Grae's confession echoed in my mind like a song stuck on repeat—persistent, inescapable. It clung to the edges of my thoughts even as I descended the stairs, wrapping around me like the weight of an invisible thread. I couldn't quite name what I was feeling. Disbelief? Confusion? Or perhaps something far more complicated.
Then I saw him.
Grae.
He was talking to Mom.
I froze halfway down the staircase, caught off guard. His laughter carried through the air, soft and effortless, as he handed Mom a bouquet of flowers. Mom noticed me and met my gaze. She threw a knowing look at me.
"Good morning, B," he greeted the moment our eyes met.
I walked toward them, unable to hide the flicker of surprise that passed through me. "Thought you might like these," he said.
I glanced down at the orchid —my favorite flower and brought them to my nose. The scent was delicate, familiar. Grae has given me flowers in the past, so this isn't new. But today, even though the gesture is the same, the feeling is different.
"Thank you," I said, my voice a little softer than I meant it to be. He smiled back—an easy, knowing smile that made my thoughts stutter.
"Beatrice, breakfast is ready!" Mom called from the dining room. "You too, Grae, come join us."
We looked at each other, and the moment our eyes met, we both glanced away and laughed.
I reached out and took his hand without thinking. I lead him to the dining room, where my entire family was already gathered. He greeted everyone politely before taking the seat beside me. No one batted an eye at his presence—he was practically family. He'd been a fixture in this house since we were kids, always showing up to share meals, help around, or simply be present.
As we ate, he quietly placed food onto my plate, just like he always did. He knew my favorites. He knew what I avoided. That had always been normal between us. All of it had happened a hundred times before. And yet…
Today, I found myself watching him more closely.
Every movement, every shift in his expression. His hand brushing against the rim of my glass as he refilled my water. The way he listened intently when others spoke. The curve of his fingers, his posture, the subtle glances he thought I wouldn't catch.
Somewhere along the way, I must have been staring.
A soft clearing of a throat brought me back to the present.
Mom.
I blinked and looked away, suddenly self-conscious. When Grae set the glass beside me, I reached for it quickly and took a long sip, trying to cool the sudden warmth in my chest.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concern threading his tone.
"Y-yeah," I replied, not meeting his eyes.
I noticed Mom watching me, her brow arched ever so slightly. Grandma sat beside her, with a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Reed rolled his eyes without lifting his gaze from his plate. My aunts exchanged looks. Keith, staring at me like he was reading a book only he understood. My younger cousins were lost in their own little worlds, unaware. The older men—Grandpa, Dad, and my uncles—were deep in a discussion, oblivious to the tension simmering just beneath the surface.
Once breakfast ended, the family scattered. Reed disappeared upstairs with his phone glued to his face. Aunt Aliyah and Aunt Meghan vanished into the living room with whispered chatter. The older men, including Keith, went up to Grandpa's study. Mom and Grandma drifted off too.
I headed to the powder room for a quick touch-up. A light dab of powder, a fresh layer of lipstick, an adjustment to the strap of my bag. I stared at myself in the mirror longer than necessary, trying to make sense of the unease fluttering under my skin.
When I returned to the living room, Mom and Grandma were seated with teacups in hand. I kissed them both on the cheek.
"I'll be going now," I said.
"Take care," Mom replied, her voice laced with something playful.
I caught the amused glint in Grandma's eyes as she took a slow sip of her tea, saying nothing.
What was with them today? It wasn't like this was the first time Grae was driving me.
I stepped outside, the morning air crisp and light. There he was, leaning casually against his car, hands tucked into his pockets. The moment he saw me, his lips curved into a familiar smile—one I'd seen for years. One that, today, felt different. Or maybe... I felt different.
Was it just because I now knew how he felt about me?
"Hey," he said as he walked over and opened the passenger door for me. The gesture was second nature to him. I slipped in without a word, the cool leather grounding me, and watched him circle around to the driver's side. He slid in, fastened his seatbelt, then leaned over and clicked mine into place.
"You always forget," he murmured.
His fingers brushed lightly against my shoulder; a ghost of touch that made something shiver down my spine. It wasn't new—but the feeling was.
I stayed quiet as he started the engine. The car glided smoothly along the road. I wasn't really looking outside. My eyes kept drifting to him.
The grip of his hands on the wheel, steady and assured. The faint furrow of his brow when he was deep in thought. The subtle way he'd glance at me through his lashes, checking to see if I was okay.
"Stop looking at me," he said, half a smile in his voice. "Even though I like it when you do… it distracts me. And I'm driving."
I blinked, startled. Then turned quickly to the window, pressing my temple against the glass. My heart stumbled. This feeling—it had arrived uninvited and now refused to leave.
The silence returned, comfortable, but inside me, everything was spinning. I caught myself looking at him again. His lashes were long, casting shadows. His lips, usually pursed in thought, were curved in a faint, content line.
Everything about him screamed familiarity—but now, it unsettled me.
I—
"You okay?" he asked again, his voice soft and grounding.
I looked at him, caught mid-thought. "Yeah," I said quickly. "Just tired."
He didn't press. He never did. He simply nodded, eyes returning to the road.
Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. I couldn't tell anymore.
"B."
His voice called me back.
I turned toward him. We had arrived.
He was already out of the car, opening the door for me.
I stepped out, uncertain of what to say. "Thank you…"
He gave a small, fond smile. "Between us, there's no need to say thank you."
And then, with gentle fingers, he patted my head.
I froze.
My heart did a strange little dance in my chest. I turned my back to him before he could see my reaction and walked toward the entrance—perhaps a little too quickly, like a runway model who'd just missed a cue.
But even then, I could feel his eyes on me.