Page 145 of Before We Were

"Where did you go just now?"

I take a breath, the next question slipping out before I can stop it. "Mom, how did you know Dad was the one?"

A tender smile spreads across her face, carrying a lifetime of memories.

"It's simple, really," she says, her gaze growing distant yet soft. "He was my best friend." She speaks with the breathless enthusiasm of a teenager remembering first love, describing what it was like to fall for the person she knew would be forever.

"I think that's how you know someone's meant to be in your life forever. They're the person you feel safest with, the one who can see through every crack and still look at you like you could do no wrong." She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. "It's about finding someone who feels like home. Your dad, he was my home."

He was my home.

A familiar pair of hazel eyes flickers in my mind, and my heart skips.

I know someone who feels a little like that.

But he's also the storm, and I'm afraid that if I let him in, he'll pull me into depths I'm not sure I can handle.

Mom squeezes my hand again, bringing me back to the present.

"Your dad understood me in a way no one else did. It was like that from the start. Maybe that's what a soulmate really is—someone who sees you, even the parts you don't fully understand yet. And instead of telling you, they simply guide you to uncover those parts yourself when you're ready."

Her words follow me through the drive home, wrapping around me like one of Dad's old sweaters—warm and comforting despite the holes.

Jake's Range Rover is parked crookedly, taking up more space than necessary—so typical of him. I make my way up the porch steps, the wood creaking beneath my feet the way it always has. Inside, I can hear the faint sound of his music pulsing behind closed doors. He's been keeping his distance, even after the half-hearted "happy birthday" this morning. That's just him though, bottling everything up until it spills over.

I pause outside his door, fist hovering before I finally knock.

"Come in," he calls, voice low.

He's sprawled out on his bed, shirtless, scrolling through his phone. His wary eyes flicker up at me for a second before dropping back down. I sit on the edge of his bed, nudging his shoulder.

"Hey," I say softly.

"Hey," he mumbles, not looking up. His tone is flat, and it stings more than I want to admit.

I take a deep breath, words tumbling out. "Are you still mad at me?"

His eyes finally meet mine, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Nora, I wouldn't know how to stay mad at you even if I tried." He props himself up on one elbow, and I notice how much he's changed—how much muscle he's put on since last year. He smirks, voice lighter now. "Besides, it's your birthday. I'd be a pretty shitty person to be mad at you today."

I laugh despite myself, and he squeezes my hand, expression softening.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday. That wasn't cool. It's just… hard. When Dad and Nate are at each other's throats, and I'm stuck in the middle of it all."

I nod, heart aching because I get it. I want the same thing he does—to feel like a family again. But life's not that kind, and wanting doesn't always make things better.

"So, about that list?" I say, standing up and yanking a pillow out from under him. "Let's go tick a few things off—just you and me."

His grin spreads as he catches the pillow mid-swat. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I grab the pillow back and swat him again, laughing. "Hurry up before I change my mind."

"All right, all right," he says, chuckling as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Let me get dressed."

We head out together, the tension dissolving into familiar comfort. At the bookstore, I clutch my manuscript draft under my arm, nervous flutter in my stomach as I prepare to share it with Alfie. Jake's brow furrows in surprise.

"Wait, you finished it? When were you planning to tell me?"

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