Page 7 of Our Little Moments

“Yes, it is.” Her voice, quiet but firm, pulls my attention to her. Her tone’s too steady, too knowing. I pause.

She walks over, and I stiffen, already knowing what’s coming.

I’m fine. I’ve always been fine. That’s what I do—keep it together. Be the one who handles things.

“Adrian,” she says gently. “You’ve been carrying too much for too long, when it was never your responsibility to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Or worry about other people all the time. You’ve been doing that since you were a kid, and I’ve been . . .” She chuckles, but it sounds sad. “I thought the best thing I could do was not add to it.”

My chest tightens, but I don’t say anything. What could I say? That I don’t mind carrying the weight? That it feels wrong to stop?

She must see it in my face, because her eyes dim with that soft, sad understanding I’ve seen too many times. “I just wanted to give you room to breathe.”

I nod, vaguely. “I’m good.”

She tilts her head. “How are you really?”

It’s not the kind of question I’m used to. I’ve always been the one who checks on everyone else, who makes sure everyoneelse is okay. “The girls are doing great. Isabella’s coffee shop is booming—it’s never been better. Layla started her second book, and Hazel—”

Scarlett chuckles, the sound grandmotherly and sweet, but I hear the unspoken words, the concern veiled beneath her amusement. “I’m not asking about them. I’m asking aboutyou.”

At her kind smile, I turn my head away, focusing on the task, my hands now shaking.

Dammit. When’s the last time I had to think about that?“I’m good, thanks.”

Her voice is equal parts amusement and worry as she replies, “Whatever you say, kiddo.”

It’s her way of saying,you’re full of shit.

After the initial laughter, the last word sinks in.

Kiddo.

My heart stops. My ears ring. Everything fades away.

I stopped being that so long ago.

Everything hurts, so I refocus on the chandelier, tightening one last bolt.

Every piece clicks right in place, but there’s one last step. The one I’ve been fighting to avoid thinking about. I always despise needing to use my ability to control storms and lightning.

I rest my hands on the glass and take a quiet breath. I haven’t used my magic in weeks—not properly. That’s usually a good sign. But now, I need just a spark.

Not a storm. Not a flash of lightning splitting the sky. Just enough to coax life into the wiring. Enough to make it glow.

I close my eyes and reach inward. Magic surges to life in my veins effortlessly.

My palms heat. A prickling starts in my fingertips.

A single flicker of light. That’s all I need.

A tiny shock pricks at my skin and pressure builds. I’ve got this.

In seconds, the chandelier hums, then glows to life in a soft, golden wash. Relief floods my chest. It worked. No thunder. No storm.

Scarlett claps from below. “Beautiful,” she beams.

I climb down the ladder, hands aching, pulse finally slowing.

The second I hit the floor, she pulls me into a hug.

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