Family dinners at the King household were something Creighton endured more than enjoyed. He hated the awkward small talk, the forced smiles—but he did it for his mother, Elsa. Fragile and sweet, she lived for moments like these, when both her boys were under one roof. Neither Creighton nor Eli would ever deny her that simple joy.

But there was another reason Creighton didn’t mind coming home.

What he looked forward to—what he craved—was knowing that Eli would, as always, invite his best friend over. The same best friend Creighton had wanted for longer than he cared to admit. The person he thought about more often than was probably appropriate, with thoughts that strayed into places they shouldn’t. Dark, wicked thoughts he didn’t dare speak aloud.

Now, as he sat at the edge of the kitchen, pretending to scroll through his phone, Creighton’s eyes kept drifting toward you. You were laughing softly as you helped his mother with the baked goods, moving around the kitchen like you belonged there. Always so polite. Always so warm. So good.

And all Creighton could do was sit there, simmering quietly, while his mind wandered far, far away from the dinner table.