The te afternoon light was perfect—golden and warm, the kind that made even ordinary buildings look photographic. Steve adjusted his camera settings and framed another shot of the old church steeple rising above the tree line. The assignment was simple: capture the charm of small-town architecture for a lifestyle magazine spread. Three days, all expenses paid, and he got to keep any shots they didn't use for his portfolio.

  He hadn't expected them to send him *here*, of all pces.

  Steve lowered his camera and looked around the square. It looked the same as it had ten years ago. The same coffee shop on the corner. The same bookstore with its faded awning. The same Chapel of the Moon where he'd spent every Sunday morning sitting in the third pew, reciting prayers to the Goddess and begging Her to take away what he felt.

  *Don't think about it. You're here for work. That's all.*

  He raised his camera again and took a few shots of the fountain in the town square, then moved down the street toward a row of old brick buildings that would look good in the autumn light. His editor wanted "authentic small-town charm," and this pce had it in abundance. It was picturesque in that way that made city people nostalgic for a life they'd never actually lived.

  Steve was framing a shot of an old oak tree when movement caught his eye.

  Someone was coming out of the coffee shop across the street. Tall, lean, dark hair that fell just past his shoulders now—longer than it used to be. He was carrying a to-go cup and had a messenger bag slung across his chest.

  Steve's heart stopped.

  *Hansel.*

  For one wild moment, Steve considered just walking away. Pretending he hadn't seen him. But Hansel had already looked up, and their eyes met across the street.

  Recognition flickered across Hansel's face. Then something else—surprise, maybe. Or discomfort.

  *Shit.*

  Hansel crossed the street, weaving between two parked cars. He stopped a few feet away, and Steve could see him clearly now. He looked good. Older, obviously, but good. Healthy. The nervous, haunted look he'd had back then was gone, repced by something more settled.

  "Steve," Hansel said. His voice was carefully neutral. "Wow. Hi."

  "Hey, Hansel." Steve lowered his camera, suddenly very aware of the expensive equipment hanging from his neck, his designer jeans, the whole carefully cultivated image of success he'd built for himself. "How are you doing?"

  "I'm... good. Yeah. Good." Hansel shifted his weight, took a sip of his coffee. "It's been years."

  "It has. Six? Seven?"

  "About that." Hansel nodded. "What brings you back?"

  "Work." Steve gestured vaguely with his camera. "Magazine assignment. They sent me out here for a couple days to shoot some architecture, local scenery. That kind of thing."

  "Ah. Right." Hansel's eyes flicked to the camera, then back to Steve's face. "I heard you moved. You and your brothers. Someone mentioned it a while back."

  "Yeah. We all left together about six years ago. Moved to the city."

  "All three of you," Hansel said, and there was something in his tone Steve couldn't quite read. "That's good. That you stayed together."

  An awkward silence stretched between them. A car drove past. Somewhere down the street, someone was ughing.

  "You look good," Hansel said finally. "The city obviously agrees with you."

  "Thanks. You too. You look... you look really good."

  Hansel's mouth twitched in something that might have been a smile. "I'm doing okay. Working at the library now. It's steady. Quiet."

  "That sounds nice."

  More silence. Steve felt like he was suffocating in it.

  "Well," Hansel said, starting to edge past him. "It was good seeing you—"

  "Hey," Steve said before he could stop himself. "If you're around. And you have time. We could catch up or something. I'm here for a couple more days."

  Hansel paused, studying him. Those same dark eyes that used to make Steve's chest tight during prayer services. "Yeah. Maybe. I've got some free time."

  "I'm at the Millbrook Inn. If you want to... I don't know. Get coffee or whatever."

  "Sure. I might do that." Hansel adjusted his messenger bag. "Good seeing you, Steve."

  "You too."

  They looked at each other for a beat longer. Then Hansel continued down the street, and Steve watched him go, his heart hammering.

  *Fuck.*

  He raised his camera again mechanically, taking a few shots of the oak tree without really seeing it. His mind was elsewhere. Back to that night eight years ago, outside the chapel after the evening service.