The scent of roast chicken, seasoned rice, and caramelized onions filled the house, clinging to the air like a warm hug. Jeanette's cooking had a way of making the walls feel closer, safer like nothing outside could touch them.
Simon stood by the mirror in the hallway, fussing with his shirt for the third time. Not too formal, not too casual. Definitely not the one with the bleach stain.
He blew out a breath, combed his fingers through his hair, and muttered, "It's just dinner."
A knock echoed through the house. Sharp, precise. The kind that came from people who had good shoes and even better posture.
"Simon, get the door!" Jeanette called from the kitchen.
He opened it to find Mr. and Mrs. Lyon standing on the porch—smiling, golden-skinned, and dressed like people who didn't sweat. Behind them, Jessica rolled her eyes dramatically, holding a basket of fruit in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
"Well, well, if it isn't the death-defying boy himself," she said with a teasing smile.
Simon grinned. "Didn't know you were bringing gifts."
"You forgot it last time," she shot back, brushing past him into the house like she owned air.
Steve appeared from the living room, sleeves rolled up, holding two extra wine glasses. "Evening," he said warmly. "Please, come in."
Mr. Lyon chuckled as he stepped inside. "Still sharp as ever, the both of you."
Mrs. Lyon handed over the wine. "For the table. And the fruit—well, Jess insisted."
Jessica shrugged. "You never know when someone might need an emergency banana."
Jeanette appeared with her apron still tied, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen. "You brought my favorites," she said, accepting the gifts with a grin. "Come in, come in."
They all gathered around the table. Steve at one end, Jeanette at the other. The Lyons sat across from their hosts, and Jessica slid into the chair beside Simon, clearly on purpose.
The dining room glowed in soft white light, and the clink of plates and friendly chatter filled the air like music. Steve poured the wine carefully, listening more than he spoke, always watching.
Mr. Lyon asked about the crash with the concern of a seasoned father. Mrs. Lyon asked about the injury on Simon's back, her voice laced with that warm maternal edge.
"I'm fine, really," Simon said for the fifth time, his fork spinning idle in his hand. "Just some scratches. Not even enough to get out of chores."
"He actually glided through the road," Jeanette added dryly, side-eyeing him.
Simon shrugged, deadpan. "With grace and dignity."
Jessica snorted into her water. "Dignity? You looked like someone tossed you into a blender and hit 'purée."
"Harsh. But fair."
Laughter bubbled across the table. Even Steve cracked a smile.
"We're just glad you're alright," Mrs. Lyon said softly. "This town may be small, but news travels fast."
Simon nodded. "Yeah, I noticed. I got offered three different healing teas when I got out to get groceries. One of them might've been lake water."
Jessica tilted her head, grinning. "Did you drink it?"
"Do I look like I have regrets?"
She laughed, and something in her eyes lingered on his face for just a second longer than necessary. It passed quickly, replaced by a smirk. But Steve caught it. And judging by the slight shift in his expression, he didn't miss much.
"So," Mr. Lyon said, reaching for the wine, "you've got the big two-oh coming up soon, huh?"
"Yeah," Simon said, eyes lighting up a little. "Can't believe I'm surviving my teens."
Jessica raised a brow. "Debatable."
"You wound me."
"Just keeping you humble."
Mrs. Lyon giggled into her glass. "You two are like an old married couple."
Both teens turned to her at the same time.
"We are not—"
"We're just friends—"
Steve and Mr. Lyon both smirked into their wineglasses. Jeanette outright cackled. The tension was light, playful—just the kind that makes cheeks pink and glances stolen.
Simon rubbed the back of his neck, ears warm. Jessica kicked him lightly under the table.
He blinked at her, then mouthed: You started it.
She shrugged. Unbothered. Untouchable.
The dinner went on. Stories, jokes, the soft clatter of dessert spoons on porcelain. It was the kind of night that felt normal in all the ways Simon had been missing lately. Too normal, maybe.
Just one table. One dinner. Two families. One safe evening.
And it was over.
The front door clicked shut as the Lyons stepped outside, Mr. Lyon chatting with Steve about car batteries while Jeanette and Mrs. Lyon exchanged recipes on the porch.
Simon lingered in the hallway, half-tucked behind the edge of the kitchen wall, pretending to check his phone. Not that it had buzzed. He just needed... a second.
Footsteps padded behind him.
"You always disappear after dinner?" Jessica asked, voice low.
He glanced up. She was leaning against the wall, arms folded, head tilted. Her earrings caught the light and shimmered faintly.
"Not always," he replied. "Only after I've been emotionally roasted in front of my parents."
Jessica grinned. "You deserved that. Telling my mom I give off 'wife energy'? Really?"
He smirked. "Did I lie?"
She rolled her eyes, stepping closer. "You're impossible."
"But charming."
"In your dreams."
They stood there, silence folding around them like velvet. The house hummed with the distant laughter of their parents, but here in the hallway... it was quiet. Still. Close.
Simon looked at her then—really looked. Her makeup was soft, almost gone now, and her lip was caught slightly between her teeth like she was biting back words.
His voice came out softer than he intended. "You okay?"
Jessica blinked, caught off guard. "Yeah. I just... yeah."
He nodded slowly. "Today's been a lot."
"You literally almost died," she whispered, like saying it louder would make it real again. "You—Simon, you scared the hell out of me."
Something flickered in his chest. "I'm sorry."
She stepped a bit closer. There was barely any space left between them now. Just one deep breath and they'd touch.
"You always say sorry like it's a joke," she murmured. "Like you're trying to make it easier for everyone else."
His smile faded, eyes on hers. "Isn't that the point?"
Jessica didn't answer. Her gaze dropped for a split second to his lips, then back to his eyes, and for one heartbeat, the world stopped spinning.
Simon's hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out—but didn't. Couldn't.
He cleared his throat instead, eyes darting to the floor. "You, uh… looked nice tonight."
Jessica's lips curved. Soft. Dangerous. "Only tonight?"
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Make me sound like I've got a crush or something."
She tilted her head. "Oh?"
The hallway tilted with the weight of that sentence. Simon opened his mouth, then closed it. Twice. His heart thudded loud in his ears, and for once, he didn't have a smart remark ready.
Jessica leaned in just a breath closer, enough to whisper, "You blinked too long. That's basically a confession."
He blinked again.
Jessica didn't move away.
Instead, her gaze softened, lingering on him like she wasn't quite ready to let the moment pass.
"You know," she said, voice low and warm, "your birthday's on the same day as the festival."
Simon chuckled under his breath. "Just like always."
"It's kind of unfair," she teased. "You get fireworks and cake."
"I think the universe just likes me."
Jessica raised a brow. "Or maybe it's making up for almost killing you this morning."
"That too," he said with a wry smile.
A beat passed. Then—
"You doing the usual?" she asked. "The lake?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Mom's making that weird pasta salad she insists is a family tradition even though I'm pretty sure she made it up in 2017."
Jessica laughed. "It's not that bad."
"It tastes like lemon and regret."
They both grinned, shoulders brushing slightly as the space between them shrank even more.
"You coming?" he asked, tone gentler now.
"To the lake?"
"To my birthday."
She looked up at him. Her lashes were long, her eyes brighter than the hallway light should allow.
"I've never missed one, have I?" she said, barely above a whisper.
"No," Simon murmured. "You haven't."
For a moment, the air felt different. Hushed. Reverent. Like something sacred passed between them. Something neither of them wanted to name just yet.
Jessica nudged him lightly with her shoulder. "Just make sure there's actual cake this time. I'm still traumatized from your muffin-candle phase."
He laughed. "You loved those muffins."
"I tolerated those muffins."
She smiled, but it was softer this time. Almost shy.
Simon leaned back against the wall, watching her. "It's weird, huh?"
"What is?"
"How you can almost die in the morning… and still get excited about dumb birthday cakes by night."
Jessica tilted her head. "It's not dumb."
"No?"
She shook her head. "I think it's kind of beautiful."
He blinked at her, quiet again. The words hit harder than he expected. They weren't even about the birthday. Not really.
Her hand brushed his—barely. A light touch. But it sent a spark through his chest like she'd lit a match and walked away with the flame.
Neither of them moved to pull away.
Then Jeanette's voice echoed faintly from the porch, laughing about something. The spell thinned.
Jessica stepped back just enough. "Save me a muffin. But like, an actual cake one."
Simon smirked. "Only if you bring candles."
"Oh, I'll bring fire," she said over her shoulder, walking away.
And this time, he didn't stop her.
Hips swaying just enough to drive him insane. Simon stared after her, stunned into silence, the ghost of a smile creeping across his face.
"Damn."