The knock camelike thunder this time.
Not a polite rap. Not the rhythm she'd known like breath. This was fast. Loud. Impulsive. And it startled her out of the strange, hollow quiet that had settled over her since her conversation with Dean hours ago.
Emma glanced up from the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water. “You want me to?—”
Behind them, Milo appeared in the kitchen doorway, beer still in his hand. His posture shifted—shoulders squaring, jaw tightening.
“I’ve got it,” Fiona said, already moving.
She opened the door, braced for confrontation.
Dean stood on the porch, soaked to the bone. Rain clung to his lashes. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His shoulders were heaving.
For a second, she thought he might say something else. Try again. Beg. But instead?—
He grabbed her hand.
She startled, instinctively trying to pull back, but he pressed something cold and heavy into her palm.
Car keys.
His car keys.
Fiona stared at them, confused. The fob was sleek and modern, dangling from a loop of leather. She blinked.
“What are you?—”
“I should’ve given it to you years ago,” Dean said hoarsely. “It should’ve been yours the whole time.”
She looked up at him, startled. “Dean, I?—”
"Your things," he said quietly. "From the glove compartment. The cup holders."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small collection: her emergency lip balm, the little packet of tissues she kept.
He set them carefully on the porch rail, like they were precious.
"I didn't want you to lose anything else," he said.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked to the curb—toward the beat-up Honda she’d driven into the ground the past five years.
Fiona stepped out onto the porch as Dean opened the door. He slid into the driver’s seat. She watched as he started the engine, headlights flaring against the wet pavement, and pulled away.
The nicer car—his car—was left behind, parked in front of the curb. Like a gift. Like an apology she hadn’t asked for.
Fiona looked down at the keys again.
Emma stepped into the doorway behind her. “What the hell was that?”
Fiona turned the key over in her hand. “I think… he gave me his car.”
Emma frowned. “To win you back?”
Fiona shook her head slowly. “I… I don’t know why.”
She closed her fingers around the fob.
The sound of her old car faded into the rain.
