Noah
I woke up smiling.
Which, in my world, was usually a sign of trouble.
Smiling meant hope. And hope was dangerous.
But this morning, with the sunlight bleeding through my curtains and the faint smell of coffee wafting from downstairs, I didn’t care.
Because all I could see was her.
Elizabeth.
That laugh. The real one. The one that cracked through her armor like sunlight slipping into a sealed room.
The way she looked at me—like she wanted to trust me, like she almost did. I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, hand behind my head, playing last night on repeat.
The candlelight bistro. The piano story. The soft way she said,
“I don’t do memories.”
And the way she let me see a piece of her anyway. But under all of that warmth was the quiet churn of regret.
The bet.
The lie.
My dad’s words from last night drifted back like smoke:
“If she’s really the one, she deserves all of you—not just the part you think she’ll love.”
I closed my eyes.
I needed to tell her.
Soon.
But not today. Not yet. Let me hold onto this a little longer. Just one more morning.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Adonis: Soooooooo
Adonis: is it love?
Adonis: Or did you freeze to death mid-sentence?
I groaned and picked it up, texting back.
Me: Go away. It’s too early for you to be this annoying.
The call came seconds later. Of course.
“Wow, Adonis, what’s up?” I said, hitting the speakerphone button.
“Come on, spill the tea! Liam and I are betting on whether she’ll ghost you halfway through dessert!”
I straightened up, running my fingers through my hair.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh my god,” he exclaimed, drawing it out. “You’ve got feelings! Real, soft ones. You’re practically the star of a rom-com now! Should we get you a guitar and a journal?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Alright, enough already.”
“Did she kiss you?” he pressed.
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
“Hey, that’s not a no.”
“I said—”
Adonis laughed, cutting me off. “Okay, okay. Anyway, come meet us at my office. Liam’s already waiting. We’ve got something to run by you.”
“Is this about the job next week?” I asked, curious.
“Just get your butt over here, Loverboy. Ten o’clock.” He hung up before I could respond.
I shook my head, grinning like a fool, then reluctantly dragged myself out of bed and slipped on a hoodie. As I made my way downstairs, the inviting aroma of cinnamon and coffee filled the air, leading me straight to the kitchen.
My mom was at the stove, flipping French toast as if she were preparing a feast for an army. My dad was already seated at the table, nursing a black coffee and scrolling through the morning paper as if it were still 1998.
“Well, well,” he remarked without glancing up. “The hero has arrived.”
Mom smiled over her shoulder.
“Morning, sweetheart! You hungry?”
“Starving,” I replied, sitting down across from Dad. “You making this much food for a special occasion?”
“Just practicing for when you bring that girl of yours over,” she said nonchalantly, placing a plate in front of me with a wink.
I nearly choked.
“Mom—”
“She’s right,” Dad chimed in, folding the paper. “You like her, don’t you?”
I nodded, taking a bite of my toast.
“Then don’t waste time pretending otherwise. Bring her around. Let us meet her.”
I glanced at them, the weight of everything I hadn’t shared with Elizabeth pressing down like a bruise.
“She’s not… like other girls,” I said quietly. “She’s guarded. She doesn’t let people in easily.”
Mom’s smile softened.
“That just makes it mean even more if she lets you in.”
“She trusts you, doesn’t she?” Dad added.
“I think so.”
I hesitated.
“She’s been through a lot, though. I don’t want to mess this up.”
Mom leaned closer, sliding another piece of toast onto my plate.
“Then don’t. Just be honest. Be yourself.”
Then she kissed the top of my head, just like she used to when I was little.
“And when you’re ready—bring her home. I want to meet the girl who makes my son smile in his sleep.”
I paused mid-bite.
“I smiled in my sleep?”
“Oh, honey,” she said, beaming. “Like a Disney prince.”
Dad snorted into his coffee. I leaned back, the laughter fading into contemplation.
Maybe it was time. Maybe dinner with my family could be the beginning of something real, something built on honesty.
But first…I needed to tell her the truth.