Six years later, the house felt different. The same walls stood, though freshly painted, and the furniture had shifted, but the heart of the place—the memories etched into its every corner—remained. I hadn't been back in so long that stepping inside was like walking into a dream I'd almost forgotten.
The living room was quiet now, save for the occasional crackle of the fireplace. A faint scent of vanilla lingered, mixing with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Rory was sitting on the couch, though this time he wasn't sprawled awkwardly. Instead, he sat upright, flipping through a photo album with a rare look of contentment on his face. His hair was shorter, a little grayer at the temples, but he was still unmistakably Rory.
"Look who finally decided to show up," he teased without looking up, his voice carrying the same playful tone as always.
I rolled my eyes, setting my bag down by the door. "You've been here five minutes longer than me. Don't act like you're the host."
"Five minutes is enough to stake my claim," he shot back, gesturing to the couch dramatically. "Besides, you were always the late one."
Before I could retort, Caleb wandered in, balancing a tray of mugs in one hand. His glasses had changed—sleeker, more modern—but the way he furrowed his brow while focusing on not spilling was the same as ever. He set the tray down carefully, offering me a warm smile.
"Maya," he greeted, his voice steady and familiar. "It's good to see you."
"You too, Caleb," I replied, taking a mug. "Still drinking your coffee black?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Nope. Béa converted me. I think she'd disown me otherwise."
As if summoned, Béatrice's voice floated in from the kitchen. "I heard that, Caleb! You're welcome for your elevated taste." Moments later, she appeared in the doorway, holding a dish of something that smelled heavenly. Her hair was shorter now, styled in effortless waves, and her presence was as commanding as ever. "Maya, darling," she said, setting the dish down before pulling me into a quick hug. "Don't tell me it took you six years to find time for us."
I laughed softly, hugging her back. "Blame life. But I'm here now."
"And it's about time," she said with a smirk. "Xander's been making bets about whether you'd actually show up."
"Xander's here?" I asked, a flicker of surprise in my chest. I hadn't seen him in even longer.
"Out back," Rory said, nodding toward the patio. "He's pretending to be useful, fixing the grill."
I glanced out the window and spotted him immediately. He was crouched by the grill, tools in hand, his dark hair now streaked with a few strands of silver. He still carried himself with that easy confidence, though his shoulders seemed broader, his frame a little more grounded in time. For a moment, I hesitated, caught between excitement and a hint of nervousness.
"Go," Béatrice urged, giving me a gentle nudge. "He'll be happy to see you."
I stepped outside, the crisp air brushing against my skin. Xander looked up as I approached, his face breaking into a grin that hadn't changed in all these years.
"Maya," he said, standing and wiping his hands on a rag. "It's been a while."
"Six years," I replied, smiling. "But who's counting?"
He chuckled, stepping closer. "I was. A little."
There was a pause, the kind that wasn't awkward but full of things left unsaid. I took a deep breath, letting the warmth of the moment settle in.
"It's good to see you, Xander."
"You too," he said, his voice softer. "I've missed this—missed us."
I nodded, realizing I felt the same. Despite the years, the distance, and everything that had changed, it was like no time had passed at all.