“Happy birthday, mate,” I say as soon as her dad opens the door, clapping him on the back with one hand and holding out the whisky with the other. Not just any bottle—something aged, rare, the kind of thing he’ll swear I’ve spent too much money on, but he’ll enjoy every drop all the same. Twenty-five years of friendship deserves that. He laughs, shakes his head, mutters I shouldn’t have, but I can see the way his eyes light up. Worth it.

I step inside, the familiar house wrapping around me like a memory—and then I see her.

It takes me a moment, longer than it should, because for a second I don’t recognize her. She’s standing there, and it’s not the kid I used to see running in and out of the living room, not the teenager I’d nod hello to when I stopped by after work. No, she’s different now. It’s only been a year since we last crossed paths, but Christ, a year has done more than I expected. She’s grown into herself—confident, steady in the way she carries her frame, sharp in her eyes. And damn me, I catch myself looking too long. My gaze scans her over and over, and I force my mouth into something easy, something casual, hoping her dad doesn’t notice the flicker in my expression.

“Hey,” I say to her, voice warm, low. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

She smiles back, and I feel something tug, something I don’t let myself name. I clear my throat, reach into my bag. “Picked up something for you while I was in Spain,” I add, pulling out the small box. Inside, a bracelet—simple, but elegant. The kind of thing I thought might suit her the second I saw it in the shop window, even though I told myself I was just buying a gift, nothing more. I hand it over, keeping it light. “Figured you’d like it. Couldn’t exactly come back empty-handed.”

She thanks me, and the way her face lights up makes me forget, for just a moment, that I shouldn’t be looking at her like this at all. I smirk to cover the shift in my chest, shaking my head. “Didn’t think a year would make that much difference,” I mutter—half a joke, half something heavier I pray she won’t catch.

And then her dad calls me into the kitchen, asking if I want a drink, giving me the reprieve I desperately need. Because if he’d caught the way my eyes lingered on her just now, there’d be no explaining it.