Cashmere & Cunningham – Soft Horizons

We were just cutting through the plaza in San Myshuno — Evie carrying a little shopping bag, Caroline sipping something green and expensive — when I heard someone behind us call out.

“Yo. Eve?”

Evie stopped mid‑step. Her eyes widened. “Oh no,” she muttered, barely audible.

Caroline halted too, her straw still between her lips. I slowed, instinctively shifting closer to Evie, the way you do when something in the air changes.

The plaza was loud — traffic humming, vendors shouting, the smell of street food drifting between the buildings — but the guy walking toward us cut through all of it. Loose swagger, hoodie half‑unzipped, tattoos crawling up his neck like bad decisions he’d never regretted. A chain swung against his chest with every step.

He looked Evie up and down like he had any right.

“Damn,” he said, grinning. “You out here lookin’ all fine now. Didn’t think you’d be in this part of town.”

Evie’s voice tightened. “Jason.”

Ah. The ex her mother hated. I could see why. I was instantly not a fan.

He flicked his eyes to me — quick, dismissive — then turned fully to Caroline.

“Aight, hey chica, what’s good, huh?”

“Eew. No thank you,” my sister said, and I grabbed her arm, pulling her closer., wishing she wouldn’t mouth off to this walking red flag. I couldn’t believe Evie had dated him.

Jason jerked his chin at me. “Yo, blondie’s got claws. I like that in women. So Curly here is your man, huh? I know Eve ain’t movin’ on from me like that. Not with a princess.”

Caroline blinked once. “Okay, couple things: First of all: He’s not my man, second not a princess, and overall — excuse you. Who are you and what do you want?”

Jason laughed, loud and ugly. “I am Jason. Eve knows me, don’t ya? If not, I can refresh your memory.”

I stiffened. Eve. He said it like he was too cool for the name she actually went by — like he got to rename her, claim her, decide what she was called. I hated it instantly. Nobody called her that. Nobody who respected her, anyway.

Caroline huffed “Yah, good for you. Can you go and be Jason somewhere else now?” I hardly recognized my sister. Caroline normally never sounded like this. I probably was staring at her like at a UFO.

Jason looked at Evie again, voice dropping. “Whatcha say, babe? Wanna go for a ride? Got a new bike.”

Evie swallowed. “Jason, it’s been over a year. I told you several times it’s over. It’s been over.”

He scoffed, stepping closer. “Nah. You don’t get to say that to me. I tell you when it’s over, and I ain’t said shit.”

“You broke up with me!” Evie blurted. I remembered that. It was my birthday and the day we met.

“Nah, I was just playin’.”

He reached for her. She stepped back. I pushed her behind me.

I lifted a hand, calm. “We’re just trying to enjoy our afternoon. Let’s keep things peaceful. Evie’s not interested, okay?” I heard myself and realized I sounded like my Dad. Guess my stress response was to age thirty years instantly.

Jason’s head snapped toward me. “Who the hell you talkin’ to, man?” He stepped into my space, chest puffed. “I know you ain’t talkin’ to me, Curly? You think you can step up on me? You want my woman, is that it?”

Evie moved between us. “Jason, stop.”

He grabbed her wrist.

Not hard. But possessive. Like she still belonged to him.

I didn’t think. I just stepped forward and pulled her wrist free. “Let her go.”

Jason shoved me. Hard. My back slammed into the brick wall behind me, the impact ringing through my ribs and knocking the breath out of my lungs. I literally saw stars for a moment.

Caroline didn’t hesitate.

My little sister reached into her tote, pulled out a pink pepper spray canister, and doused Jason’s face with it.

My eyes nearly fell out of my head. I only knew Caro as sweet and girly, and annoying at times — not some avenging angel with a designer bag and a weaponized manicure holding a fancy artisan smoothie. My mouth probably gaped open.

Jason howled, stumbling back, clutching his eyes. “YO— WHAT THE— DAMN—”

Caroline’s voice was ice. “Touch my brother again and I’ll finish the can while I get my Jimmy Choo stuck where your balls should be. There’s more where that came from!”

Evie was shaking — not scared, but furious. Jason staggered away, cursing, wiping at his face, disappearing into the crowd.

Caroline snapped her tote shut, grabbed my wrist and pulled me along. “Come on. Let’s go. Now. Before that background character comes back.”

We weren’t far from Evie’s new place, so we went there. The minute we were inside, she slammed the door and locked it. Twice.

Evie’s Place

The apartment smelled faintly of something floral and new paint.

I had been here several times, but being here with my sister felt odd to me.

Caroline wandered around, curiously eyeing the decor, picking up things and putting them back like an interor design critic from a TV show, still sipping her green matcha, while Evie looked horrified. I felt awful, physically, but even more so because of my scarred ego, feeling like a wimp next to my little sister being so boss. I would have never expected that out of Caroline.

Evie looked at me, then at Caroline, back at me.

“I am SO sorry about that. I haven’t seen him in months. I thought last time he got the message…”

“Last time?” I asked. “How much has he bothered you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle him. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Before I could answer, she pulled me away from the wall, walked behind me and lifted my shirt, touching my back with careful fingertips. Caro stared, eyes wide, like Okaaaay.

I pulled away and told Evie I was fine.

I wasn’t fine. Yes, it hurt — badly — I would be black and blue, but I wasn’t going to be a ninny in front of Evie and my sister, who had handled this like a real man. What the hell?

“I like your place. Super cute,” Caroline decided.

“Thanks.” Evie beamed.

Caroline still wandered around, still sipping her matcha, and spotted the bottle of Beaumont champagne I’d brought over last time. Caroline giggled, grinning at me.

“Ah, so this is where it went. Nice. Did you like it?”

Evie lit up. “OMG — I haven’t opened it, but who wouldn’t love that? Signed by two royals? And, girl, I know he’s your brother‑in‑law, but man, Luc is… yes, please.”

I felt the green‑eyed monster bite down hard. Why was she fangirling Luc? Hello?! He was married. And that was why it bothered me, nothing else, no matter what you all are thinking now. Just that part. Prove me wrong.

Caroline leaned in conspiratorially, the two of them shoulder‑to‑shoulder now.

“I know, right? He’s my brother‑in‑law, but I still have eyes. And yes, he’s every bit as hot in person. And he always smells so good, I can’t even say like what. Just … like … he smells like he looks. My sister is so frigging lucky. I mean, I am not complaining, my man is hot too, don’t get me wrong, but in the tall, dark, handsome and brooding way, you know? Nothing fazes Chad. It’s an act. But in his defense, he’s got abs for days — you could play music on them.”

Both girls giggled. I felt out of place. I really didn’t want to hear my little sister fangirling her boyfriend any more than I wanted to hear them swoon about Luc. I felt my balls handing in their resignation letter and walk off the job.

“Hey, you guys want coffee?” Evie pointed at her pink coffeemaker.

“OMG — I love your coffeemaker. This whole place is so much fun, I can’t wait to have my own. Do you have flavored? I’m obsessed with hazelnut right now.” Caroline was here for it, putting down her artisanal smoothie in favor of coffee.

“Girl — same! With foamed vanilla almond milk and coconut syrup,” Evie agreed.

“What? Tell me more!” Caroline chirped.

“Girl, you haven’t lived. I’ll make you one!”

I felt invisible.

Evie finally turned to me.

“Natey, you want one too? I know you don’t like sweet coffee but it’s really good.”

Caroline nearly choked. “Natey? OMG — staaahp.”

Evie beamed. “Of course Natey. He’s so sweet!”

Caroline nudged her. “Right? But, have you seen the abs on my brother? Not as impressive as Chad’s, but not bad for a desk jockey type like Nate. He does swim a lot.”

Evie giggled. “I didn’t know that. Tell me more…”

Okay, the attention on other dudes sucked, but the spotlight on me like that did too.

Caroline grinned and headed straight toward me.

I stepped back. “Caro, no. Stop. Quit.”

And then — whatever you’re imagining — yes, that happened.

My sister tried to pull my shirt up. I fought her off, but she hooked her heel around my foot, pushed me backward, and I landed on the couch with a jolt of pain in my back from where Jason had shoved me hard into a wall earlier. Before I could recover, she yanked my shirt clean over my head and patted my mid-section.

I shoved her off and pulled my shirt down, scrambling up and away from her, humiliated and upset.

But when I looked up at Evie, her cheeks were bright red — and Caroline screamed, then burst out laughing, because Evie had turned on the single‑cup brewer while still holding the cup staring at me. It created a fountain of flavored coffee shooting downward onto the white tiles while she still stared at me, frozen, until Caroline physically pulled the cup out of her hands and shoved it under the coffeemaker.

“GURL!”

Once we settled down with the coffees, in our cups, not the floor anymore, Caroline excused herself to the bathroom, and Evie stared at me.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Nate, are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Just my pride, battered and bleeding out on the floor, thanks for asking. I thought, but out loud I just shrugged.

Evie leaned in. “You do have nice abs.”

I turned bright red, but couldn’t help smiling. I didn’t want to. It just happened. I couldn’t stop it either.

“Thanks.”

“No, thank you. For what you did today. I know Jason looks scary, so you being all protective was very nice.”

“Well, thank my sister. She was the real hero. I kinda feel like a lush,” I heard myself say — one of those screeching‑tire moments. Oh God, Cunningham, stop talking!

“You’re not. Absolutely not. Jason would never hit a girl, but he has beaten up guys for just looking at him wrong.”

“Nice. Thanks for the heads up. Can I be rude and ask why you ever dated him? No offense and all, but that part really doesn’t add up in my head.”

“I asked myself that many times. Mostly because he was interested in me, I was always the good girl, did what Mom told me, was always home before curfew, decent grades. Just average. I mean, you’ve seen him — the ultimate bad boy. It just seemed cool at the time, not so … boring. Wasn’t until I was already going out with him that I realized this is his peak. You know the type that peaks in high school and then it’s nothing but downhill from there. He would never be anything but this. Someone told me he was getting into drugs — I didn’t ask if that meant taking or selling, and I don’t want to know. See, he’s why the nicer guys at school wouldn’t date me, they knew he would make their lives hell so I was stuck with him. We broke up a few times but I guess for teenage me any boyfriend sounded better than being single. I am just glad I finally moved away. Mom was right. Where I grew up started like a typical neighborhood and now is a total slum. Few ever get out, which is why this little apartment is such a win for me. I know it looks average at best to you, but to me, this is huge. Which is why I wanted you to be there and help me decorate it. Together.”

And bam — just like that, my jealousy was gone.
Why does a guy like me have abs worth mentioning, you wonder? Well, if you get your heart shredded and when eventually the pain changes to anger at the world and the only acceptable outlet you find is a gym, you’ll find out.

Caroline came back chirping about how much she loved Evie’s bathroom decor, and while those two were fangirling decor ideas, I sat there thinking.

Jason was her past. But she had pulled me into her future.

I smiled, sipping my fancy coffee — even though I hated flavored coffees — and just enjoyed my sister and Evie chatting it up.

Leaving

When it got time to leave, I really wanted to stay. Even Caroline noticed me stalling.

“You can just give me your keys…” she said, grinning.

“No thanks. I happen to like my car in the condition it’s in,” I said, ignoring the tongue she stuck out at me. Backstory: her car was in the shop getting dents buffed out. Again.

Leaving was hard. Walking to the parked car was harder, not just because my spine screamed with every step, but because of my sister micro‑analyzing my entire existence.

We reached the car. I unlocked it, walked around to the driver’s side, and Caroline slid into the passenger seat, still sipping her matcha.

“Sooooo… why haven’t you made a move on her yet?” she asked, while I opened the driver side door.

“What?” I gave her my best ‘what‑are‑you‑talking‑about?’ glare.

“Come on now, Nate. You practically disintegrated with jealousy when that Jason idiot showed up,” she said.

“No, I was… concerned. I am older, so I have to make sure you get back home in one piece, which your mouthing off to that freakshow seriously put a question mark on. Same with Evie. We’re friends. Men and women can be friends, you know,” I said. It came out sharper than I meant, accentuated by me sliding into the driver seat seeing colorful starbursts while I pushed the starter and then the seat heater to help my battered back.

Caroline wasn’t buying it. She settled into the passenger seat while I pulled out into traffic.

“They can. If they want. And if there are no other feelings involved. Involuntary ones,” she said.

“Thank you ‘Dear Abby’,” I muttered, trying to merge.

“But with you, there clearly are feelings involved. So, my question stands. What exactly are you waiting for? Please do not tell me you’re still hung up on Eloise,” she said.

“Elodie. And no. Listen — when have I ever meddled in your relationships?” I asked.

“Mine don’t require it. I shit or get off the pot, not roll from one hot mess situation into the next,” she said.

I sighed, briefly closing my eyes as the highway opened up and the traffic thinned.

“Caroline…” I warned.

“Nateyyyyy, cos you know you’re just SOOOO cute…” she mocked.

“Shut up. That was out of context. And she said ‘sweet‘, not ‘cute‘,” I said.

“Uh huh. Out of context, riiiiight. That’s why you got jealous and she brewed coffee onto her floor holding a cup while staring at your abs? Yup. Totally platonic. Got it,” she said.

“Caro… just mind your own, okay?” I said.

“Okay. You wanna play hard to get, fine,” she said.

“I’m not playing anything. Above all, hard to get,” I said.

“Yup,” she said.

“I am not!” I insisted.

“Uh huh,” she said.

“Keep that up and you’re walking home,” I said.

“Try it and I’ll maze you too,” she said.

“You would never,” I said.

“Try me,” she shot back.

“Mom would butcher you,” I said.

“We all have to go sometime,” she said.

A pause.

“Thanks for saving the moment,” I said. “That was pretty impressive. Where did you learn that?”

“You’re welcome. I am a woman at college. Mom made sure Charley and I know how to hold our own. And please, not the ‘but nobody taught me’ whining out of you now. You are a man, Nate. And you were moping harder than Eeyore on his worst day, plus constantly working out. Plus, you have Tate living with you. Charley and I have strangers, so Mom made sure we know how to act and react. Footnote: Only family is allowed to torture you. Everyone else will be made to suffer. Insert diabolical cackle,” Caroline said, bone‑dry.

A beat passed.

We traded a glance — the kind siblings understand instantly — and burst out laughing.

Laying in bed that night, I could hardly sleep. Too much on my mind.

The apartment. Her smile. Her fingers on my back. Her voice when she said “together.” The way she looked at me when my shirt came off. The way she defended me. The way she thanked me.

Jason was her past. But she’d pulled me into her future.

Well, time halts for no one, I had to return to campus and uni kept me too busy to dwell on my confusing situation.

Summer With Her

But eventually semester break hit — bittersweet in a way I hadn’t expected. My last real summer break ever. After this semester, which technically I could have skipped and graduated early, I’d done so much during the Elodie fallout phase that I barely needed it. Still… I wanted it. Needed it. One last breath before corporate life swallowed me whole from now until retirement. Whenever that may come. When you own the business, it’s more of an open-ended gig. I cannot ever see Dad retire. He’ll be carried out of his office feet first one day unless Mom decides otherwise.

And then came the family trip to Sulani.

All the kids were allowed to bring someone. My sisters had their boyfriends. I was bringing Evie. And man, I would be lying if I didn’t admit I was as excited as I was nervous.

I flew in from Foxbury to San Myshuno, and the driver was supposed to pick me up from the airport then we’d stop by her apartment  — but Evie insisted on being picked up first so she could “properly greet me.” I didn’t know what that meant until I walked out of arrivals and saw her standing there, holding another ridiculous sign.

“NATE CUNNINGHAM — VIP PICKUP.”

Pink glitter. Crooked letters. Her grin behind it.

I laughed so hard I nearly dropped my bag, and she ran into me for a hug that lasted a little too long for “just friends.”

We rode home together, her suitcase already packed in the trunk next to my bags, her excitement buzzing like static in the air. By the time the driver pulled into Rosebriar Haven, the house was full again.

Eddie Kensington had flown in from Henfordshire the night before. Chad’s car was blocking the garage again, as always, which sooner or later would drive Dad’s blood pressure up. I think he did it intentionally now.
Lauren and Blaine would join us later. The original plan had been to pick them up in Del Sol Valley, on the way to Sulani, but Blaine had to travel to San Myshuno for PR so Lauren had packed the babies and joined him for an extra day back at her old home.

There was an anticipatory lightness about everything — the kind that only happens when the house is bursting with people. Some were buzzing around with last‑minute packing ideas, others were stretched out by the pool working on a base tan. Caroline was getting all the riding time in she could before we left; she’d been taking horseback riding pro‑level since forever. If Mom and Dad didn’t insist on college, she would have skipped that and just done competitive riding.

Evie was in utter amazement.
Almost glued to my side.
Almost afraid of everything.

Wide-eyed when I gave her the tour. Twice she said “There is MORE?”. Made me feel like I grew up in a palace. I had been to a palace. This was not it. I knew this estate was sprawling, I am no fool, but it has always been home to me, until I started seeing it through Evie’s eyes.

The last time she’d been here was right after her mom died, and that whole time had been a blur — grief, exhaustion, shock. There was a blanket invite to dinner, but somehow, it had never worked out. Someone always had to be elsewhere each time I penciled it in.

 This was different. She was seeing the house properly now, seeing the life inside it, seeing the way my family filled space.

She kept whispering little things under her breath — “Oh my god,” and “This is insane,” and “People actually live like this?” “I can’t believe I am in the same house with Briar Rose Cameron and Blaine Cameron”— like she couldn’t believe any of it was real. I will say though, she managed to act normal around Mom and Blaine. Not many people can. Again, to me they were just Mom and Blaine, but I knew Mom was a superstar in the music business, I had seen all the headlines, especially the cringe ones, be it when she was depicted as a sex symbol, made Dad cringe too, even though part of him was proud to have her as his wife, but as a son, I mean, which kid of any age wants to think that way about their Mom? And then the documentaries where all the dirty laundry none of my siblings wanted to be reminded of was dragged out into the open. We weren’t allowed to watch any of that until we were teens.  And Blaine, well, Blaine. We knew him before he was famous in his own right, just another Nepo-baby like us, so he was just one of us to us, just more unhinged.
But not to Evie. She’d only known him as a famous actor and now met the real person beneath.
She did have a soft spot for my Dad. I think the way he helped her through the death of her mom with his professionalism and warmth made her lean on him a lot.

When Blaine – ever the showman – came out in swim shorts and made an appearance of it, I had to close Evie’s mouth for her. I almost wanted to tell her, ‘eyes over here’ but remembered in time what I kept telling everyone on repeat: Just friends. If she wanted to ogle my brother-in-law, so be it.

And somewhere between her awe and her nervous little smiles, a thought hit me hard: I’d known her for many months, coming up on a year soon. I’d spent nights at her place. I’d seen every corner of her world. But I’d never once thought to invite her into mine. Even if all the dinner invites fizzled out for – reasons, I could have just invited her out for some pool time or something. Watching the way it made her excited I wished I had done that sooner. Which man didn’t want to be that prince riding in making the girl feel like a princess? Even if it was just platonic.

It wasn’t intentional — just blind. Rosebriar Haven was normal to me, background noise, childhood. I never realized it could be a refuge for her. A place she might have needed. A sort of … getaway. And then there was the still fragile part inside of me. I cared about Evie, really liked her, trusted her, but taking her here, to my safe place felt … risky. Until it suddenly didn’t.

Seeing her take it all in now made something twist in my chest. I really should have brought her here sooner. But now, I would make sure to bring her here, often.

Sulani was next. Sun, ocean, family, chaos — and Evie, right there with us.

Breakfast of Champions Socialites

I woke up later than I meant to — which was a sign vacation mode had officially kicked in — and headed downstairs to the breakfast room. My family doesn’t do “casual breakfast.” The table looked like a magazine spread: fruit towers, pastries, eggs, waffles, three kinds of juice, and Mrs. Marwood already moving with military precision.

Lauren and Blaine were already there with their two little ones, both sticky with syrup. Blaine looked like he’d been hit by a truck, which meant he’d probably had a great night with Dad’s booze collection.

I’d barely sat down when Evie stumbled in.

Hair a little messy, eyes still soft with sleep, wearing comfortable sweats and a loose shirt that read “Don’t be jelly, I woke up like this” — complete with a cartoon jar of strawberry jelly — and clearly unsure if she was supposed to be here at all.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, hovering in the doorway. “I didn’t know this… was a thing. Am I supposed to… like… be here? Or is this family only?”

My mother turned in her chair. “Oh honey, you’re absolutely meant to be here. Blaine, move. Let Evie sit next to Nate.”

Blaine looked up at her, chewing. “Why? She can see him from over there.” He mumbled around a bite, pointing at the seat beside him.

“Blaine. MOVE.”

They stared each other down — Mom’s eyebrow versus Blaine’s glare — and he caved immediately, scooting over with a dramatic sigh.

Evie slipped into the seat beside me. “Thanks.”

Mrs. Marwood swept in, replacing Blaine’s used dishes with fresh ones, offering Evie coffee, then pouring it before she could answer. Evie stared at the table like she’d walked into a culinary hallucination.

I leaned in. “The waffles are awesome. Hazelnut.”

She whispered back, “Hazelnut? What is this, Narnia?”

She reached for the waffle platter, stabbed the top waffle with her fork, and tried to drag it onto her plate like she was fishing. Dad visibly flinched. Then he lifted the entire platter and tilted it toward her plate.

“Oh— thanks,” she said, cheeks pink.

She took a bite and made a soft, involuntary sound — half‑gasp, half‑praise — like the waffle had personally solved one of her life problems.

I smiled into my coffee.

Evie leaned closer, pointing at a platter. “Nate, what is that?”

I followed her gaze. “Dragonfruit. And that’s rambutan. And that’s starfruit. And those are lychee. And that’s passionfruit.”

She tried the dragonfruit first, eyes widening. Then the starfruit. Then the lychee. Each time she made another tiny sound of delight.

“This is insane,” she whispered. “How does fruit even taste like this? I didn’t even know these existed.”

Across the table, Mom smiled. “Evie, do you have enough clothing for the trip? Or would you like to borrow a few things?”

Evie blinked. “Borrow? Nate said it was just a beach vacation, so I brought shorts and beachwear. And a brand‑new bikini. Do we need more?”

Mom exchanged a look with Lauren. “Well… some restaurants and clubs are a bit more upscale. We’ll look through my closet later if you like. We have time until we leave. You and I are about the same size.”

Evie nodded, overwhelmed but trying to keep up. “Okay. That would be… really nice.”

I could see it in her face — she wasn’t just talking to my mom. She was talking to Briar Rose Cameron, the woman she grew up watching on MTV. And now she was going to borrow her clothes.

Evie took another bite of waffle, then leaned into me again.

“Nate,” she whispered, “I think I died. This is heaven.”

I laughed quietly. “Just wait until Sulani.”

She froze mid‑chew. “This gets better?”

I nodded. “Oh yeah.”

She stared at me like I’d just told her she’d won the lottery.

And for a moment — a small, warm moment — I felt proud. Not of the house. Not of the breakfast. Not of the fruit towers.

But of the fact that she was here. With me. In my world. And she wasn’t shrinking. She was shining.

Breakfast rolled on — my sisters drifting in, greeting her warmly, curious but kind. Caroline’s boyfriend Chadwick Lockwood arrived halfway through, kissing her cheek before sitting down.

“Ah Chad, fashionably late as always.” my Dad’s tone oozed sarcasm.

“Yup, morning Mr. C.” Chad was unimpressed. Nobody said that anymore, but it came up in some old movie once and Dad commented on it, so ever since Chad has been using it on him.

“And I trust you blocked my garage door again.” Dad kept going.

“As always, wouldn’t want to disappoint. Look at the bright side, you won’t be driving anywhere today.” he grinned then kissed my sister again, but … well … more intensely, which just about had Dad eat in reverse. I don’t know why Chad just enjoyed poking my Dad so much, maybe it just was their thing.

Charley’s boyfriend Edward — the future Earl from Henfordshire — was much more refined and quieter. Evie stared at him too, after I told her who he was and I could see her eyes glaze over with some mental Bridgerton moments playing in her head especially when he spoke in that refined Henfordian English.

Evie took it all in with wide eyes. She asked questions. She laughed. She tried everything on the table. She fit.

After breakfast she left with Mom, giggling up the stairs and it made me feel good. A glimpse of how things could be. And I was here for it. Hell yeah!

Later we piled into the limousine — the one my family uses for larger groups — and headed to the private terminal. Evie sat beside me, hands pressed to the window as we pulled up to the jet.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “This is… this is real? Someone pinch me. Actually, don’t really pinch me, I bruise super-easy and will be half naked most of the time.”

My eyes grew wide and she blushed. Deep pink. Probably the same color her bikini would be.

“Umm… I mean … you know what I mean.” She stammered.

“Yeah.”

She laughed, half disbelieving, half ecstatic.

Six Hours of Rich‑People Travel

Evie’s first steps inside were priceless. She froze, taking in the leather seats, the wood paneling, the little lounge area, the snacks already laid out.

“This is a plane?” she asked.

“Technically,” I said.

She explored everything — the reclining seats, the little kitchen, the bathroom that looked nicer than most apartments. She asked a million questions. She sat by the window and stared at the runway traffic like it was magic.

My family settled in. Blaine and Lauren wrangling their kids. Caroline and Chad playing cards. Charley texting her redheaded Eddie. My parents scrolling on their phones and chatting. Evie bouncing between awe and joy next to me.

It was… nice. Really nice.

When the smiling flight attendant came around to take drink orders and she heard Blaine, Mom, and Dad order alcohol, Evie leaned in to me and whispered,

“Nate… do you think they have Beaumont champagne here?”

“I’m sure they do. You want some?” I didn’t even need her nod — her eyes already answered for her — so I ordered two glasses.

“I’ve never had it,” she admitted, bouncing in her seat, “but now that I own a bottle, I kinda want to know what it tastes like.”

“You know you could just— I don’t know — open the bottle.” I grinned.

“No!” She looked at me like I’d suggested kicking a puppy. “I will never open that. That is special.”

The attendant returned with a small tray and set two glasses in front of us with a polite smile.

Evie practically vibrated, letting out the tiniest squeak. I picked up my glass and held it out to her. She lifted hers, and we clinked.

“To us,” I said.

She sniffed the champagne first, curious, and I was about to take a sip when she stopped me.

“No, wait! Let’s do that thing where they… you know… this.”

She linked her arm through mine — the way people do during a toast — and we both lifted our glasses together, arm‑in‑arm.

From across the aisle, Caroline’s voice cut through:

“Awwww, look at them! Nate and Evie doing the wedding toast link!”

All heads turned to us.

Both of us coughed at the same time — the exact same startled, embarrassed cough — and immediately looked anywhere except at each other.

Caroline cackled. Evie’s cheeks went pink. Mine probably did too.

We finally took our sip, still linked, still pretending we weren’t dying inside.

We landed just before sunset. The sky was gold, the ocean impossibly blue, the air warm and soft in that way Sulani always is — like the whole island is exhaling. Staff met us at the steps, greeting my parents first, then the rest of us.

Evie stepped onto the tarmac and stopped dead.

Her eyes filled — not with sadness, but with something like gratitude. Like wonder. Like she’d just stepped into a dream she didn’t know she was allowed to have.

I watched her take it all in — the palm trees, the distant waves, the villas waiting for us — and something settled in my chest.

She was good news.

Just like her name. I don’t know why, but somewhere between cramming for an exam and losing my mind, I’d looked up the meaning of Evangeline. “Bringer of good news.” It tracked.

We checked out the cabanas, freshened up, and headed to dinner. It was perfect — warm, loud, full of laughter. Afterwards, everyone split into groups.

Evie and I went for a walk.

She let everything out — her amazement, her joy, her disbelief. She pointed at everything, asked a hundred questions, laughed at herself for being overwhelmed. And somehow, her wonder made me see the island again. I’d grown up with all this. I’d gone blind to it. She brought it back.

At some point she stopped walking. A tear slid down her cheek.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded, smiling. “Yeah. Thank you for all this, Nate. It’s amazing. I wish my mom could see me here right now. I think this is what she always wanted me to have. To see. To experience.”

“Thanks for being here,” I said. “I know it’s probably confusing, but I’m glad you’re having fun.”

I walked her to her cabana, then went to mine.

Bikini Bod

Sulani hit different the moment I picked her up at her cabana to head down to the beach with the family. Warm air, soft breeze, that impossible turquoise water — it all felt unreal.

When we got to the beach, my whole family was already spreading out towels and having staff set up umbrellas.

Lauren and Blaine’s little boys were splashing at the shoreline — one wobbling around like a drunk penguin, the other sitting in the surf smacking the water like it owed him money — while Lauren and Blaine hovered behind them like lifeguards who hadn’t had coffee yet.

Evie and I picked two loungers next to each other and dropped our things. She stood beside me, holding the hem of her beach dress.

“Wanna go swim?” she asked.

“It’s a beach,” I said. “Of course.”

She took a breath, then pulled the dress over her head in one smooth motion.

And for a second — a stupid, tiny second — I forgot how to function.

It wasn’t even the bikini. It wasn’t the color — a soft, warm rose‑pink that somehow looked perfect on her. It wasn’t anything dramatic.

It was the way she stood there, sunlight catching in her hair, shoulders relaxed, smiling so innocently — and suddenly I realized I’d never actually seen her like this. Not casual loungewear. Not oversized shirts. Not the comfortable stuff we’d worn when we’d shared her bed a few times. This was different. Open. Unfiltered. Confident. Reminded me I was still male and still straight. Oof. Platonic, Nate. Just a friend who happened to have been assigned female at birth. No biggie.

But it hit me harder than the heat ever could.

I swallowed, trying to play it cool.

She laughed, pointing at my shirt and flip flops. “You gonna swim like this?”

“Nah, I just need to arrive for a sec. You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

She grinned and jogged toward the water to join the others, leaving me standing there like an idiot, trying to get my heartbeat under control and die of a heart attack because I saw a girl in a bikini like some incel. Jeezes, Nate, get yourself together, man.

And that was the moment — the exact moment — I realized I’d underestimated her. Not her personality. Not her humor. Not her kindness.

Her presence.

More accurately, my ability to be “just friends” with this girl. Clearly — no matter how much I tried to deny it — something was shifting. And clearly my heart and mind weren’t ready for anything like it yet.

But my body disagreed. I was affected. Flustered. Thrown.

I grabbed the towels and followed her down the sand, pretending the sun was the reason I was warm.

She was splashing herself with water when she saw me.

“You gonna swim in your shirt?” she called.

“Yeah, show her your abs again, big bro!” Caroline yelled from somewhere behind me.

I pulled the shirt off and tossed it in her general direction — somehow managing to hit her square in the face. She yelped in surprise, I laughed, and ran into the water. Caroline chased after me, and the awkward moment dissolved instantly into siblings trying to “kill” each other until Dad called us to order, smirking like he’d seen this exact chaos a thousand times.

At least it snapped me out of the awkwardness of the moment.

Bad Driving

Over the next two days we did a lot of fun things together as a group — swimming, exploring, eating too much exotic food — Blaine was entertaining on any day, but lived up to new heights on vacation, if you add my sisters’ boyfriends to the mix, it got rambunctious a few times and yes, I was sucked into it too. All in good humor, everyone had fun, but when Dad rented jet skis for all of us while Mom and Caroline watched the babies, I found out the hard way that Evie really was a terrible driver. As was Caroline which is why she was banned from even trying and assigned baby sitting duty.

But man, Evie though. I honestly had thought it had just been her being an inexperienced driver and the size of the U‑Haul truck. But she was terrible on a jetski, too, worse than Charlotte, who actually ran into Edward’s, then Blaine’s and then fell off hers laughing so hard at Evie that Dad panicked and jumped in after her, then snapped at her boyfriend Edward about how this should have been his job. Like she couldn’t swim just fine. Oh dad, being dad.

But Evie… Evie was bad.

She got her jet ski stuck so many times — three times on the same sandbar, three times the rental guy had to wade out and pull her free, once drifting into the swim zone, which got her yelled at by both the rental guy and the lifeguard, and once because she forgot the safety lanyard and stalled out in the middle of the water. Dad actually drove over and fixed it for her.

By then, the rental guy finally threw in the towel.

“Miss, you’re very sweet,” he said, rubbing his forehead, “but please ride with your boyfriend. I’m begging you.”

Evie froze. “But… but… he’s not even… my boyfriend,” she mumbled as he pulled the key from her.

This time Charlotte, Caroline, Blaine, and Mom went down from laughing too hard. Dad just shook his head and sighed, handing the guys some bills ‘for the inconvenience’.

Evie ended up on the backseat of mine, arms around my waist so she wouldn’t fall off, laughing the whole time.

I wasn’t mad at that arrangement.

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard.

Evie vs. The Golf Cart (Spoiler: The Cart Won)

I quit laughing the moment she got behind the wheel of the little courtesy golf cart the resort let us use to get from the jet ski place back to our cabanas.

I should’ve known. I really should’ve known.

She climbed in like she was confident — sunglasses on, hair windblown, still giggling from the jet ski disaster — and then froze.

“…Why is the steering wheel on the wrong side?” she asked, staring at it like it had personally betrayed her.

“It’s not wrong,” Edward called from the cart behind us. “It’s correct. You Americans are the ones who insist on doing everything backwards.”

Evie pointed at the wheel, already rattled. “No. This is wrong. This is absolutely wrong. This is why I’m going to screw up.”

“You won’t screw up,” I said. “It’s a golf cart.”

She screwed up.

She pressed the accelerator like she was trying to launch us into orbit.

We jerked forward so hard my teeth clicked.

“Evie— slow down—”

“I am slow!” she insisted, even though we were absolutely not slow.

She was staring at something on the other side of the path — a bird, a palm tree, who knows — and not where she was driving. Even when I yelled her name, she didn’t look forward but at me. “What?”

We were heading straight toward a small incline that dropped off into the ocean.

I reached across the wheel to yank it back — wrong‑side steering, wrong angle — which somehow made the golf cart tilt so violently it nearly fell over. The tires screeched. The whole thing fishtailed. A couple walking nearby jumped out of the way.

Evie screamed. I screamed.

“Take your foot off the accelerator!”

“What?!”

I gently kicked against her foot — she lifted it — and the engine cut out. Downed somehow.

We skidded sideways, bounced once, and finally stopped against a palm tree — half on the path, half in the grass, tilted at an angle that felt like gravity was reconsidering its life choices. As an extra F.U., a coconut dropped down just inches from me. The cart made a loud pop and started fuming.

Evie blinked at me, breathless — then her face crumpled. “…Oh my God, I am so sorry…” Her voice wobbled. She looked like she might cry right there.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound calm. “We almost became a cautionary tale.”

She covered her face with both hands, shoulders shaking. “I told you the steering wheel was wrong… I’m never driving anything again.”

And that was the moment three other golf carts came barreling toward us like we’d triggered a family emergency beacon.

Dad and Mom pulled up first, Dad already rubbing his temples. Edward and Charlotte arrived right behind them, Edward looking smugly vindicated about the steering wheel. Chad and Caroline rolled in last, Caroline already yelling before the cart even stopped.

“Awwww my GOD, Nate, why do you let her operate vehicles?! DAD, Nate is suicidal!”

I heard Blaine roaring with laughter in the distance — he and Lauren were on the path across, walking back to their cabana with the kids — and I watched him drop to the ground holding his stomach, gasping for air. Lauren was in stitches beside him.

Mom and Charlotte were doubled over laughing. Edward tried for a straight face but failed. Chad just stared at the tilted cart like it was modern art.

Evie peeked through her fingers, eyes shiny, cheeks blotchy. She looked like she wanted to sink into the sand and never return.

Dad climbed out, opened the hood, grabbed a towel, and cracked the coolant cap. Steam hissed out like the cart was sighing in defeat.

“Overheated,” he said. “Let it cool a few minutes.”

He walked back to the cooler in his cart, grabbed a bottle of water, and poured it into the tiny reservoir like he’d been doing this his whole life.

“There,” he said, wiping his hands on the towel. “Good as new. Try not to reenact Fast & Furious: Golf Cart Drift.”

Evie’s chin trembled. She looked at me like she expected me to be furious.

I sighed, climbed out, walked over to the driver side and gestured her to slide over, which she did instantly, still wiping her eyes.

“Okay,” I said. “New rule. You ride. I drive.”

She nodded so fast her ponytail bounced. “Deal. I really am sorry. And the steering wheel is still wrong.”

Dad, Mom, Edward, Charlotte, Chad, and Caroline all drove around us and disappeared behind a bend while we still gave the tiny engine a moment of rest.

Evie looked so guilty and ashamed — close to tears again — that I did something I could hardly believe. I fired up the cart, smiled at her still looking like her cat died, and told her, “There’s an S.O.B. curve ahead…”

“A what?” The confusion on her face was worth it.

I added a bit more speed and hooked it left, flinging Evie against me, wrapping an arm around her.

“A slide‑over‑baby curve…” I told her, and instantly her shame changed to surprise — then she cracked up, wiping the last of her tears away.

We were both still laughing when I parked near the cabanas.

Almost

We all went out to a beach club that night. And I will admit — she looked incredible. She’d borrowed one of Mom’s old party dresses, short, fitted, golden. Dad had always had a love/hate relationship with that dress — he loved how Mom looked in it, hated that anyone else could see.

Now it was on Evie, and I was only human.

I tried very hard to think happy, neutral thoughts and be a gentleman, but she moved with that dancer’s ease — confident, joyful, luminous — and it was impossible not to notice. I was not like this normally, but I caught myself staring at her rear a few times. One time Dad saw me staring too. I felt watched and finally managed to pry my eyeballs off her as she swayed along to the music holding a drink, talking to my sisters. I looked up and straight into Dad’s reprimanding eyes as he gently shook his head at me.

Gulp.

Then Evie was dead‑set on teaching me to dance, which involved her hands on various parts of my body, which did not help my situation.

Finally, she decided I was too stiff and needed some more liquid courage to help loosen me up. She was really into the exotic cocktails — especially the coconut ones. My mom had introduced her to them earlier in the trip, along with those ridiculous coconut‑macadamia snacks the staff kept handing out in Sulani, and now Evie was obsessed in the way only a twenty‑year‑old can be.

If you don’t know, let me tell you: those drinks sneak up on you. They taste like juice at first — the kick comes later.

We had a few drinks, danced more, and eventually I was having fun. The unbridled kind.

Then the DJ switched tracks — fast, bright, unmistakable — and shouted over the speakers, “Merengue time!”

Evie lit up instantly.

“Oh my God, Nate, this one! Come on!”

Before I could protest, she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the crowd.

I had no idea what merengue was. I learned fast.

She stepped in, guiding my hands — one to her back, one to her hand — and suddenly we were moving together. Or rather, she was moving, and I was trying to keep up. Her hips shifted with the beat, her shoulders bounced lightly, her smile bright and unguarded.

I stepped wrong almost immediately — too wide, too fast, too something — and threw the whole rhythm off.

She laughed, breathless. “No, no — like this,” she said, sliding her hand down to adjust my wrist and nudging my hip into the right direction.

I tried again. Worse.

I stepped left when she stepped right, and our hips collided — not gently, not gracefully, but with enough force to make us both jolt.

She burst out laughing. I nearly died.

“Sorry!” I said, even though she was laughing so hard she had to grab my arm to stay upright.

“It’s fine,” she said, still laughing, still close, still guiding me like she’d done this a thousand times.

Merengue doesn’t slow down. It keeps going — fast, warm, relentless — and we kept moving with it. Turning, stepping, stumbling, laughing. She spun under my arm, golden dress catching the lights, then stepped back into me — close enough that I felt the warmth of her skin through the fabric.

My heart did something stupid.

She looked up at me, cheeks flushed from dancing, eyes bright, and for a second the whole club blurred out — just her, just me, just the rhythm pulling us closer than we’d ever been.

I’d never danced like that with anyone. And probably never will again.

Because that was the moment — the exact moment — when the line between “friends” and “something else” didn’t just blur.

It disappeared.

The track ended in a burst of cheers and laughter, and we stepped off the dance floor, both breathless — from the speed, from the heat, from… whatever that had just been.

Evie grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the quieter side of the beach club, where the lights were softer and the music faded into a warm hum. We stopped near a row of palm trees, half‑hidden from the crowd.

She leaned against one, laughing, trying to catch her breath. “Okay,” she said between giggles, “I was right. You do have spice in your hips. I love being right. You can dance, just need to be taught properly. You got rhythm in you.”

I pressed a hand to my chest. “I’m dying. That was cardio.”

“That was merengue,” she corrected, nudging me with her shoulder. “And you were actually good.”

I shook my head, still trying to catch my breath. “Oh, please. I looked like a malfunctioning wind‑up toy going in every direction except the right one. You were dragging me around like a blowup doll.”

She laughed softly, then her expression shifted — warm, sincere. “Nate… you weren’t bad. You were trying. And you were having fun. That’s what makes someone good.”

My face went hot. Ridiculously hot. Like the humidity had doubled just for me.

“I mean, hey, we can’t all be great at everything.” She stuck out her hand to me, formal and playful all at once. “Hi, I’m Evangeline Hollis, and I am the world’s worst driver.”

She was trying to make me feel better by self‑deprecating, so I shook her hand. “Nathaniel Cunningham, inflatable tube man par excellence on every dancefloor.”

She snorted — actually snorted — and that made me laugh harder than I should have.

We were still laughing, still breathless, still riding the high of the dance — and then the laughter faded, naturally, quietly, like a tide pulling back.

Suddenly we were close. Closer than we’d ever been without meaning to be.

Her smile softened. Mine did too.

The air changed — warm, slow, heavy in that way that makes everything feel magnified. The lights blurred. The music thinned. The world shrank to the space between us.

She looked up at me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright from dancing. I looked down at her, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the rhythm.

And for the first time, I felt it — really felt it — that pull, that spark, that stupid gravitational shift that made stepping closer feel inevitable. Her breath brushed my chin when she exhaled. Her hand was still in mine. She didn’t let go.

My pulse kicked hard.

I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. I just leaned in — slow enough that she didn’t notice at first, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath, close enough that one more inch would have changed everything—

A group of drunk strangers stumbled into the same dark corner, one of them retching loudly into the sand.

Evie jumped. “Oh— ew— oh my God—”

The moment shattered like glass. Actually, it exploded.

I jerked back, heat flooding my face, heart still racing for a completely different reason now.

She waved a hand in front of her nose. “Okay, nope, nope, abort mission, this is— ew— come on, Nate, let’s get away from this. Nasty!”

The strangers didn’t even acknowledge us. They were too busy ruining the atmosphere.

Evie grabbed my wrist and pulled me along, flustered. “Uh… yeah… well… that was… something.”

“Yeah,” I said, voice embarrassingly tight. “Totally. Just… beach club things.”

We both tried to laugh it off, but neither of us could look at the other for more than half a second. The air between us felt different now — charged, awkward, too aware.

“Should we… go back?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Yeah. Let’s… yeah.”

We walked back toward the lights and the music, side by side but not touching, both pretending nothing had happened.

She would never know how close I’d been. But I did. And it threw me completely off balance.

Momzilla Moments

I was still fast asleep the next morning, after having been up all night with my head pounding, partially from all the cocktails but mostly from what almost happened at the club, and what could have changed the entire trajectory in a way I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for… at least not yet. I replayed the moments over and over in my head, wondering if I was saved by the bell or if the drunk idiots ruined something that was meant to be. And then I kept wondering if I wanted it to go that way or if the friendship that had developed between us over time wasn’t too precious to risk for something that could or could not last. Eventually I passed out.

Loud banging had me almost fall off my bed, along with my phone slamming off the nightstand after having buzzed itself to the edge. I picked it up and saw twelve missed calls from Mom and countless texts. I stumbled to the door, blinking against the too-bright morning sun as I pulled it open.

Mom.

“Oh my GOD, it’s alive! The creature that vaguely resembles my son!” Mom swept inside like she was entering a stage, sunglasses already halfway off, hair perfect, lip gloss shimmering like she’d just stepped out of a performance. “Are you ever gonna get up, baby? I’ve been calling you since sunrise!”

She looked me up and down — hair a mess, shirtless, face puffy, eyes barely open, in my boxers, last night’s clothes strewn across the floor — and let out a dramatic gasp, then hugged me like I’d just returned from a six‑month humanitarian tour, kissing both my cheeks with loud smacks.

“Umm… am I dying if I don’t eat breakfast at the crack of dawn?” I asked.

“No, but I am dying. Dawww, tell me everything.” she squeaked.

“What?” I was genuinely confused.

“Talk to me, baby.”

“About what? Me sleeping in on vacation like a normal person?”

“Now you sound like your father.”

“What? Reasonable? I take that as a compliment.”

She ignored that completely.

“Oh, come on, Nate, quit it. I saw you almost kissing her last night and I just about melted. Snapped a picture so I can show your father. Wait, let me show you — I swear, it turned out so cute, looks photoshopped for real, it could be the cover for my ‘Sweetest Pain’ release…”

I pushed her phone down. “You WHAT?! Mom! Stop turning into Momzilla! You’re scaring me!”

Her expression softened instantly. “Baby, you scared me. I hated seeing you heartbroken and withdrawn for so long. These are some of the best years of your life. A handsome young man like you should date and have fun.”

Then she snapped right back into full Briar Rose/Mom mode, pacing my room like she was rehearsing choreography. “I loved how she got you to dance. I didn’t know you had that in you! Nice. I might hire both of you for my next tour. Honestly, I am shocked she didn’t spend the night. But alas, she actually came out of her own cabana this morning — fresh as a daisy, looking adorable — and then she came to breakfast with us, while you were gloriously absent.”

She pointed at my phone like it had personally offended her. “I tried getting your ass out of bed. Check your phone.”

“Oh, I saw. So I slept in, we’re on vacation, Mom, it’s what people do.” I rubbed my face. “For the thousandth time, Mom, we are friends. What you saw or think you saw was probably me leaning in so she could hear me over the club beats. And if you’re so pro-descendant-hook-up, why does Dad keep reminding me about being safe? Makes me feel like you guys think all I do at campus is … well … girls, then writing a couple papers on the side. I am not like that!”

She threw her hands up. “We know that, and well, he isn’t wrong. We want you to have fun and be young and have experiences — not make us grandparents already. I saw you walk her home. Soooo… have you?”

“Have I— Mom, I know you’re not asking what I think you’re asking.”

“Nate, we are a family with a medical empire. If we cannot talk about conception, contraception, and sex, then who can?”

“Oh, you can talk about all that as much as you want, Mom — just not with me. Thanks for your concern, but this is where I tap out. Just no.”

“Natey, so did you or didn’t you? Did you at least kiss her at last? Give me something, please.”

“See you at lunch, Mom!”

I fled into the bathroom and turned on the shower and the sink, hoping to drown her out in case she attempted more verbal torture through the door.

Never underestimate a singer’s trained voice. It carries. No matter how many faucets you crank, you will hear my mother, if she is hellbound for you to hear her.

“Oh my GOD, Nathaniel,” she called through the door, “you two looked like the final shot of my ‘Starlight Collision’ music video! You know — the melancholic almost‑kiss on the balcony? The one the fans STILL scream about? I swear, I thought I was watching a live remake!”

I pressed my forehead against the wall. “Mom, please stop.”

“I mean it! The lighting, the tension, the way you leaned in — I almost started singing my lines out of habit! My sweet baby boy so uber-romantic – awwww. I am still melting.”

“Mom.”

“And the way she looked at you? Honey, that was big cinema.”

“Mom, I’m begging you.”

I cranked the shower up all the way and flushed the toilet, hoping the noise would drown out both her commentary and my will to live.

But she kept going, muffled but relentless. And something in me snapped.

I yanked the door open so fast she jumped.

“Mom,” I said, voice shaking, “nothing happened. Nothing will happen. Not yet. My heart is still… not ready. And I can’t lose her the way I lost Elodie. I can’t take that again. I don’t want to break something important just so my mother gets her happy ending moment watching her own son make out like a total creep. So please. Just stop. If you want to be involved, help me pray she didn’t realize what almost happened or forgot about it after all the cocktails. That is what I need right now.”

Her mouth fell open. All the teasing evaporated. She looked at me like she finally understood.

“Nate,” she whispered, “sweetheart…”

But I couldn’t handle the softness. Not then.

I grabbed my joggers and a shirt off the floor, shoved past her, and stormed out of the cabana barefoot, the morning sun hitting me like a spotlight. The resort was quiet — just waves, birds, and the distant hum of staff setting up umbrellas.

I walked fast. Then faster. Then practically ran until my lungs burned and my legs gave out.

I dropped into the sand, breathless, elbows on my knees, hands in my hair.

Everything felt too loud inside my head. Too close. Too much.

I didn’t know if last night had been a warning or a sign. I didn’t know if I’d been saved or sabotaged. I didn’t know if wanting her meant risking everything.

I just knew one thing:

I was in trouble.