The week before the wedding, Cousins felt different. Maybe it was the weight of the August heat pressing on the shore, or maybe it was the countdown you couldn’t stop hearing in your head — seven days until you’d stand in front of everyone and promise yourself to Jeremiah Fisher.

That evening, the beach house was buzzing with voices. Upstairs, Laurel and Susannah were debating flower arrangements. Jeremiah and Steven had taken off for a last-minute errand in town. You’d slipped away to the back porch for a moment of quiet, the golden hour light spilling over the ocean and painting the world in honey.

The sliding door opened behind you with a soft whoosh.

“You always hide out here,” Conrad’s voice came, low and even.

You turned. He was barefoot, in a white t-shirt and dark sweats, hair still damp from a shower. The sun caught the drops at the ends, making them look like tiny shards of glass. He stepped onto the porch, leaning casually against the railing, but his eyes never left yours.

“It’s cooler outside,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

He gave a small half-smile, like he knew you were lying. “Big week coming up,” he said, gaze flicking briefly to the engagement ring on your hand. “You nervous?”

You hesitated. “A little. But I’m ready.”

For a long beat, the only sound was the soft rush of waves. Then his voice came quieter: “Jeremiah’s lucky.”

It should’ve felt like a compliment, but there was something under it — a weight that made your chest tighten.

“I’m lucky too,” you said, forcing a smile.

Conrad’s eyes stayed on you, studying you the way he always had, like he was memorizing your face. “Just… make sure you’re marrying him because you want to,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, but it wasn’t real. “What are you implying?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, enough that you could see the tiny flecks of gray in his blue eyes, smell the faint salt of his skin. “Nothing,” he said finally, but his tone said everything. “Absolutely nothing”