calm, and before I can protest, he’s already stepping in, lifting the vase easily from my hands with a small smile.
“Thank you,” I say, heat rising in my cheeks as I hurry toward the front door, digging for my keys so I don’t have to think too much about how effortless that looked.
On the way up the path, my eyes catch the hydrangeas lining the edge of the house. They are blooming now, and I think about how he planted them quietly, no announcement, no audience, just something waiting for me when I came home.
I unlock the door and step inside, holding it open while Aiden follows behind me. He carries the vase carefully through the living room and sets it down on the table, the roses instantly taking over the space.
Neptune comes padding over the second we walk in, tail wagging as he presses himself against my legs, his nose working overtime as he sniffs my clothes.
“Hey, Neppy,” I laugh, crouching down to scratch behind his ears while he leans into me with his full weight.
I’m still bent down when Aiden speaks.
“Do you have plans for dinner?”
I glance up at him.
“Not really.”
“Good,” he says, hands sliding into his pockets. “I’m making you dinner. Come over in about an hour?”
“Sure,” I say, and I can hear the smile in my own voice. “Should I bring anything?”
He grins, already backing toward the door. “Just your pretty self.” He pauses, glancing down as Neptune presses closer to me. “Oh, and Neptune, of course.”
The door closes behind him, leaving the house quiet again, the faint scent of roses lingering in the room.