Aunt Lyra had just stepped off the porch when she stopped short, one foot still hovering over the step. Her sharp gaze flicked from my face to the two people beside me, taking everything in within seconds. I knew that look too well—it meant she was about to speak, and she would not be gentle about it. I cut in before she could open her mouth.
“Mom sent these over,” I said easily, motioning toward the crates stacked behind us. “Some of what’s inside won’t keep long. You might want to sort through them today.”
I made a point of not looking at Lorenzo—my almost, my maybe, my never-quite. Over the past weeks, he’d made it painfully clear where his attention lay. Still, he surprised me by speaking up, his tone even and controlled, like someone careful not to step on a landmine.
“Don’t misunderstand, Sofia,” he said. “Francesca’s old place was in a bad district. Not somewhere I’d let anyone connected to me stay alone. I helped her relocate. I didn’t realize it was this close to your aunt’s house.” His eyes drifted to the boxes. “Why so much stuff?”
I turned to the driver and told him to bring everything straight into the kitchen. Only then did I answer, my voice flat.
“You don’t need to justify anything to me, Lorenzo. This was my mother’s decision. We’re not sure when we’ll be back, so she sent more than usual.”
The instant I spoke with that much detachment, I saw the tension ease from his shoulders. That small reaction sparked something sharp and unpleasant in my chest.
“Alright,” he said casually. “North Ridge isn’t far. If you need anything, just reach out.”
As if we were still close enough for that kind of familiarity.
What he didn’t know—and what I had no intention of correcting—was that I wasn’t here for a visit. I wasn’t leaving.
Aunt Lyra, who had been silently watching the exchange, finally spoke.
“Lorenzo,” she said carefully, “you and Sofia go back to childhood. Is this really how things stand between you now? It would be a shame to let years of history rot away because no one wants to speak honestly.”
Before he could answer, I shook my head slightly.
“There’s no confusion, Aunt Lyra,” I said. “Lorenzo has never hesitated when something truly mattered to him. If he hasn’t chosen by now, then the answer’s already clear.”