XX

Solené Beckett

"So, she kissed you? And then you kissed her?" Spencer asked, perched on the edge of my bed, a granola bar halfway to her mouth.

"Yes," I said, dragging out the word. "And stop shedding crumbs on my bed." I gave her a pointed look as I tossed another sweater onto the pile I was unpacking from my suitcase.

Spencer ignored me, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "And...?"

"And what?" I said, pretending to focus on folding my clothes instead of the weight of her gaze.

She sighed dramatically. "And why haven't you asked her out yet? You two basically wrote the book on epic relationships."

I froze for a second, clutching a shirt. "It's not that simple."

"Oh, please." Spencer leaned back, waving the granola bar like a pointer. "You were together for four years, Sol. Everyone knew you were endgame—until you decided to pack up and leave for that job. Now you're back, she kissed you, you kissed her, there's been flirting, hanging out, and you're still dragging your feet?"

"It's complicated, Spence," I muttered, dropping the shirt into the growing pile. "We've been through a lot. What if she's not ready? What if I've hurt her too much?"

Spencer arched a brow. "She kissed you, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but—"

"No 'but.' If Summer wasn't ready, she wouldn't have kissed you."

I sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair. "What if it doesn't work? What if I came back thinking we could fix things, and it just... falls apart again?" My voice was quieter now, the weight of the past pressing down on me.

Spencer softened, tossing the granola wrapper into the trash. "You're scared. I get it. But staying in limbo won't change anything. You have to take the chance."

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I glanced at it, my heart jumping when I saw her name light up the screen: Summer.

Spencer leaned forward, grinning. "Speak of the devil. She probably wants to see you. Pick up!"

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. "What if—"

"Nope," Spencer cut in, grabbing the phone and shoving it into my hand. "No what-ifs. Answer it!"

I took a deep breath and slid my thumb across the screen. "Hey, Summer," I said, my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest.

"Hey, Sol," she said, her voice as familiar as a favorite song. "I was just thinking... want to grab coffee later? There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

I hesitated for just a beat, then smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great. Three o'clock?"

"Three sounds perfect."

As the call ended, I set the phone down and glanced at Spencer, who was smirking like she'd already planned my wedding.

"She's going to kiss you again. Bet on it," she teased.

"Shut up," I muttered, but I couldn't stop the warmth spreading through me.

*

The café was quieter than usual for a Saturday afternoon, the faint hum of conversation blending with the hiss of the espresso machine. I spotted Summer near the window, sitting at a corner table with her coffee cup cradled between her hands. She looked relaxed, the sunlight catching in her auburn hair and making it glow.

She glanced up as I approached, her smile unfurling in that easy, familiar way it always did. "Hey, Sol."

"Hey," I said, sliding into the seat across from her. Seeing her felt like a deep breath after holding it too long. "Sorry if I kept you waiting."

"You didn't," she said, shaking her head. "I got here early. I kind of like having a minute to just sit and people-watch."

I smiled, letting the warmth of the moment settle around us. "How's it feel to be back now that you're done with everything?"

Summer tilted her head, her smile softening. "Weirdly quiet, honestly. I forgot how slow things feel here compared to LA."

"I know what you mean," I said. "Though I can't say I miss the traffic."

That earned a laugh from her, one that tugged at something deep in me. "True. I've been catching up on sleep since we got back, though. The premiere was a lot. Fun, but... a lot."

"It was amazing," I said. "You looked incredible on that red carpet. I still don't understand how you didn't trip in those heels."

Summer smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Years of practice," She sipped her coffee, her gaze flicking to mine. "It was nice, though—having you there. I'm glad you came."

I swallowed, her words settling somewhere warm in my chest. "Me too."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The quiet between us wasn't uncomfortable—it never had been. But I couldn't shake the feeling there was something unsaid hanging in the air.

"So," I said, breaking the silence. "What did you want to talk about?"

Summer blinked, her expression shifting, like she'd forgotten she was supposed to have a reason for calling me. She hesitated, then gave me a sheepish smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I, uh... I don't actually have anything specific to talk about."

I raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to smile. "Really? You dragged me out here for nothing?"

"Not for nothing," she said quickly, her cheeks flushing. "I just... I wanted to see you. It feels like it's been forever, even though it's only been a few days."

Her admission caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn't know what to say. The warmth that had been simmering in my chest flared into something brighter, something harder to ignore.

"I missed you too," I said finally, my voice quieter than I intended.

Summer's eyes softened, the tension I hadn't even noticed in her shoulders melting away. "Good," she said, her smile returning. "Because I was starting to think I might've imagined how well we've been getting along lately."

"You didn't imagine it," I said, leaning forward slightly. "LA was... it was good. More than good."

She nodded, her gaze steady on mine. "It was."

For a moment, I thought about saying more—about the kiss we hadn't talked about since it happened, about the way being around her felt like coming home in a way I hadn't expected. But instead, I just smiled.

"So," Summer said, her tone lighter now, "tell me you've done something fun since we got back and not just locked yourself in your room unpacking."

"Define fun," I said, earning another laugh.

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, I couldn't help but notice the way her eyes lingered on mine, or the way the warmth between us felt so natural, like it had never left.

After leaving the café, we went our separate ways, agreeing to meet at Summer's house for dinner. The drive gave me a moment to gather my thoughts, though my mind was still buzzing with the warmth of her smile and the softness in her voice when she admitted she just wanted to see me.

When I pulled into her driveway, I noticed her standing on the porch, scrolling through her phone. She looked up when she heard my car door close and waved, her grin easy and inviting.

"Hey," she called as I walked up the steps. "I was thinking we could make something simple. Pasta, maybe?"

I followed her inside, raising an eyebrow as we headed to the kitchen. "Are you actually going to cook this time, or am I taking over again?"

She groaned, tossing her keys on the counter. "Okay, in my defense, I can cook. I just... don't want to embarrass myself in front of a professional."

I laughed, leaning against the counter. "I'm hardly a professional, but nice try. What's the plan?"

She opened a cupboard, pulling out a box of spaghetti and setting it on the counter alongside a jar of marinara sauce. "This is the best I've got," she said with a self-deprecating shrug.

I smirked. "Summer, this isn't cooking. This is boiling water and opening a jar."

"Hey!" she said, swatting me with a kitchen towel. "Don't judge me. You're the one who keeps offering to help, so help."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop smiling. "Fine. Let's see what else you've got."

She stood back as I rummaged through her fridge and pantry, pulling out garlic, olive oil, a lemon, and a block of Parmesan. "We'll zhuzh it up a bit," I said, grabbing a knife and cutting board.

"Zhuzh?" she repeated, laughing as she tied her hair back into a loose bun. "Is that the technical term?"

"Absolutely," I deadpanned. "Now, do you trust yourself to grate cheese without injury, or should I handle that too?"

She snorted, grabbing the Parmesan. "I think I can manage. But if I lose a finger, you're taking me to the ER."

We fell into an easy rhythm, the kitchen filling with the comforting scent of garlic sizzling in olive oil. Summer grated the cheese with exaggerated precision, occasionally shooting me a mock-serious look as if to say, See? I'm totally capable.

"Here," I said, sliding a wooden spoon toward her. "Stir this while I finish slicing the lemon."

She took the spoon, her expression turning uncharacteristically focused as she stirred the pan. "I think I'm doing pretty well," she said after a minute, glancing at me with a proud grin.

"You're doing great baby," I said, adding a sprinkle of red pepper flakes to the sauce.

We talked as we cooked, our conversation flowing as naturally as it always did. She told me about the script she'd been reading, a potential project she wasn't sure she wanted to take on, and I filled her in on my plans to start my own modeling agency.

By the time the pasta was plated, the sun had set, and the kitchen was bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light. Summer grabbed two glasses of wine and followed me to the dining table, setting them down as we sat.

"This looks amazing," she said, twirling a forkful of spaghetti.

I shrugged, taking a sip of my wine. "It's nothing fancy."

"Still better than anything I could've done," she said, grinning as she took her first bite. "Okay, this is actually incredible."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I said, smiling as I watched her eat.

We lingered over dinner, the conversation turning quieter, more intimate. It felt like LA again, those late-night talks in her hotel room where everything else fell away.

I set my glass down, leaning forward slightly. "Summer."

"Yeah?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Go on a date with me," I said, the words falling out before I could second-guess them.

Her eyes widened slightly, and she blinked, her expression unreadable. "A date?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice steady despite the sudden pounding of my heart. "A real date. No red carpets, no premieres, no pretending we're just friends. Just us."

She stared at me for a long moment, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. "You're serious?"

"Completely," I said. "I don't want to keep pretending this isn't what it is. Being around you these past few weeks... it's reminded me of how good we were together. How good we could be again."

She set her glass down, her gaze dropping to the table before meeting mine again. "Okay," she said, her voice quiet but sure. "I'll go on a date with you."

Relief and excitement coursed through me, and I couldn't help the grin that broke across my face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But only if you promise not to out-cook me every time we hang out."

I laughed, the tension melting away. "Deal."

The warmth in her smile matched the feeling spreading through me, and as the night stretched on, I couldn't help but feel like this was the beginning of something we'd both been waiting for.