Chapter 9
River Stone
I place the last dish in the dishwasher and close the door, hitting the start button. The machine hums to life, and I turn to find Kiera folding up her empty reusable grocery bag, tucking it under her arm.
“I’ll be back at six,” she says, her tone aloof. The vulnerability from our conversation about my family, the way she held my hand and looked at me like she understood—it’s gone, hidden behind her carefully constructed defenses. “The galbi should be perfectly marinated by then.”
“Sounds good.” I lean against the counter, not quite ready for her to leave even though I know she needs to. “Are you moving into your apartment today?”
She glances up, surprised. “How did you—”
“You signed the lease yesterday, I figured since it’s the start of the month you could move in. Plus, you have that look.”
“What look?”
“Excited but trying not to show it.” I smile. “So? Are you moving in today?”
A small, genuine smile breaks across her face despite her obvious attempt to stay guarded. “I’ve packed up most of my things. But I can’t actually move everything until Tobias gets back from his business trip.”
“Why’s that?”
She shifts her weight, the grocery bag crinkling in her grip. “The bedframe and mattress are too heavy, even for Kiki and me together. So...” She shrugs. “I’m just waiting.”
“I can help.”
The words are out before I fully think them through, but I don’t regret them. This is exactly the kind of thing I want to do—show up, be useful, prove I’m not going anywhere.
“River, no.” Kiera shakes her head immediately. “You’ve already done enough. You helped me look at the apartment yesterday, you’ve been letting me use your kitchen to practice cooking—”
“And I’d like to help you move your bed.” I push off from the counter. “Come on, Kiera. It’s not a big deal. I can lift heavy things. That’s basically my only qualification here, but it’s a good one.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words to convince her.
“Honestly? I need to get out of this house anyway. I’ve been sitting in my editing room for days, staring at the same footage until my eyes cross.
A change of scenery would be good for me. Plus, manual labor. Very therapeutic.”
She’s wavering. I can see it in the way she’s shifting her feet, the way her grip on the grocery bag has loosened slightly.
“I don’t want to take advantage of your help,” she says quietly.
“You’re not. I’m offering. There’s a difference.” I give her my most reassuring smile. “Let me do this. Please?”
She studies my face for a long moment, and I can practically see her internal debate. Finally, she sighs. “Okay. Fine. But only because Tobias isn’t back until tomorrow, and I really want to sleep in my own place tonight.”
“Deal.” Relief floods through me. “Do you have access to a truck?”
“Yeah. Kiki borrowed one from someone on the island. It’s already at the house.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
Five minutes later I’m in the passenger seat of Kiera’s beat-up Honda moving through the quiet streets of Willow Shade, heading toward Kiki and Tobias’s house.
The afternoon sun is warm through the windshield, and I find myself grinning for no particular reason other than the fact that I get to spend more time with Kiera. Even if it’s just hauling furniture.
Kiera pulls into the driveway and parks. Before we even make it to the front door, it flies open and Skyler comes barreling out.
“River!” She launches herself at me, and I catch her easily, lifting her up. “You’re here!”
“Hey, Little Pup.” I set her down, grinning at her enthusiasm. “How are you doing?”
“I’m going to be a big sister!” Her eyes are huge with excitement. “Mommy has a baby in her tummy, and we’re going to name her Princess Sparkle Rainbow!”
The announcement tugs at my heartstrings. I know the story of how Kiki came to this island, looking for her daughter. And now she and Tobias have one on the way. It’s so sweet. I press my lips together, trying not to laugh at what Skyler said. “Princess Sparkle Rainbow? That’s quite a name.”
“It’s perfect,” Skyler says seriously. “She’s going to love it.”
“The name isn’t set in stone yet,” Kiki says, appearing in the doorway with an amused smile. She comes down the porch steps, and I give her a hug.
“Congratulations,” I say. “That’s great news.”
“Thank you.” She steps back, one hand resting on her still-flat stomach. “We’re excited. And terrified. But mostly excited.” Her gaze shifts between me and Kiera. “What brings you by?”
“I’m here to help load the bedframe,” I say. “So Kiera can move into her new apartment.”
Kiki’s whole face lights up. “Well, that’s so sweet of you. Kiera’s been talking non-stop about her new place. We thought we’d have to wait until Tobias gets back.”
“Happy to help.”
We head inside, Skyler chattering excitedly about the baby and all the things she’s going to teach her little sister. The house smells like cinnamon and vanilla, warm and homey in a way that makes me think of family dinners and lazy Sunday mornings.
“Kiera’s room is upstairs,” Kiki says, pointing.
We climb the stairs, Kiera leading the way with me and Kiki following. When we reach the second floor, Kiera opens a door and steps inside, and I get my first look at her personal space.
The room is small but filled with afternoon light from a large window.
Most of the room is packed up—boxes stacked against one wall, the closet mostly empty, the bedside table cleared of everything except a lamp.
But there are still traces of Kiera everywhere.
A photo of her and Kiki taped to the mirror.
A collection of cooking magazines on the desk.
An open box near the bed with clothes folded neatly inside.
And sitting on top of those clothes, looking slightly forlorn, is a stuffed Eeyore. I move closer without thinking, drawn to this glimpse of Kiera’s softer side. The donkey is old, well-loved, with worn patches on his ears and a tail that’s been restitched at least once.
“Is this yours?” I pick up the Eeyore gently, turning it over in my hands.
Kiera moves fast, crossing the room and snatching the stuffed animal from me. “It’s nothing.” She shoves Eeyore back into the box and closes the flaps quickly, her cheeks flushed pink. “Just something from when I was a kid.”
“It’s cute,” I say, keeping my voice casual even though I’m charmed by her embarrassment. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping stuff from your childhood. I still have my first camera.”
“That’s different.” She won’t look at me. “A camera is practical. A stuffed animal is—”
“A comfort item,” Kiki supplies gently from the doorway. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, Kiera. You’ve had that Eeyore since you were five.”
Kiera’s shoulders tense, and I can see her retreating into herself. Time to change the subject.
“So,” I say, clapping my hands together and surveying the room with exaggerated focus, “where do we start? Bed frame first?”
Kiera shoots me a grateful look. “Yeah. Bed frame first.”
The next hour passes in a blur of physical labor. We disassemble the bed frame carefully, Kiki directing while Kiera and I do the heavy lifting. The pieces are awkward and heavier than they look, but we manage to get everything down the stairs and loaded into the truck bed.
Then come the boxes. So many boxes. Kiera doesn’t have a lot of possessions, but what she does have is packed carefully and efficiently. Clothes, kitchen supplies, books, linens. Each box is labeled in neat handwriting, and I find myself studying her organizational system with appreciation.
“You’re very thorough,” I say, loading a box marked “Winter Clothes” into the truck.
“I figured labeling boxes would save me headaches later.” She lifts a smaller box and slides it into the truck beside mine.
By the time we have everything loaded, I’m sweating and my arms are sore, but not in a bad way. Kiera waves goodbye to Kiki and Skyler, promising to come back for family dinners, and then we’re heading to the truck.
“I can drive,” she says, sliding behind the wheel.
“Sure thing.” I climb into the passenger seat.
She starts the truck and backs carefully out of the driveway.
We drive to the bookstore in comfortable silence, and I watch the island pass by through the window.
It really is beautiful here—the way the afternoon light hits the water, the charm of the old buildings on Main Street, the slower pace that feels worlds away from LA.
Kiera parks behind the bookstore, and we start the process of unloading. The bed frame and mattress goes first, piece by heavy piece up the narrow staircase. We have to angle the mattress to get it around the corners, and by the time we have everything upstairs, we’re both breathing hard.
“Okay,” Kiera says, surveying the pile of bed frame pieces in the middle of her new apartment. “Now we just have to put it back together.”
“After we bring up the boxes,” I remind her.
She groans. “Right. The boxes.”
We head back downstairs, and I grab two boxes while Kiera takes a lighter one. The staircase is narrow enough that we have to go single file, and I’m behind her, watching her navigate the steps carefully with the box in her arms. We work together, bringing up box after box.
I set down a box of cookbooks and head toward the stairs just as Kiera turns around like she forgot something.
We collide.
She bumps into my chest and stumbles backward. Instinct takes over—I grab her waist, pulling her against me to keep her from falling down the stairs.
“Whoa,” I breathe, my heart hammering. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I—” She looks up at me, and suddenly we’re inches apart.
My hands are on her waist, firm and steady. Her hands have come up to grip my arms, and I can feel her fingers pressing into my biceps. She’s close enough that I can see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes, can smell that floral scent of her shampoo, can feel the warmth of her breath.
Her lips part slightly, and my gaze drops to her mouth without permission. To her perfectly formed lips. They look soft. Inviting. And I shouldn’t be thinking about what I’m thinking about, but I do it anyway.
It would be so easy to lean down just a few inches and finally know what it’s like to kiss Kiera Emmerson.
Her eyes are dark, pupils dilated, and she’s not pulling away. If anything, she’s leaning in, just slightly. Her fingers tighten on my arms.
What would she do if I kissed her? Would she kiss me back? Or would it scare her even more away?
She’s staring into my eyes, not moving. I can’t even tell if we’re breathing. And then her gaze flicks to my lips. That’s all the invitation I need.
I start to lower my head, slowly, giving her every chance to stop me. My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure she can feel it. The world narrows to just this—her and me and the tiny space between us that’s getting smaller with every breath.
My phone rings.
The sharp sound shatters the moment like glass. Kiera jerks back, and I drop my hands from her waist immediately, stepping away to give her space. My phone is still ringing, loud and insistent at the top of the stairwell.
“Sorry,” I mutter, fumbling for my phone. I pull it out and glance at the screen. My mother. Of course it’s my mother.
I look up at Kiera. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing uneven, and she won’t quite meet my eyes.
“I should—” She gestures vaguely toward the truck. “More boxes.”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. “More boxes.”
She practically flees down the stairs, and I stand there on the landing, my phone still ringing in my hand, trying to process what just happened.
We almost kissed. We were this close. And if my phone hadn’t rung—
I decline the call and shove my phone back in my pocket, running both hands through my hair. My heart is still racing, my body still humming with awareness and want and the ghost sensation of Kiera in my arms.
Tomorrow, I’m turning my phone off.