Page 18 of Wonderstruck

I spun to them and cleared my throat. “Alright, here’s the plan: we each take a room, make three piles—‘keep,’ ‘not sure,’ and ‘get rid of.’ You make the call. I’ll come round and pick out anything I need to keep. Sound good?”

Cora snorted, clearly holding back alaugh. “Good? You sound like my old GirlGuides leader. Shame I didn’t bring my beret—you would’ve made a cracking sergeant.” She smiled, placing her hand on the hip of her black jeans.

I gave her a little wink. “Well, I amhalf French. It’s practically our birthright to look cute in a beret.” All three of them smiled, in a way that made me think seeing my smile was what they’d been waiting for. “But before all that,” I said, pulling at the sleeves of my pink cardigan, “I thought it’d be sane to tackle—.”

A sound cut through the moment—footsteps on the porch.

All four of us stilled.

It was too heavy to be wind, but to purposeful to be anything justifiable.

Goldie narrowed her eyes toward the front door. “Are you expecting people?”

I shook my head right as the door creaked open, and light spilled in.

Sneakers first. Then jeans. Then Jesse’s familiar, gentle smile.

“Are we late?” he asked, lifting a tray of coffees like a peace offering.

I blinked. “Jesse?”

Behind him, Tristan ducked inside, tossing a lazy wave with the bag of goodies wedged in his grip.

And then—

Thenhewalked in.

He was the last one through the door, a shadow hesitating at the threshold. Like even he wasn’t sure he should be there. He stoodtaller than he had the other day, the light brushing the side of his face, catching on the edge of his jaw, the messy flop of his hair, the faded Liberty Grove sweater I remember him buying our first week here.

My chest twisted so hard I forgot to breathe.

He looked at me.

God, he looked right at me.

Not with a smile. Not with bitterness either. Just… something raw. Quiet. Like there was a whole ocean sitting behind his eyes and neither of us knew how to swim anymore. Like he recognised something in me.

My voice felt caught in my throat, brittle and useless. “What—what are they doing here?” I asked Daisy, low, barely moving my lips.

She was already watching me carefully, knowing exactly what she’d done. “I thought,” she said softly, “more hands might make the job less daunting.”

I knew she was right. Of course she was right.

But seeinghimhere, in this house, in this fragile little bubble of grief I’d been trying to keep contained—it was like setting a match to a stack of unsaid things.

Still, I nodded.

And then—because I had to—I smiled. A weak, wobbly smile. But real enough that Jesse pulled me into a hug, and then Tristan did the same.

When Finn stepped forward, we both hesitated.

The air between us crackled with history. With rejections and barely-there glances. With the kind of silence that used to have me thinking there was something more than friendship between us.

But then I opened my arms. Because I couldn’t not. Hehadcome to help after all, and I should be grateful for just that. And when he stepped into them, my heart knocked hard against my ribs.

He was warm. Familiar. Wrong and right all at once.

It lasted a second too long. Maybe two. And that was enough for reality to slap me.

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