Two
The doorbell rings at the worst possible moment.
Brielle has one hand buried in the junk drawer, the other bracing the cabinet open with her hip, because the baby monitor has decided it needs batteries now—and she refuses to be held hostage by that sharp, chirping beep that makes her skin crawl.
She’s in leggings that are technically clean but feel morally questionable, an oversized hoodie that used to belong to Jason, and nothing underneath it but her own stubbornness.
Her hair is clipped up in a way that suggests effort—until you notice the flyaways.
She smells like baby shampoo and coffee she forgot to drink.
The doorbell rings again.
More insistent this time.
Brielle freezes, batteries in her palm.
“Okay,” she mutters. “Coming.”
Kayden thunders down the hallway, barefoot and loud enough to qualify as seismic activity.
“I get it!” he yells.
“You do not—” Brielle starts, already moving.
She catches him before he can throw the door open.
“Back up,” she says, hand firm on his chest. “Doors are not toys.”
Kayden pouts. “But I—”
“I know.” Softer now. Controlled. “Stand here. Mommy opens it.”
He stands there anyway, vibrating with suspicion.
Brielle pulls the door open.
And for half a second—
nothing lands.
Not a name. Not a thought.
Just recognition hitting her body before her brain catches up.
Leo Carson stands on her porch.
Stuffed dinosaur in one hand. Sippy cup in the other.
He’s taller.
That’s the first safe thought her brain offers.
Taller than the kid who used to hover in their doorway, shoulders slightly tucked, like he was apologizing for existing in a space that wasn’t his.
He isn’t doing that anymore.
He fills the doorway easily.
Broader—not bulky, just… settled into himself.
His hoodie sits differently now. His jaw carries a shadow of scruff.
His eyes—
the same.
Bright. Steady.
Fully there.
He looks at her.
Then, briefly, down—like he’s checking something.
Then back up.
“Hey,” he says.
His voice is lower now. Not forced. Just grown.
Brielle blinks once.
Her grip tightens on the doorknob.
“Leo?”
He lifts the dinosaur slightly. “Found this wedged in my couch.”
Kayden gasps like he’s been reunited with a lost limb.
“ROAR!” he yells, lunging forward.
Leo hands it over easily. No flinch. No hesitation.
His hand is big enough to swallow the toy.
Kayden clutches it like treasure. “That’s mine.”
“I figured.”
The smile that crosses Leo’s mouth is quick. Easy. Almost private.
Brielle feels heat rise in her face.
Immediate.
Uninvited.
She hates that her body reacts before she can stop it.
“I didn’t know you were—” she starts.
“In town?” Leo offers.
“Yes. In town.”
Too fast.
He nods. “Yeah. I’m back.”
The street behind him looks aggressively normal—trees, lawns, a distant truck beeping.
He’s the only thing that doesn’t fit the scene the way it should.
“Can he come in?” Kayden asks, already halfway convinced the answer is yes.
“No,” Brielle says automatically—too sharp.
She winces. “I mean—sorry—”
“It’s fine,” Leo says easily. “I can just drop this and go.”
He lifts the sippy cup.
Brielle laughs—short, startled. “How did you even—”
“I’m watching Ellie sometimes,” he says. “She brought it home and refused to give it back. My sister said it looked familiar.”
Right.
Connections. Overlap. The way everything loops back in this kind of life.
Brielle steps back without deciding to.
“Do you want to—” she starts, then stops.
She doesn’t know what she’s offering.
Coffee?
A chair?
Or just… a second longer to figure out why her pulse feels off.
Leo’s gaze moves over her—quick. Controlled. Hoodie. Bare legs. The flush she knows is there.
Then he looks away.
Decision made.
“Only if it’s not a hassle.”
“It’s not,” Brielle says.
A lie. Or not.
She doesn’t know.
She just knows it’s easier than explaining the feeling in her chest.
She opens the door wider.
“Come in.”
Leo steps inside.
The house smells like peanut butter, laundry, and something soft and sweet that never leaves.
Shoes scatter the entryway.
He steps around them without hesitation.
Like his body remembers this space.
Brielle’s stomach twists.
“Sorry,” she says automatically.
“Normal,” Leo says.
It lands like permission.
She leads him to the kitchen because kitchens are safe.
Kitchens are tasks.
“Coffee?” she asks, grabbing the mug she already used.
“For sure.”
She rinses it. Water fills the silence.
When she turns back, Leo is looking at the fridge.
Drawings. Schedules. A crooked grocery list. A photo strip of her and Jason, laughing like nothing hurt yet.
Leo doesn’t comment.
He just looks.
Like it means something different now.
Brielle pours coffee.
Cinnamon. Warm bitterness.
“So,” she says. “How long are you back for?”
Leo takes the mug.
Careful not to touch her fingers.
That restraint lands anyway.
“Not sure. A while.”
“Work?”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
He doesn’t need to.
“Ellie said you turned down a promotion,” Brielle says.
His mouth tilts. “She tells everyone everything.”
“So it’s true?”
He meets her eyes.
“Didn’t want it.”
Simple.
Final.
Brielle laughs, softer. “You always did that.”
“Did what?”
“Decide something. Stick to it.”
His gaze shifts—like he’s remembering a version of himself in this exact kitchen.
“Yeah,” he says.
A pause.
Fuller than it should be.
Brielle reaches for the coffee pot.
Her hoodie shifts.
And suddenly she’s aware—
No bra.
Skin.
Real.
Ungrounded.
Leo keeps his eyes above her collarbone.
That makes it worse.
Better.
Both.
“You—” she starts, then stops. “How’s… everything?”
“Fine.”
He says it like a closed door.
Brielle doesn’t push.
She shouldn’t.
“You still babysitting?”
His eyes soften. “Sometimes.”
“You were always good with them.”
He looks down briefly. “Yeah.”
Silence again.
But not empty.
Brielle feels it now—
her body turning back on in small, quiet ways.
Not heat.
Awareness.
Like the volume’s been turned from zero to one.
The back door opens.
Jason steps in.
And everything shifts.
Relief.
Surprise.
And a quick, sharp thought—
Don’t read my face.
Jason’s sleeves are rolled. His tie loosened. He looks tired—but still entirely himself.
His eyes land on Leo.
Recognition.
“Leo?”
Warm.
Genuine.
Leo turns. “Hey.”
Jason crosses the kitchen and claps his shoulder like no time has passed.
“You’re back.”
“Yeah.”
“When did that happen?”
“Today.”
Jason laughs. “Of course it did.”
Brielle watches them.
Anchoring.
This matters.
The ease.
The lack of tension.
Jason turns to her.
His hand finds her waist—natural, familiar.
Her body stiffens anyway.
Not because of him.
Because she’s suddenly aware of everything.
The hoodie. The skin. The flush.
His thumb presses once.
“You okay?” he asks, low.
She meets his eyes.
“Yeah.”
This time—
true.
Leo’s gaze flicks to Jason’s hand.
Then away.
Boundary acknowledged.
Respected.
Brielle exhales, almost dizzy with it.
Jason gestures at the mug. “You just show up with stolen dinosaur toys now?”
Leo huffs a laugh. “Seems like it.”
Kayden charges in again, roaring.
Leo crouches, meets him at his level.
Easy.
Jason laughs.
The moment resets.
Almost.
Jason’s phone rings.
“I’ve got to take this,” he says, already moving. He kisses Brielle’s temple as he passes.
“I’ll be right back.”
Then he’s gone.
Silence again.
Leo doesn’t look at her immediately.
Gives it space.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he says.
“Of course.”
Too bright.
He looks at her then.
Not flirtation.
Not challenge.
Recognition.
Like he sees her.
Brielle forgets to breathe.
His gaze drops—brief, quick—to her mouth.
Back up.
Enough.
“Good to see you again, Brie.”
Soft.
Her throat tightens. “You too.”
He steps back.
No lingering.
Sets the mug down carefully.
“Tell Jason I said bye.”
“I will.”
He moves to the door.
She follows without meaning to.
At the entryway, he turns.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
A pause.
Chosen words.
“You’ve got a lot going on,” he says, glancing toward the noise down the hall. “If you ever need help… babysitting, whatever… you can tell Jason.”
A beat.
“Or me.”
Her heart stutters.
Not the words.
The way he says them.
Normal.
Careful.
Not crossing anything.
“Okay,” she says.
He nods.
Then he’s gone.
The door clicks.
Brielle stands there too long.
Hand still on the knob.
She goes back to the kitchen.
The coffee sits on the counter.
She takes a sip.
It tastes like nothing.
She pours it out, watching it disappear down the drain.
Jason’s voice drifts from the hallway.
The house is the same.
Everything is the same.
But something—
shifted.
Nothing happened.
That’s the problem.
Because now she knows exactly what it feels like
when something almost does.