Chapter Twenty-Three
WHEN IT CLICKS
Cole
She hates fancy. She hates pressure.
So, no candles. No reservations at some pretentious restaurant where the plates are the size of coasters and they charge extra for bread. She deserves something better. Something real. Something that feels like us. Most importantly, something that won’t make her run for the hills.
That’s why I’m here, blanket slung over one shoulder, pizza box in hand, waiting at the trailhead for her car to pull up.
As soon as I see those headlights, my chest tightens—nervous, like an idiot, but I can’t help it.
The car door opens, and Andi steps out, wearing jeans, a sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder, and her hair pulled back, like she didn’t overthink it either. She’s beautiful. Always.
“This better not involve bugs,” she warns, eyeing me suspiciously.
I grin. “Promise—nothing that bites. Unless you count me.”
She groans, but there’s a hint of a smile. “Alright, what’s the plan?”
“You’ll see.”
I lead her down the path, the woods quiet except for the hum of summer air, crickets, and the occasional rustle of leaves.
It’s not a long walk, just enough to clear our heads from the world behind us.
Soon, we arrive at a small clearing, moonlight spilling through the trees, the sound of water trickling from the nearby creek.
I spread the blanket out and set the pizza down, pulling out two cold sodas from the cooler I’d stashed earlier.
“No candles?” she teases, sitting cross-legged.
“No candles.”
She looks around, eyebrows raised. “This is… not terrible.”
I laugh, settling beside her. “High praise.”
She takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “Why this?”
I shrug. “Because I wanted something quiet. Just us.”
She nods slowly, picking at the crust. “I don’t do this.”
“Picnics?”
She gives me a look. “Dating.”
“I’ve noticed.”
There’s a beat of silence. Not uncomfortable, but heavy.
“I’ve never been good at it,” she says, her voice lower now. “Letting people in. Every time I have, it’s just—ended badly.”
I reach over, brushing my thumb over her hand. “I’m not them.”
She looks at me, really looks, and something softens.
“Oh,” I say, suddenly remembering. “I threw away the bracket.”
She props up on one elbow, surprised. “You did?”
“Yup.”
“Did the guys kill you?”
I grin. “Almost. But I don’t care.”
She’s quiet, processing that, and then she moves closer. “Good,” she says.
We lounge there for a minute, the quiet stretching between us. A good quiet. One that feels like something is finally starting to click into place.
I glance over, watching as she chews and sets her slice down on a napkin. “What’d you do yesterday?”
She hesitates, then shrugs. “Went to visit my parents.”
I turn toward her, propping myself up on an elbow. “Their grave?”
She nods, eyes fixed on the stars. “Yeah.”
A pause.
“Tell me about them?” I ask.
She glances at me, surprised, like she didn’t expect me to care. But I do. I really do.
She takes a breath. “My mom was loud. The good kind of loud—laughed too hard, sang off-key in the car, was always the first to make a joke. She never met a stranger. She could walk into a room and own it without even trying.”
I smile, imagining it. “You get your fire from her.”
“Maybe.” She smiles too, but it’s softer. “My dad was the quiet one. Solid. The guy you called when your tire blew or your dishwasher exploded. He always knew how to fix things. He hated attention, but he loved watching people he cared about shine.”
“And you got your loyalty from him.”
She looks at me again, eyes shining a little now. “Probably.”
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers.
“What else?”
She thinks for a second. “They were good together. Balanced. Like she made him come alive, and he grounded her when she needed it. They didn’t make sense to anyone else, but they did to me.”
I squeeze her hand. “Sounds like they were lucky.”
“They were everything,” she says quietly. “And losing them? That... wrecked me.”
Her words hang there, heavier than silence. I can feel her retreating—just a little—like she’s afraid she said too much.
I shift closer, brushing her hair back gently. “I wish I could’ve met them.”
She swallows hard, but there’s a small smile on her lips. “They would’ve liked you.”
“Yeah?”
She nods. “My mom would’ve loved that you don’t shut up. And my dad would’ve respected that you care enough to ask.”
That hits me right in the chest.
“I’m glad you told me,” I say. “Really.”
She squeezes my hand back, eyes dropping to our fingers intertwined.
“Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime.”
And I mean it. Even if it’s hard. Even if it hurts.
We stay like that, side by side, hands tangled together, watching the stars appear in the sky. I’ve gotta say—it’s pretty damn perfect.
The following day, Mom’s already got a booth when I walk into the diner. Same one she always picks, by the window, with a view of nothing but the parking lot and some half-dead bushes.
She’s sipping iced tea, flipping through the menu when I slide into the seat across from her.
“Hey, sweetheart.” She smiles.
“Hey, Ma.” I grin, grabbing a menu even though I don’t need it. “You getting the usual?”
“Thinking about it.” She gives me a look, one of those loaded ones. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”
She waves me off. “Let’s order first.”
Alright then.
The waitress—Betty, who’s worked here since I was a kid—comes over, and I rattle off my usual. Mom gets her turkey club, extra pickles, and then we’re alone again.
“So,” I say, leaning back. “What’s really going on?”
She fiddles with her straw. Classic stalling move.
“There’s someone I’ve been seeing,” she says, like she’s ripping off a Band-Aid.
I blink. “Yeah, I figured.”
She tilts her head. “And?”
“And what?” I shrug. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“You’re not weirded out?” she asks, genuinely surprised.
I laugh. “A little bit. But come on, Ma. I’m not twelve. You deserve to have a life.”
She smiles, soft and touched, but I can see she’s still bracing for something.
“What’s he like?” I ask.
“His name’s Jack. He’s kind, smart, patient.” She hesitates. “I wasn’t sure I was ready for this, but... he’s been easy to talk to.”
“That’s good.” I nod, meaning it. “You feel safe with him?”
She nods. “I do.”
I take a sip of water, thinking. Then I smirk. “Alright, ground rules.”
She groans. “Cole—”
“Public places, at least for a bit longer,” I say, counting off on my fingers. “No letting him in the house unless you’re sure. Keep your phone on you.”
“I’m not a teenager. And he’s already been to the house.”
“Well then that leads me to—” I point at her, grinning. “Safe sex, Mom. Don’t make me have to explain condoms to you.”
She nearly chokes on her tea, eyes wide. “Oh my God, Cole.”
“What?” I laugh. “You think I don’t know how this goes?”
She’s bright red now, fanning herself with a napkin. “That’s not something I need your advice on.”
“Just looking out for you.” I wink. “It’s what you’d do.”
She glares, but she’s smiling too. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m the best son you’ve got.”
“The only son I’ve got,” she shoots back.
Betty drops off our food, and we dig in, the tension easing.
After a while, Mom sets her sandwich down, eyes soft. “You really mean it? You’re okay with this?”
I nod. “I want you to be happy, Ma. And if he makes you smile like this? I’m good.”
She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “Thank you.”
“Just... don’t tell me details, alright?”
She laughs. “Deal.”