Chapter 12 Landon
LANDON
I wiped down the counter with slow, even strokes, watching sunlight filter through the freshly washed windows and pool across the checkered floor.
Mason’s Diner looked alive again. Still missing its customers, still quiet without the sounds of conversation and clinking silverware, but it was getting there.
Behind me, Mom stood on a step stool, stretching to pin up a new chalkboard sign above the coffee station. Her reading glasses were slipping down her nose. “Do you think the lettering is too small?” she asked, squinting.
I stepped back and tilted my head. “You’re asking the guy with the worst handwriting ever?”
She chuckled. “Fair point. Maybe Kira can touch it up. She’s got the eye.”
There it was again—her name, showing up like muscle memory in my mom’s sentences. Like she’d never really left.
“I can fix it,” a new voice called from behind me.
Great. Liam’s here.
It’d been over a year since I’d last spoken to my little brother, but I’d never forget the sound of his voice. I turned over my shoulder and there he was, standing by the door, duffel bag in hand.
He looked older than the last time I saw him.
Less boy, more man. His jaw was sharper, shadowed with scruff he hadn’t bothered to shave.
The sleeves of his hoodie were pushed to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms and a faint tan line from a watch he probably forgot at college.
But his eyes—still a stormy, steel blue like Dad’s—had a guarded edge now.
“Liam!” Mom beamed, hurrying off the stool. “You didn’t tell me you were coming in today.”
He shrugged, but a flicker of a smile ghosted across his face as she wrapped him in a hug. “Figured I’d surprise you.”
“You sure did.” She stepped back and took his face in her hands like she needed to double-check he was real. “God, look at you. My college boy.”
“I’ve only been gone two months,” he muttered, embarrassed.
Still, she glowed like it’d been years.
Liam’s eyes flicked toward me. “Hey.”
I nodded. “Hey.”
That was it. One syllable each.
Once upon a time, we’d traded comic books and inside jokes, shot hoops in the alley behind the diner until Mom called us in for dinner. Now, silence stretched in the space where familiarity used to live.
Mom either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the tension, already bustling back behind the counter. “You hungry? There’s leftover pie in the fridge.”
“I could eat,” Liam said.
He dropped his bag by the corner booth, then sank into the seat without a word.
The diner might’ve been coming back to life, but clearly, some things still needed fixing.
“Is Carter still dropping by today?” Liam asked as he tore into the slice of pie with his fork.
Mom answered, “Yes, he should be here any minute.”
I furrowed my brow. “Who the hell is Carter?”
“The lawyer who helped Mom get the insurance payout last year.” Liam glared at me as if to say you would have known this if you were here.
I had heard the story, though. Everything had fallen apart after the fire, and dealing with the insurance company was no exception. Claim denial after claim denial after claim denial. At a certain point, Mom and Dad gave up.
Until a year ago, when a new spark ignited in Mom. She hired a law firm to look at the case again, and they fought for a fair settlement. Eventually, the money came through, which Mom was able to use to put back into the diner.
“It’s just a quick check-in,” Mom explained. “To make sure everything is going well.”
“That’s nice of him,” I said hesitantly.
Liam rolled his eyes. “I don’t think nice and lawyer fit in the same sentence.”
Mom huffed quietly before retreating to the back, leaving the two of us alone. A part of me screamed to run away and avoid confrontation, but the other, wiser, part of me knew I couldn’t delay the inevitable.
I hesitated near the coffee machine, then poured two mugs—black, the way Dad used to drink it, the way we both learned to stomach it early just to feel older. I set one down in front of Liam, the ceramic clinking softly against the laminate table.
He glanced up. “Thanks.”
I slid into the booth across from him, wrapping my hands around my own cup. The air between us stretched, tight and quiet. Finally, I said, “So…how’s school?”
He blinked at me like I’d spoken in a language neither of us used anymore. “It’s fine.”
“Just fine?”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “It’s college. Classes, parties, group projects where no one does the work except me.”
A breath of a laugh escaped me. “Sounds about right.” Not that I knew firsthand.
Liam swirled the coffee in his cup, eyes trained on the dark liquid like it might offer answers I couldn’t. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”
His words landed heavy, no accusation in his tone—just fact. That almost made it worse.
“I always wanted to,” I admitted. “But after so many years gone, that was my new normal. The thought of coming home started to scare me. At some point, I got terrified of change.”
“Well, things always change when it’s not your life falling apart.”
That one hit. I stared down at the chipped edge of my mug, searching for the right words. Ones that didn’t sound like excuses.
“I know I left you with the worst of it, especially after Dad died,” I said finally. “And I’m sorry for that. I thought I was doing the right thing, helping from a distance, sending money. But it wasn’t fair to you.”
He didn’t respond right away, jaw tight. Then he looked up, and there was something softer behind his eyes. Still guarded but listening.
“I used to wait for your calls,” he mumbled quietly. “I’d check my phone like an idiot, hoping you’d ask how school was going or if I scored a winning goal.”
My chest ached. “I should’ve called more.”
“Yeah. You should’ve.”
Silence again. At least it wasn’t the sharp, angry kind from before. Hopefully, it was a pause before something else. Forgiveness and moving on, if I were lucky.
“You’re here now,” he said after a beat.
I nodded. “I am.”
Liam took a sip of his coffee, then leaned back in the booth. “You still suck at small talk.”
A grin pulled at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah, well, some things never change.”
The bell above the door jingled, and I looked up, expecting the lawyer guy. But it was Kira. What the hell?
Mom popped out from behind the kitchen door and exclaimed loudly, “Kira, honey, thank you for stopping by!”
Kira smiled sheepishly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stepped inside, clutching a sketchpad and what looked like a set of pencils in a zippered pouch.
She was still in her office clothes—slacks, a silky cream blouse, and low heels that made her walk a little more careful on the diner’s linoleum floors.
Mom hugged Kira, and they spoke in hushed tones. I stared, confused.
“Wait.” Liam chuckled. “Is this some weird ex reuniting stunt?”
“No.” I shook my head. “We’re…complicated.” I wasn’t sure where Kira and I stood yet, but I wasn’t going to talk to my brother about it before her.
“Complicated.” Liam glanced at Kira, who was already looking in our direction.
“You’re here?” I said to her, far less gracefully than I had hoped.
She tilted her head at me. “Don’t sound too happy to see me, Landon. Aimee and I talked this morning. I have a long lunch break, so I thought I’d get the mural outline started.”
“I am happy to see you,” I sputtered, flushed. “I just didn’t know you were coming.”
Maybe I would have worn something better than this old, ratty T-shirt.
“That was kind of the point,” Mom said with a wink. “I knew if I told you, you’d get all weird about it.”
“I’m not weird about it,” I muttered.
“You’re being weird about it,” Liam said under his breath behind me, not even looking up from his phone.
Mom ignored both of us and turned to Kira, her smile bright. “You don’t want to get that pretty outfit dirty. Landon, honey, grab her one of your old T-shirts from the back, would you?”
“Seriously?” I shot her a look.
“Seriously,” she echoed, already leading Kira toward the mural wall near the back. “She’s going to make this place beautiful.”
I huffed but did as I was told, heading to the back hallway where the storage shelves were stacked with mismatched aprons and a box of shirts that hadn’t seen daylight in years. I dug around until I found a soft, oversized gray tee with the diner’s faded logo still visible across the front.
When I got back, Kira had her sketchpad open, crouched by the wall, her brows furrowed in that way she always did when she was thinking too hard. She looked up when I handed her the shirt.
“Thanks.” She stood and took it, her fingers brushing mine for half a second too long. “Sorry for the surprise. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”
She slipped the T-shirt over her blouse right there, twisted her hair up into a bun, and secured it with a pencil from behind her ear.
Liam let out a low whistle from the booth. “Damn. Looking good, Kira.”
Kira grinned as I glared.
“Don’t flirt with my…with Kira.”
Mom beamed like she’d orchestrated the whole thing. Knowing her, she probably had. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Kira step back from the mural space, her gaze sharp and focused.
What a dysfunctional family unit we make.
Something stuttered in my chest, realizing that I had just included Kira within the scope of my family. I didn’t want to think too hard on that, so I pushed it back down for a rainy day.
“Want to help with the mural?” Kira asked me.
“Sure,” I said. “Put me to work, Picasso.”
Kira crouched again, sketchpad balanced on one knee, eyes scanning the wall like she was seeing something invisible the rest of us couldn’t.
She flipped to a page filled with thumbnail sketches, like tiny bursts of ideas, and tapped her pencil against one.
Then, without fanfare, she stood and began drawing.
“You can be my easel,” she joked. But I took it seriously, grabbing all of her pencils and holding them out for her easy access.