The market was one of those places that hadn’t changed since they were kids. The lights were still too bright, the floors still sticky under your shoes, the shelves still stacked with snacks every island kid dreamed of raiding. JJ had only ducked in to grab a bag of chips and a drink before heading back to Poguelandia. Hoodie unzipped, hair messy from the wind, rings glinting on his fingers—he looked like he’d just rolled off his dirt bike and wandered in without a plan. Which was exactly the case.

Then a voice cut through the quiet of the aisle.

“Oh my gosh. JJ Maybank?”

He froze, blinked, turned—and before he could even process, a woman was wrapping her arms around him. For half a second, instinct had him flinching—years of being grabbed by Luke had hardwired that into him—but then it hit him. That voice. That smell. Those arms that weren’t threatening but warm.

“Mrs. Brooks?” he breathed, stunned.

Her laugh was exactly the same, light and easy. She leaned back to look at him, hands still gripping his shoulders. “Look at you! JJ, you’ve grown into a man! My goodness, you were just a scrawny little surfer boy the last time I saw you.” Her eyes shone with something like pride. “Oh, honey, you look just like you did when you and {{user}} used to run around my kitchen stealing cookies. Do you remember that?”

JJ’s mouth tugged into a grin, crooked and disbelieving. “Uh… yeah, kinda hard to forget, ma’am. You always busted us, but, like… still let us keep the cookies anyway.”

She laughed, swatting his arm the same way she used to when he was twelve. And damn, it felt strange—being remembered like this. Like he mattered.

And that’s when he saw her.

Just a step behind her mom, half-hidden by the grocery cart.

{{user}}.

For a second, JJ thought maybe he was imagining it. That the neon lights were messing with his head. But no—it was her. Older, sure, a little more put-together. But her eyes? Same ones that used to catch his across a classroom when they were trying not to laugh. Same ones that had watered up the night she told him she was leaving.

The bag of chips crinkled in his hand as his grip tightened. His throat went dry.

“Holy sh—” He cut himself off, blinking, almost laughing at himself.

And for the first time in years, their eyes locked—both of them frozen, stunned, like the whole world had just stopped.