Hospital lights illuminate the parking lot, buzzing. Late afternoon.

  The storm has passed, leaving the sky pale and streaked with thin clouds. The hospital hums with its usual rhythm—nurses rolling carts, TVs murmuring faintly behind curtains.

  Aubrey stands outside Vince’s door. The trash bin nearby is already full of flowers and balloons. Someone left a signed “Get Well Soon” card taped crookedly to the doorframe.

  She hesitates, then pushes past the open door.

  Inside, Vince sits propped up in bed, sling strapping his shoulder, the TV muted. A few empty coffee cups clutter the bedside table. He looks tired but alive, his grin faint as he notices her.

  “Well, well. Archer finally makes an appearance. Thought I’d been abandoned for the fan club.”

  “You already had half the bullpen in here,” Aubrey says softly, setting the flowers down on the window ledge. “Didn’t think you needed more noise.”

  “Noise, maybe not,” Vince replies, voice scratchy but steady. “Company? Yeah.”

  She takes the chair by his bed. For a long moment, neither of them speaks. The beeping of his monitor fills the space.

  “Can’t believe he ran out the back door,” she admits finally.

  Vince chuckles, then winces at the movement. “I think I climbed like 3 gates.”

  Her gaze stays on the floor. “I should’ve—”

  “Don’t,” he interrupts, sharper than usual. Then softer: “Slater was right behind me, you did the right thing. You got him on your own. And you got a pretty cool scar out of it.” Vince points to the slight stitches on her face.

  Aubrey looks at him then, eyes sharp but damp. He meets her stare, steady, unshaken.

  “Besides, look at all these damn flowers,” he says, shaking his head with a smile. A moment passes. He leans forward, puts his hand on his cheek, and whispers. “And the doctor said I could be out of here by tonight.” He leans back and rests his head against the wall.

  That cracks the tension—Aubrey lets out a faint laugh, shaking her head.

  Silence fills the room, so quiet that the clock is heard ticking.

  Vince shifts the pillow and stares at the flowers around.

  Vince clears his throat. “You know,” he says slowly. “I’ve see you do it.” He points at her hands. “Every time pressure strikes you shut down a little. But maybe it isn’t every time.. I don’t know Brooke, it just feels like something’s biting you. Sorry if that was over the line.” He shakes his head slightly and looks away.

  Aubrey's brows curve, and she fiddles. “You’ve been… watching that?”

  “No, no, not on purpose. At Stonetown and at the interview with Mia. Sometimes I see it. You can talk to me Brooke, I know what it's like to be alone.”

  For a moment, she looked ready to answer. Then her phone buzzed on the chair beside her, screen lighting with Jame’s name. The sound cut through the hush of the room.

  Aubrey glances at it, then back at Vince. “I don’t know what to say Vince. We all have problems. But I probably should go, I can’t cancel plans again.” She scratches her arm nervously.

  Vince half smiles. “I understand Brooke, thanks for coming. It was good to see you. I’ll see you at the office.” He smiles warmly.

  “Bye, Vince, glad you’re okay.” Aubrey stands up, returns a smile, and walks out of the room.

  Aubrey walks into the hallway and glances down at the text.

  “We still on for tonight?”

  She taps her fingers on the screen. “Of course! See you soon.” She puts her phone away with a smile

  The warm glow of stage lights, the velvet red of the theater. Aubrey sat beside James, the buzz of the crowd settling as the orchestra tuned. It felt almost impossible, being here after everything. Yet James leaned toward her with a half-grin, and for the first time in days, the weight on her chest eased.

  The house lights came up, and applause swept through the theatre as the curtain dropped on the first act. People stood, stretching, buzzing with conversation as they funneled toward the aisles.

  James leaned over. “Intermission. Want to grab something? Water, snack, whatever?”

  Aubrey stood with him, adjusting her jacket. “I can handle it.”

  “Good, then I’m tagging along,” he said, casual, hands in his pockets. “No way I’m letting you fight a line solo while I sit here smelling popcorn.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “If I get something, it’s mine.”

  He shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll get my own.”

  They shuffled forward in line, the lobby humming with chatter.

  “Water and maybe popcorn,” Aubrey said, scanning the menu.

  James smirked. “Knew it. You don’t look like a candy person.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “And what exactly does a candy person look like?”

  “Sticky fingers, loud chewing.” He shrugged. “Not your style.”

  Aubrey let out a short laugh, shaking her head.

  They reached the counter. James ordered two waters and a popcorn without asking. He passed one bottle to her once they stepped aside.

  “For the record,” she said, taking it, “I do eat candy sometimes.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He cracked the cap, took a sip, then glanced over at her. His voice dropped, straightforward but sincere. “You know… talking to you like this feels different. Honest. Kinda refreshing.”

  Aubrey blinked at him, caught off guard. “Different? Better?”

  James lifted the bottle, hiding a half-smile behind it. “Yeah. Most people talk in headlines. You talk in… I don’t know. Footnotes. Stuff I would’ve missed.”

  She raised a brow. “So I’m basically your walking glossary?”

  He laughed. “If glossaries made you laugh sometimes, yeah.”

  That cracked her — she let out a soft laugh that slipped out before she could stop it.

  “Not sure that’s the best compliment I’ve ever had,” she said, shaking her head as they walked toward the stairwell.

  James held the door open for her, grin tugging wider. “Maybe not, but it’s true.”

  She paused for a half-beat, studying him like she wasn’t sure if he was messing with her. Then she just walked through the door.

  Aubrey arched a brow. “You’re really putting your reputation on rice and cheese?”

  “Not just rice and cheese,” he said, scooping another bite. “This is art. There should be a statue of the chef in the lobby.”

  She leaned forward, stealing a forkful from his plate without asking. “Guess I’ll be the judge of that.”

  James set down his fork, watching her carefully taste it. “Well?”

  She shrugged, lips quirking. “Not bad.”

  “Not bad?” His voice cracked in mock offense. “That’s… devastating. I brought you to one of the best places in the city, and I get ‘not bad’?”

  “You wanted honesty,” she said, fighting a smile.

  “Brutal honesty, apparently.” He took another sip of wine, shaking his head with exaggerated drama.

  “You’ll survive,” Aubrey said, finally letting the smile break through.

  James leaned back, eyebrows lifting. “I think you just enjoy cutting me down a peg.”

  She raised her glass. “Only when you set yourself up for it.”

  He laughed, the sound cutting through the low restaurant murmur. “Fair. Walked right into that one.”

  The moment softened. He swirled the wine in his glass, gaze dropping for a second before finding hers again. “You know, I didn’t think I’d be sitting here tonight… laughing this much.”

  Aubrey tilted her head. “Why’s that?”

  He exhaled, the grin still there but tempered now. “You’ve got this… wall. At first glance, I figured I’d be lucky to get two polite answers out of you. But this?” He gestured between them with his glass. “This feels good.”

  Her smile faltered, not in a bad way—more like the words caught her off guard. She looked down at her plate, pushing risotto with her fork. “Maybe you just caught me on a rare night.”

  “Then I’ll take it,” James said quietly, almost to himself, before easing the mood again with a crooked grin. “But don’t think that gets you out of finishing the breadbasket. That’s on you now.”

  Aubrey shook her head, fighting another laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculously right,” he said, smirking as he slid the basket her way.

  This time, she didn’t argue.

  “Smug?” James leaned back, hand over his chest in mock offense. “I call it… professionally confident.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Oh, is that the term?” Aubrey arched a brow, chewing slowly like she was giving him time to dig himself deeper.

  “Absolutely. Comes with the territory when you’ve spent years dealing with chefs who think salt is a personality trait.”

  That drew a laugh out of her, sharper than she meant. She covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “I prefer unforgettable,” he said, grinning.

  She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away this time. Her expression softened, and for a moment the noise of the restaurant seemed to dim around them.

  “You really don’t quit, do you?” she asked quietly.

  James swirled his wine, gaze warm but steady. “Not when I feel like it’s worth it.”

  Aubrey didn’t answer. She just looked at him a second too long before finally breaking it with a faint smirk. “Eat your risotto before I steal the rest.”

  “Threats already?” he said, sliding his plate closer. “Guess I’m doing something right.”

  The waiter dropped dessert menus, and James immediately pointed at one without hesitation.

  “Oh no,” Aubrey muttered, reading over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, I would,” he said, shutting the menu with finality. “When else am I going to order the Volcano?”

  Ten minutes later, the dining room lights dimmed just slightly. A burst of applause rose near the kitchen doors as three waiters emerged, carrying a towering chocolate confection crowned with sparklers. A chorus of claps followed as they weaved through the tables.

  Aubrey’s eyes went wide. “James—no. You didn’t.”

  He leaned toward her, grin unrepentant. “Too late. You’re in it with me now.”

  The Volcano landed between them with a dramatic flourish, sparklers throwing off golden sparks that caught the attention of half the room. Diners smiled over their wineglasses; one older couple even clapped along like it was a theater.

  Aubrey ducked her head into her hand, giggling despite herself. “This is mortifying.”

  “You’re welcome,” James said, taking the spare fork with all the seriousness of a ceremony. “Now the entire restaurant knows you’re a co-conspirator.”

  She peeked out from behind her hand, cheeks pink but laughing openly now. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculous enough to get us free entertainment.” He gestured at the sparklers as they fizzled out to more applause. “And look—everyone’s smiling. They’re rooting for us. Purely platonically, of course.”

  Her giggle slipped out again, lighter this time. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “Unbelievably committed to dessert,” James countered, sliding the first molten bite her way.

  She shook her head, still smiling as she accepted the fork. “I don’t know whether to thank you or disown you.”

  “Both is fine,” he said, settling back with a grin.

  Aubrey dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin, cheeks still warm from the staff’s sing-song delivery. “I can’t believe you ordered that.”

  James smirked but rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting to the other tables still watching them. “Yeah, well… figured if anyone was gonna suffer, might as well be both of us.”

  She laughed, soft but genuine, and he leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “Brings back memories though. Not the good kind.”

  Aubrey arched a brow. “Now you have to tell me.”

  He groaned. “Middle school talent show. My mom signed me up to play piano. Fine, whatever—I can handle Chopsticks. But she rented me this tux two sizes too big. Halfway through the song, the pants slid right down to my ankles. The whole auditorium got a good look at my Spider-Man boxers.”

  Aubrey’s eyes widened before she burst out giggling, covering her mouth. “No way.”

  “Oh, way. And my mom? Front row, camera in hand.” James snaps his fingers. “Snapping away like it was Carnegie Hall.” He shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Lesson learned—never let your mom pick the outfit. And, if humiliation comes, lean into it. Otherwise, it’ll eat you alive.”

  Her laughter softened into a smile. “Guess you turned out okay.”

  “Debatable,” he said, mock-serious, before nudging the cake plate back toward her. “Your turn.”

  Aubrey took a forkful of cake, chewed slowly, eyes narrowing in thought. Then a crooked smile tugged at her mouth. “Alright… when I was ten, my dad tried to show off at a church fundraiser. They were doing raffles and bets on stupid stuff—who could guess the weight of the pig, how many jellybeans in a jar, all that.”

  James raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, he cleaned house?”

  Aubrey gave a short laugh. “Opposite. He bet the mortgage payment on guessing how many marbles were in a fishbowl. He swore he had a system. Turns out, his ‘system’ was lifting the bowl when no one was looking, and then guessing way too high because the water made it heavier.”

  James stared at her, fork frozen halfway. “No way.”

  “Oh yeah,” Aubrey said, smirking. “The whole room laughed when they announced the winner. Dad clapped louder than anyone, like it wasn’t his money that just vanished.”

  James groaned, half laughing, half horrified. “That’s… brutal.”

  “I thought it was hilarious,” Aubrey admitted, shrugging. “Mom didn’t.” She twirled her fork through the frosting, tone light but laced with something else. “She made him sleep in the garage for a week.”

  The table fell into a brief quiet. Aubrey took a sip of wine, unconcerned, like she hadn’t just dropped a tiny bomb about her childhood.

  James, still watching her, finally chuckled. “Okay, that one wins. My Spider-Man boxers never bankrupted the family.”

  That broke the tension—Aubrey laughed, shaking her head. “Guess not.”

  James shook his head, still smiling. “You laugh telling that, but I can’t picture you sitting through that kind of circus without wanting to flip the table.”

  Aubrey smirked, spearing the last bite of cake. “I was a kid. Flipping tables wasn’t really an option.” She chewed, swallowed. “So I just learned to keep quiet. Pretend it wasn’t happening.”

  James leaned back, his fork idle in his hand. “That doesn’t sound like a kid’s job.”

  Her smile thinned, but it didn’t vanish. She looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “You can either laugh or cry. I got tired of crying.”

  The honesty slipped out faster than she meant. She covered it with a sip of wine, eyes dropping to the candle flame between them.

  For once, James didn’t jump to fill the silence. He watched her, then exhaled through his nose, a small nod. “That explains a lot.”

  Her brow arched. “Oh yeah?”

  He grinned faintly. “Explains why you’ve been side-eyeing my dessert choice like it was a tactical mistake.”

  That cracked her—Aubrey let out a short, genuine laugh, one that made her cover her mouth for a second. “It was a tactical mistake.”

  James pointed his fork at her, triumphant. “See? Proof you’re still keeping score.”

  James leaned back slightly, twirling the stem of his glass between his fingers. “What about your mom? You mentioned her earlier… was she the one you got your stubborn streak from?”

  Aubrey’s fork paused mid-air. She set it down carefully, smoothing the napkin in her lap as if buying herself time. When she looked back up, her expression had shifted—gentler, a touch distant.

  “She’s gone,” Aubrey said simply. No buildup, no dramatics. Just the fact, laid bare.

  James’s smile faded, but he didn’t push. He nodded once, quietly respectful. “I’m sorry.”

  Aubrey let the silence sit for a moment, then gave a faint, practiced smile. “She was the one who believed in second chances. Even when she probably shouldn’t have.”

  James’s expression softened, the humor gone from his eyes. “She sounds like someone worth knowing.”

  Aubrey blinked once, her fork pausing over her plate. “…Yeah. She was.”

  He nodded gently, no pressure in the way he said it. “I can see a little of her in you.”

  Aubrey looked down, hiding a small smile that wasn’t quite steady.

  Aubrey pushed the last bite of cake across her plate, eyes fixed on it as though she wasn’t sure she wanted it. James didn’t press, just let the quiet settle between them for a beat.

  Finally, he spoke, voice softer than before. “You don’t have to answer, but… do you think about her a lot? Your mom.”

  Aubrey’s fork stilled. She didn’t look at him right away, only nodded. “More than I’d admit out loud.” She gave a small, thin smile. “Sometimes it feels like she’s in the room with me. Other times… like I made her up.”

  James nodded once, not prying, just letting the words settle. Then, with a small tilt of his head, he said, “She must’ve had a hell of an eye for things. Explains where you get it.”

  That earned him a quick, surprised laugh from Aubrey, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Careful. One more compliment like that and I’ll start thinking you actually mean it.”

  “I do mean it,” he said, grinning, but then lifted his glass as if to soften the moment. “To honest mothers, wherever they are. And to risotto that will never be ‘just not bad’ again.”

  Their glasses met with a soft clink. Aubrey took a sip, the smile still faint on her lips.

  ?

  The city air greeted them with a rush of cool night wind as they stepped out of the restaurant. The noise of traffic and scattered laughter from nearby bars replaced the low hum of the dining room. Aubrey pulled her coat tighter around her, heels clicking against the pavement as they fell into step side by side.

  “You ever notice how restaurants like that feel like their own little worlds?” he said after a beat. “I could sit there for hours, just watching how everything moves—waiters balancing plates, people leaning in like they’re in their own play.” His mouth curved into a thoughtful grin. “Always been weirdly obsessed with that kind of rhythm. Maybe it’s the same reason I love cooking. Feels like a system, but also… not. There’s room for chaos.”

  Aubrey arched a brow. “Cooking? Didn’t know that was your thing.”

  “Don’t get excited,” he laughed softly. “It’s not art. But when I was a kid, Sunday dinners were the only time my dad slowed down. He’d spend all afternoon on one meal, like it mattered more than the whole week. Guess I picked it up from him.”

  His voice dipped at the memory, then steadied. “I don’t get that kind of time now, but whenever I do… it feels like being back there for a second.”

  James’s words trailed off, and for a moment neither of them spoke. He lifted his gaze toward the sky, his breath leaving in a quiet cloud.

  The moon hung low and pale, silver light spilling across the parking lot. A thin wind whispered through the trees lining the street, carrying the faint smell of rain left behind from the storm. The air had that sharp, clean bite that only came after a downpour—cold enough to sting, calm enough to feel almost holy.

  Aubrey followed his glance upward. For the first time that day, her chest loosened.

  Aubrey’s eyes stayed on the moon, her words unhurried, almost like she was remembering out loud.

  “When I was a kid, there was this patch of woods behind our house. Not much—just tall grass and a handful of pines—but at night it felt endless. I’d sneak out, sit on this old fallen log, and just listen. The crickets, the owls, the wind pulling through the branches—it all sounded sharper when the world was asleep.

  There was this field just past the trees—wildflowers everywhere. In daylight it looked ordinary, even messy, but under the moonlight…” She breathed out softly, almost smiling. “The whole thing would glow. Petals catching the light like tiny lanterns. It was quiet, but not empty. It felt like the earth was alive, breathing right along with me.”

  She glanced at James, her voice dropping to a curious hush. “You ever seen fireflies under the moonlight? The way they float through the air, like the night’s got its own constellation moving low to the ground?”

  James shook his head, lips curving faintly. “Not like that. Closest I’ve come was summer camping trips—lanterns swinging in the trees. But fireflies under a glowing field?” He gave a small exhale, as though picturing it. “That sounds like something you’d never forget.”

  Aubrey’s eyes softened, and she looked back to the sky. Her voice thinned, almost a whisper. “You ever think about it? How everyone who’s ever lived—every kid, every soldier, every king or nobody—looked up and saw the same moon?”

  James slowed his steps, his gaze tracing the silver light above. The night air pressed cool against them, and for a moment, the city street felt suspended—like her memory had pulled them both into that glowing field.

  The silence lingered, carried only by their footsteps across the lot, the world around them smaller now—just the soft scuff of shoes, the faint hum of streetlights, the night stretching quiet above.

  They stopped beside her car, breath visible in the chill, the lot mostly emptied now. For a moment, neither moved, the night stretching thin between them.

  James gave a slight shake of his head, almost laughing. “Tonight was… better than I expected.”

  Aubrey smiled faintly. “Glad I didn’t ruin your risotto experience.”

  He rolled his eyes, then stepped forward and pulled her into a gentle hug. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t heavy—just warm, steady. She let herself rest in it longer than she meant to, the cold air biting less with him close.

  When they pulled back, his voice softened. “Drive safe, Aubrey.”

  Her chest tightened. He’d said her name before, but not like that—not with the kind of ease that slipped past her guard. She blinked once, then gripped her keys tighter than she needed to, grounding herself.

  “Goodnight,” she managed, slipping into the driver’s seat.

  The door shut, and as the engine rumbled on, she caught her own reflection in the rearview—half-smile, half-shadow—before pulling away.

  In the mirror, James lingered at the curb with his hands in his pockets, watching until her taillights disappeared into the night.