Page 39 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
Something happened. And not just in that rainstorm.
It’s still there, between them. Stillburning.
I rise slowly and cross the floor under the pretense of checking the extension cords near Jake’s crate. The boards creak beneath my boots.
He doesn’t acknowledge me at first. Just keeps fiddling with the same knot in the lights he’s been pretending to untie for the last fifteen minutes.
“You good?” I ask, keeping my voice low, private.
He doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”
“You sure?” I crouch beside him, keeping my gaze angled down. “Because you’re rewinding that cord like it slept with your girlfriend.”
Jake’s jaw ticks. His hands pause mid-loop. “Drop it, Liam.”
I nod once. Calm. Easy. Not because I’m letting it go, but because I know him. Know that pushing now will only shut him down.
“Okay,” I say, standing.
As I walk back toward the table, I feel the room shift again. Maya’s standing by the stack of votives, lining them up in a straight row, though they were already straight to begin with.
Her fingers linger on the last one longer than necessary.
Our eyes meet.
Her gaze holds for just a second too long.
That tug pulls through me again. Not sharp, not jealous. Justaware. Like a door half-open somewhere inside me I haven’t had the nerve to walk through.
***
The sky above us has softened into a deepening twilight—shadows stretching long and slow, the first stars flickering like shy witnesses to the night’s quiet arrival.
The rain has washed the earth clean, leaving the grass a rich, almost luminescent green beneath the warm glow of the string lights we managed to hang just in time. They dangle overhead in imperfect rows, tiny orbs of light that seem to pulse gently with the rhythm of the evening.
We’re sprawled out on mismatched blankets—some thick wool, some lightweight cotton—spread across the grass near the edge of the garden. A picnic of sorts, if you count the empty thermos in Maya’s hands and the faint scent of earth and cedar floating inthe cool air as we munch on potato chips and a half-eaten veggie tray.
Jake’s lying flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, looking up at the soft twinkle lights. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by a quiet calm that feels like he’s absorbing the moment, trying to make sense of something he hasn’t found words for yet.
Maya’s curled up on one side, knees drawn close to her chest, sipping from her thermos with sips. Her hair is still damp, a few stray curls sticking to her forehead.
She’s silent now—quiet in a way that makes the space between us feel full, as if her thoughts are a song we can almost hear but not quite understand.
Ethan’s next to me, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine every so often, a soft, accidental connection that neither of us pulls away from. His gaze is fixed somewhere just beyond the garden wall, distant but steady.
No one speaks much.
No one shifts.
Just a shared stillness that settles around us like a soft blanket.
And yet, I can feel it—underneath the calm, beneath the quiet.
A hum of curiosity, electric and alive.
Wondering where we’re headed if none of us pull away.
If the thing that sparked between Jake and Maya earlier is just a part of something bigger—something we’ve all been circling, afraid to name but unable to ignore.
