Chapter 1- A Lot
Arthur
The last box hits the hardwood with a dull thud, and I blow out a breath that feels like it’s been stuck in my chest since sunrise. The apartment is small—one bedroom, a narrow kitchen, and windows that overlook the street instead of anything scenic—but it’s mine. Close to the law firm I work at. Close to the center of town. Close to… everything I’m supposed to be doing at this stage of life.
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck and glance around at the half‑unpacked chaos. I should probably be putting things away, but my stomach growls and my phone hasn’t buzzed in hours, which means Seth and Andrew are either dead or already at my sister’s house waiting to give me hell for being late.
I pat my pockets for my phone, find it, and glance at the screen.
Muted.
Great.
I must’ve hit the button while hauling boxes. Which means I’ve probably missed twenty texts from Seth alone, all variations of ′Where the hell are you?′ and, ′Arthur, I swear to God, if you’re alphabetizing your spice rack instead of helping pack the tents…′
I grab my keys, lock the apartment, and head out after sending Seth a quick message. I let them know I am on my way, grabbing some pizza and pop.
The drive to the country is muscle memory—long stretches of road, fields that go on forever, and the familiar turn onto the gravel lane where my sister Sasha and her husband, Keith, built their house years ago. Tori and Adam’s place sits right next door, porch lights already glowing even though the sun hasn’t fully set.
I pull in behind Seth’s Jeep and Andrew’s truck. Figures. They’re early. Or I’m late. Probably both.
The screen door bangs open before I even make it up the steps.
The boxes of pizza are warm against my forearms as I climb the porch steps, a bag of two-liters hooked around my wrist and threatening to slip. I’m already regretting not making two trips when the screen door bangs open.
“There he is!” Seth crows, arms spread wide like he’s greeting a soldier returning from war instead of someone he saw forty‑eight hours ago. “We thought you died under a box.”
“Or bailed on us,” Andrew adds, leaning against the railing with a smirk. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I snort. “I moved, not disappeared.”
“Same thing,” Seth laughs. “Now hurry up. You said you brought pizza. We need fuel before we load the coolers.”
I lift the boxes a little higher. “Yeah, yeah. And you two are lucky I grabbed an extra one. Otherwise you’d inhale everything before anyone else got a slice.”
Seth gasps dramatically. “Accusations. Hurtful accusations.”
Andrew nods solemnly. “He’s not wrong, though.”
I’m halfway up the steps when I hear it—a laugh. Light. Familiar. Completely out of place.
I freeze.
Because that’s not Sasha.
Not Tori.
Not anyone who should be here.
And then she steps into view.
Amaya.
For a second, my brain genuinely short-circuits. She’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her hair pulled up in a messy knot, wearing cutoff shorts and a tank top that somehow makes her look older and softer and sharper all at once. She’s definitely not the high school cheerleader I remember trailing behind Andrew and Seth. Not the girl who used to fill every room with sunshine, noise and complete chaos.
This version of her is… different but still the same.
More grown.
More grounded.
More beautiful in a way that hits me square in the chest.
She spots me, and her smile brightens. It is warm and easy, like she’s actually happy to see me.
“Arthur! Hey!” she says, stepping onto the porch. “Long time no see.”
My mouth goes dry. “Uh… yeah. Hey.”
Smooth. Real smooth.
Seth claps me on the back hard enough to jolt the pizzas. “Surprise! We invited Amaya.”
I blink, shifting my eyes over to him and Andrew. “You… what?”
Andrew shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Our parents are heading to Florida in the morning for the summer with Keith and Sasha. They won’t be home until after the Fourth of July, remember? She didn’t want to stay home alone. And we figured—”
“You wouldn’t mind,” Seth finishes. “Plus, she’s fun. You need more fun in your life anyway.”
Amaya laughs softly, and the sound does something to my ribs.
“I hope it’s okay,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “They said you guys still do this trip every June. I don’t want to intrude.”
Intrude.
If anything, she’s the only thing on this porch that doesn’t feel out of place.
I clear my throat. “No. It’s… it’s fine. Just didn’t know.”
“Because you didn’t answer your phone,” Andrew says, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone like he’s been waiting for the moment. “We texted you. A lot.”
Seth leans in. “Like… a lot.”
I snatch my phone back. “Okay, okay. My bad. But seriously—good thing I grabbed an extra pizza. Otherwise you two would’ve inhaled everything before she even got a chance to blink.”
Amaya grins. “Honestly? That sounds like them.”
I huff a laugh, shifting the pizzas in my arms.
She steps closer. “Here, let me take the pop inside so you don’t drop everything.”
“Oh—uh, thanks.” I hand her the bag, trying not to stare at the way her fingers brush mine. “Careful, the root beer’s open.”
She smiles over her shoulder as she heads inside. “I’ll walk slow.”
I watch her go for a second too long.
Seth elbows me. “Dude.”
I blink. “What?”
Andrew smirks. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
I ignore them and follow Amaya into the kitchen, setting the pizzas on the counter. She’s already unloading the bottles, humming under her breath.
“You didn’t have to help,” I say.
She shrugs lightly. “You were carrying enough. And I’m not totally useless, you know.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
Her eyes flick up to mine—warm, amused, and a little curious. “Good.”
For a moment, it’s just the two of us in the kitchen, the air thick with something I can’t name. Then Seth barrels in, breaking the spell.
“Alright, you two, let’s move! Coolers aren’t gonna pack themselves!”
Amaya snorts. “He’s ridiculous.”
“Always has been,” I shrug, grinning. “That’s why he and Andrew get along so well.”
She laughs softly and grabs the pack of paper plates. “Come on. Let’s get everything ready before he combusts.”
We head out together, side by side, and I can’t shake the feeling that this trip just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
And maybe… a hell of a lot more interesting.
By the time we start hauling gear out of Sasha and Keith’s garage, the sun is dipping low, and the driveway looks like a sporting goods store exploded. Coolers, tents, tarps, fishing gear, three weeks’ worth of food, and enough bug spray to fumigate a small country.
Andrew’s truck bed is already half full, and Seth is arguing with him about the “correct” way to stack things, like either of them has ever followed a system in their lives.
I’m carrying a bin of cooking supplies toward the truck when Amaya appears beside me, grabbing the other handle without being asked.
“I can help,” she says, like it’s obvious.
“You don’t have to,” I reply automatically.
She rolls her eyes. “Arthur, we are going to be gone for three weeks. If I don’t help, we’ll be here until midnight.”
I huff a laugh. “Fair point.”
We lift the bin into the truck bed together. Her shoulder brushes mine—light, accidental—but it sends a stupid jolt through me anyway.
Great. Fantastic. Three weeks of this. I’m doomed.
“Arthur!” Seth calls from across the driveway. “Tell Andrew he can’t put the tents on top of the cooler. They’ll slide.”
Andrew fires back, “Only if someone drives like a maniac!”
Seth flips him off.
Amaya snorts. “They haven’t changed at all.”
“Nope,” I say. “And they won’t.”
She smiles, and for a second, I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
Then she reaches into the back of my SUV, grabs one of the rolled sleeping bags, and tosses it to me. “Here. You’re taller. You can shove that into the truck bed without climbing in.”
I catch it—barely—and she laughs when I stumble a little.
“Graceful,” she teases.
“Don’t start,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
We work side by side for a while—loading coolers, tying down tarps, and arguing with Seth about whether we actually need three cast‑iron pans (we don’t). Every time I turn around, she’s right there, handing me rope, passing me a bungee cord, brushing hair out of her face with the back of her wrist.
And every time, something in my chest tightens.
I’m in trouble.
I realize it fully when she climbs into the back of Andrew’s truck to rearrange the sleeping bags—barefoot, balanced on her toes, humming under her breath. The evening light hits her hair, turning it gold.
She glances down at me. “Can you hand me that duffel?”
I pass it up to her, and she flashes me a soft, grateful smile.
Yeah.
I’m screwed.
We finally finish loading everything, and the four of us pile into our vehicles. Andrew leads in his truck, Seth follows in his Jeep, and I bring up the rear in my SUV. Amaya slides into the passenger seat beside me, buckling her seatbelt with a little sigh.
“Thanks for letting me ride with you,” she says. “Seth’s Jeep smells like gym socks and beef jerky.”
“That’s… accurate,” I admit.
She laughs softly and reaches for the power button for the radio. “Do you mind?
I shake my head and smile at her. “Go for it.” We pull onto the main road, gravel crunching under the tires. The sky is streaked pink and orange, the kind of summer sunset that makes everything feel softer.
Amaya props her elbow on the window, watching the trees blur past. “I haven’t been on this trip since Seth and Emily graduated high school,” she says. “Three whole weeks in the woods. I forgot how much goes into preparing for it.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It’s… a lot.”
She turns her head toward me, studying my face for a beat longer than necessary. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just… tired after moving everything into my apartment today.”
She nods, accepting it, but her eyes linger a second longer before she looks back out the window.
And that’s when it hits me—fully, undeniably.
Three weeks.
Three weeks of her laugh, her smile, and her presence.
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter.
This trip isn’t just going to be complicated.
It’s going to test the hell out of me, and I walked into it completely unprepared.
