Harper sighed. “I hate how competent you are at social media for someone who still doesn’t own a microwave.”
Willa leaned back on her hands. “So it’s settled. We fix the swing. We cook something. We invite Grant. That’s Wish One.”
I looked out at the road, where the sun was starting to dip behind the trees.
It sounded simple. But I knew it wouldn’t be.
Because we weren’t the girls we used to be.
And I didn’t know if we still remembered how to be sisters.
Grant returneda few minutes later with a handful of tools and a small brown paper bag folded at the top.
“Brought extra hardware,” he said, crouching beside the swing again. “Didn’t trust what I saw under there.”
None of us moved to stop him. Willa wandered inside to refill her drink. Harper disappeared into the kitchen, probably to make a list of acceptable dinner menu options.
I stayed on the porch.
Grant worked quietly, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms dusted with sawdust and sun. He checked the bolts, tested the chain tension, and unwrapped a new set of washers from the bag. He didn’t hum or whistle or make unnecessary small talk. Just worked. Steady and sure.
It was… soothing.
He glanced up once. “You don’t remember me at all, do you?”
I startled slightly. “What?”
“From when we were kids. You used to come into the hardware store with Iris. Every Saturday, like clockwork.”
“Oh.” I paused, then smiled faintly. “I think I remember the store. It smelled like metal and licorice.”
He chuckled. “Still does. My dad used to keep those red-and-black candies at the counter. Swore they kept customers loyal.”
“They kept me out of tantrums.”
“That too.”
He tightened the last bolt and stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “You’ve changed a lot. But not in a bad way.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Compliments usually slid off me like rain on wax paper. I wasn’t used to people noticing.
“Thanks,” I said finally. “You too.”
He looked at me for a second longer than I expected. Not in a flirty way. Just… present.
“You okay out here?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“You looked like you needed a minute.”
“I kind of always look like that.”
He smiled. “Fair. Still, if you ever need someone to fix more than the swing, let me know.”
Before I could respond, the screen door banged open.
Lily bounded onto the porch, barefoot and sticky from the popsicle she’d begged for an hour ago.
