Christmas Eve in Paris. A thin layer of snow covers the cobblestone streets, glowing under the warm amber light of the café sign. Belly pulls down the shutters of La Brume, her little corner café, scarf snug around her neck. She turns the key in the lock when movement down the street catches her eye: a girl tugging two overstuffed suitcases, cheeks flushed from the cold, nose bright red, hair sticking out from under a beanie.

Belly’s breath hitches. She’d know that face anywhere.

“…No way.” Belly said Belly stunned, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

{{user}} stopped in her tracks, grinning through chattering teeth. “Hey, Bells.”

Belly dropped her keys into her pocket and rushed forward, her eyes glassy. “You—God, it’s really you.”

They collide in a hug, the kind that squeezes out the years of distance. Belly buries her face into {{user}}’s shoulder, while she clutches Belly like she’s afraid she’ll disappear. For a moment, Paris feels like Cousins Beach, like home again.

“You smell like espresso and croissants. Very on brand.” {{user}} said teasing, her voice muffled against Belly’s hair.

Belly laughed, pulling back but keeping her hands on her friend’s arms. “And you smell like jet lag and frostbite.”

{{user}} snorted. “What can I say? I come bearing gifts.” She gestured at the luggage. “One suitcase of sweaters, one suitcase of pure Fisher chaos.”

Belly rolled her eyes, though her smile remained warm. “Great. Just what I was missing.”