XII

Solené Beckett

I woke abruptly, a subtle shift beneath me pulling me from sleep. My eyes snapped open, and I quickly realized where I was—or rather, who I was on. Summer and I were tangled together on her couch, limbs a mess of closeness and comfort.

I blinked, disoriented, and tried to process the scene. I was half-lying on top of her, our legs intertwined, her arm resting lazily across my waist as though it had always belonged there.

How did we even end up like this?

Regret surged through me as I pieced together fragments of last night. I had been drinking—a lot—and when I drank too much, I often said things I shouldn't. The thought of what I might've confessed to Summer sent a wave of anxiety rolling through me.

My inner spiral was cut short when I heard her groggy voice murmur, soft and almost teasing: "Lay back down. It's too early."

"I didn't mean to fall asleep on you," I stammered, feeling my cheeks warm. "I was probably a mess last night, I'm so sorry—"

"Sol," she interrupted, her voice still thick with sleep, "just lay back down. It's okay." Her eyes stayed shut, but there was an undeniable tenderness in her tone that made me pause.

I hesitated, but her arm tightened just slightly, pulling me back toward her. Against my better judgment, I gave in, letting my head rest on her chest once more. Her heartbeat was steady, calming, and before I knew it, I was drifting off again.

The second time I woke, the couch felt emptier. Summer was no longer beside me. I sat up, yawning as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, the sunlight streaming through the windows sharper now. Stretching lazily, I got to my feet and decided to find a bathroom to freshen up.

After wandering through what felt like half her house—five wrong doors later—I finally located one. I brushed my teeth with a spare toothbrush I found in a drawer, washed my face, and even applied some of the skincare products I discovered in another drawer. Not my usual routine, but desperate times called for resourcefulness.

Feeling a little more human, I headed back downstairs, drawn by the sound of music drifting from the kitchen. I followed it and paused in the doorway, the scene before me tugging a small smile to my lips.

Summer was swaying to the rhythm of How Many Drinks by Miguel, a wine glass in her hand. The deep red liquid inside looked like cranberry juice—although knowing her, I wasn't entirely sure. She was barefoot, her hair loose, and completely engrossed in her attempt to cook.

Key word: attempt.

Her focus was split between the music and what could only generously be called a pancake. It was misshapen and a little burnt at the edges, and I couldn't help myself.

"Is that supposed to be a pancake?" I called, breaking her reverie.

She spun around in surprise, clutching her chest. "You scared me!"

"Sorry," I said, trying to suppress a laugh. "I didn't mean to. But seriously—what is that?"

Summer's lips twitched like she wanted to argue, but she glanced back at the pan and sighed dramatically. "It's a work in progress," she admitted, trying to salvage what was left of the poor pancake.

"That's generous," I teased, stepping closer.

"Don't test me this early," she warned with a playful glare, and I couldn't help but laugh as the tension from earlier melted away.

Gently, I placed my hands on her waist, guiding her toward the kitchen island as I tried to ignore the effect even that small contact had on me. Her skin felt warm through the thin fabric of her shirt, and I swallowed hard, pushing those thoughts away. I pulled out a stool and motioned for her to sit down.

"How about you relax while I make breakfast?" I said, my voice steady despite the nervous energy buzzing beneath the surface.

As I slipped off my hoodie, I caught the way her gaze lingered, her eyes trailing down to the wifebeater tank top I wore underneath. Paired with sweatpants that hung low on my hips, it left just enough of my V-line exposed to catch her attention. I pretended not to notice, but when I glanced up, her staring was impossible to miss.

"Did you hear what I said?" I asked, tying my hair up into a messy bun, the motion casual but purposeful.

Summer blinked, caught in the act. Her cheeks flushed slightly as she brought her glass to her lips and took a deliberate sip. "Yes," she said, her tone calm, though her eyes betrayed her. "I'll sit right here and watch you make breakfast."

Her attempt to act indifferent only made me chuckle. "Okay," I murmured, turning toward the stove.

I abandoned the pancake idea—it wasn't worth the hassle—and decided on something I knew would win her over: chicken and waffles. It was simple, quick, and, most importantly, one of Summer's favorites.

The kitchen filled with the mouthwatering scent of fried chicken and sweet waffle batter as I worked. I could feel her eyes on me the entire time, her presence a quiet hum in the background, but I didn't look back. It was a strange sort of intimacy, her watching me move around her kitchen as if we did this all the time.

After plating everything, I set one dish in front of her and placed my own plate beside hers. "Breakfast is served," I said with a grin, sliding into the stool next to her.

Summer's eyes lit up as she looked at the food. "Wow, this looks amazing."

"Of course it does," I teased, leaning back casually. "I made it."

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, picking up her fork. "Don't let it go to your head."

"No promises," I shot back with a smirk.

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the occasional clink of utensils on plates filling the space between us. Every so often, I'd catch her glancing at me from the corner of her eye, and it made my chest tighten in a way I wasn't ready to unpack.

Eventually, she broke the silence. "You didn't have to go through all this, you know."

I shrugged, swallowing a bite of chicken. "It's nothing. Besides, you were trying to cook earlier, and someone had to save the day."

She laughed, soft and genuine, and it was the kind of sound that made you want to keep hearing it, no matter the cost. "Fair point," she said, shaking her head.

"Exactly. Now eat up before it gets cold," I replied, hiding the warmth spreading across my chest behind a playful smirk.

We finished eating in comfortable silence, the sound of forks scraping against plates the only noise between us. When we were done, I gathered our dishes and carried them to the sink. The warm water ran over my hands as I rinsed the plates, scrubbing them clean before placing them on the drying rack. Once done, I grabbed a towel to dry my hands, turning back around to find Summer still seated at the island, sipping from her wine glass.

She looked completely at ease now, her reading glasses perched on her nose and a book in hand. The sunlight streaming through the window made her look even softer somehow, and for a moment, I let myself watch her, my arms crossed as I leaned back against the counter.

"Sorry to interrupt your me time, but..." I started, drawing her attention away from the book. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, curious and warm. "... I just wanted to apologize for showing up so abruptly last night—and for anything I might've said."

She closed her book gently, setting it down on the counter as she turned her full attention to me. "There's no need to apologize, Sol," she said, her voice light and teasing. "I actually found it kind of... adorable. And the things you said—"

My cheeks immediately burned at her words. "Wait... what did I say?" I asked, a mix of curiosity and dread creeping in.

She smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "Oh, just some things..."

"Things like what?" I pressed, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.

"Just how much you missed me," she said, dragging the words out for emphasis, "and how you can't stop thinking about me—"

"Okay, okay!" I interrupted, cringing and throwing a hand up to stop her. "You can stop now."

"Aww," she cooed, clearly amused. "Are you embarrassed?"

"Yes," I admitted, running a hand through my hair. "I should've told you those things at a... different time. Sober, for one." I hesitated, the next words catching in my throat before I managed to get them out. "They're not... a complete lie, though."

Her playful expression softened as she set her glass down and looked at me, holding my gaze from across the room. "I didn't think they were," she said simply, her voice quiet but firm.

I took a deep breath, pushing past the nerves building in my chest. "I feel like I need to be around you all the time, Summer," I began, my voice steady despite the way my heart raced. "I know I messed up. Trust me, I do. I threw away three years of us—three years—like they were nothing, and I regret it every single day. But... if you'll let me, I just want to have you, even if it's only for as long as you feel comfortable."

Her brow furrowed slightly, and she bit her lip, clearly conflicted. "Sol..." she began carefully, her tone measured. "I want to. Truly, I do. But I think if we were to try again, we'd need to take things slow—really slow. We can't rush into this."

Before I could stop myself, the words spilled out of my mouth. "May I take you on a date tonight?"

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. "A date?"

"Yes," I said quickly, stepping forward. "It doesn't have to be serious. Just a... casual date. A way for us to get to know each other again—the new versions of who we are now."

She hesitated, her lips parting like she was about to say no, but instead, she trailed off. "... I don't know."

"Just a few hours," I urged, my voice softening. "Nothing more, nothing less. No pressure. Just us."

Summer studied me for a long moment, her gaze unreadable, before finally sighing. "Fine," she said, caving with an exasperated smile.

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. "Okay, great. I'll be here to pick you up around seven."

She raised an eyebrow, amused by my sudden enthusiasm. "Where are you going?"

"I have a date to plan," I said, already gathering my things in a hurry. "I'll see you later!"

Before she could respond, I was out the door, her soft laughter trailing behind me.