The air was thick with the spicy, smoky scent of boiling crawfish, garlic, and butter that clung to your skin and filled your lungs like a summer memory in the making. Long wooden tables stretched under the big tent, covered in newspapers soaked with shells and citrus wedges, while kids darted between legs, sticky with boiled corn and potatoes.

You stood just off to the side, hands tucked casually into your jeans pockets, laughing with old friends but always keeping one eye on Miles, who was sprawled on the grass chasing the family dog like a whirlwind.

Jade leaned back against the porch railing, her strong arms folded, one hand absently cradling Miles’s favorite toy — a raggedy stuffed crawfish. Her eyes flicked over to you more times than she cared to admit, a soft smile tugging at her lips every time Miles pulled you into some game or another.

The way he trusted you, it was clear — you were a fixture here, a part of the chaos and calm all at once, even without the apron or the usual hostess duties. You didn’t need to wear the “helper” badge to be family.

Around the fire pit, the grown-ups passed beers and told stories—some about the old days, some about trouble kids got into, always punctuated with laughter and the occasional swear word that made the neighborhood kids cover their ears.

Jade’s gaze softened when Miles ran up, breathless, dragging you by the hand toward the table.

“Come on! You gotta try the corn, it’s got that secret spice,” he grinned, cheeks flushed from the heat and excitement.

You knelt down, letting him tug you through the crowd of cousins and neighbors. You caught Jade watching you again—this time, a little longer. The way you smiled at her son, the easy way you fell into their world, the lightness you brought that even she sometimes forgot was possible.

As the sun dipped behind the oaks, lanterns flickered on and music drifted softly from an old speaker. Jade finally came over, holding a cold beer in one hand, her other brushing a stray curl from your face like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know,” she said quietly, voice low enough that only you could hear, “he talks about you all the time. Like you’re some kind of hero.”