Chapter Text
But our friends are back
So let’s raise a glass
Cause I found someone to carry me home tonight
We Are Young - fun.
December: Portland, USA.
“—but it’s twenty-five pounds.”
“Yes, I’m aware of how heavy the turkey is. I bought it.”
The two girls stand on the top of the ferry, the sky is the typical gloomy grey for Oregon and the green trees of the coastline contrast it, wrapping around the distant shores around them. The ship blasts a loud horn and people head inside.
Wheezie had gone out to get some air, Fiona waited a few minutes, soaking in the warmth of the indoors, and then followed her out. Her girlfriend runs a hand through her dark hair and attempts to tuck it behind her ears. The wind just knocks the strands back out again.
“That doesn’t even cover the amount of time it takes to brine it.”
Fiona sighs, “Again, I’m aware because I will be the one to make it.”
“Our oven is finicky—”
Fiona’s lips curl at Wheezie’s obvious stress. She’s not smiling because she’s happy she’s stressed out but because of how much this obviously means to her. It means enough for Wheezie to actually get stressed.
Rafe and Kiara stand on a deck below them, they lean on the railing and look out onto the passing islands. The wind hits his face and he grimaces, twisting a little as if to leave but instead goes to stand behind Kiara and pulls her hood up.
She gestures wildly, arms moving up and down to mimic the waves, and then points at the trees and taps the steel railing as if to demonstrate the durability of the material. Rafe listens on and only rolls his eyes once, dipping his head down to kiss her quickly before pulling her away and back inside to the warmth.
Probably his plan all along.
“Who even has turkey for Christmas?” Wheezie shakes her head, “What was I thinking.”
“You were thinking that it would be amazing to finally host your family for Christmas, and so we are.” Fiona hands Wheezie her purple mittens she left back on her seat, the youngest Cameron’s knuckles starting to go red from the frosty air. “Just let yourself enjoy it, Louisa.”
Wheezie’s lips curl up in distaste at her full name. “Ugh, that reminds me that Rose is flying in tonight.”
“It’s cute how you still act like it’s a bother,” Fiona wraps an arm around her, “As if you aren’t co-planning this with her.”
“It wasn’t co-planning as much as it was crowd-sourcing,” Wheezie smirks slyly, “You gotta hand it to her, she knows how to have a proper Christmas.”
“Tell her that when you pick her up.”
“Ew no.”
“You two are the same.” Fiona shakes her head in good fun, the tops of their hair are covered in a fine mist now.
Wheezie accepts that like the compliment it is and juts her chin towards the interior cabin, “Let’s go get something to eat. That deep-fried pickle Sarah had looked good.”
January: Casper, USA
Rose, no longer Cameron, signs her divorce papers on New Year’s Day and then goes home.
Wyoming is brutal this time of year, the cold is bone-deep and everyone has arthritis. Wheezie offered to join her for this, to make it a family trip, but Rose gently refused. She needed to do this alone.
It was her mountain to climb.
Naturally, her family is overjoyed to see her. It’s all so cookie-cutter perfect that you wouldn’t think she was there as a divorcee, back from the life of sunshine and beaches for the beginning of the year.
To her face, everyone is civil, even supportive. They hold her hand and tilt their heads down as she talks, active listening and all that bullshit. Really they’re rearing back their teeth to find the right soft spot to bite into.
And that’s okay, this is what Rose knows. She grew up playing this game; she’ll hear from Mandy who heard from Cindy who heard from Sandy about whatever piece of her life is the most salacious to them.
Young girl runs off with an old man, he promises her a life of wealth and she believes him. Rose did believe him, but she also thought it would be clean.
Okay, well, maybe not. You didn’t have the money Ward did without stepping on the backs of the unsuspecting people.
What she didn’t expect was to care more about the kids than the marriage, than the lifestyle that Ward promised her. She could stay with Ward in that beautiful house but it would never be a home after the bridges burned.
That wasn’t something she could really get into with Cindy-Mandy-Sandy over potato salad on paper plates. No doubt in mind, the town will whisper about her divorce and draw up theories they’ll say right to her face after two hot toddies.
It didn’t matter, Rose’ll endure this. All the shit-talking while she cuts up slices of humble pie for everyone. She’ll endure the prying and comments about her suddenly ‘haggard’ appearance. Rose looks fabulous, thank you very much.
She knows they mean well. Under all the snark comments is the weirdest charge of tough love she’s ever experienced. They all show up for her and even if it’s to gossip, they still show up. They hold her through this when she needs them the most. And in those moments she realizes that home isn’t that bad, she wasn’t sure why she wanted to run away.
Then Cindy-Mandy-Sandy will try to recruit her for their multi-level marketing scheme and Rose can’t wait to book it out of there.
But it’s okay, she’ll leave and she’ll come back. It ebbs and flows as she finds the balance. She’s got nothing to prove to them, they can think what they want. Rose, for the first time in her life, is fine with that.
She’s finally happy.
February: Outer Banks, North Carolina
Sarah looks up from her spot on the couch as John B drops down and the movement shakes her a bit; she appreciates it. She can’t remember the last time she got up and moved around.
They promptly declared a raincheck on their plans for the day due to the weather and decided a cozy day in was exactly what they needed.
Sarah inspects the wood floors, “Should we get a Roomba?”
The rain continues to lazily hit their window throughout this afternoon, and the birds chirp and dig for worms in their backyard.
“You know how we said we’re going to keep it a secret?” John B anxiously moves a little closer to her, ignoring her question but she opens her arm and lets him rest against her.
“Mmm?” Sarah hums as she runs her fingers through his chestnut hair, the natural highlights from the summer are long gone but she likes it like this— it’s a beautiful warm shade. She makes a mental reminder to give him a trim. “Who’d you tell?”
John B’s eyes flicker down to her stomach, then back to her face. “Well, I didn’t tell him, he kinda just… guessed.”
“And you had no excuse lined up?” Sarah raises an eyebrow, well too familiar with her husband's gift of the gab. His mouth has gotten him out of hot water too many times to count and she has a hard time believing that he wouldn’t find his way out of this.
“I didn’t want to give an excuse,” John B says softly, a smile on his face. “I don’t want to lie about Valerie, it feels kinda disrespectful?”
“Valerie?” Sarah’s smile widens and John B’s palm rests on her stomach. She’s barely showing but there’s the teeniest bump. John B swears late at night as they’re getting into bed that he can feel kicking. “We don’t even know if she’s a girl.”
John B’s smile wrinkles his eyes, Sarah loves it when he does that. She pecks a quick kiss to his lips.
“Call it a father’s intuition or something,” John B shrugs but his smile doesn’t falter. “Rafe thinks so too.”
“You were on a call with Rafe?” Sarah asks amused, she’s been meaning to text him back but between the doctors' appointments and prenatal shopping, it had been too crazy.
John B nods and gets up, “He says Hi by the way, and wants you to send over your new letter of offer so he can look it over.”
The tall gangly mess of a man heads to the kitchen and his voice filters through their home. “I told him not to tell anyone—hey, are you hungry? I’ll whip something up for the two of you.”
Sarah loves it. She loves how corny he is, and how much he loves her and their baby. She loves how he told her brother before she even had a chance to because, “Kie also knows, I told her already.”
John B pokes his head around the corner, “So much for keeping it a secret.”
“I had to— she ambushed me asking why I didn’t have my usual mimosas in my brunch post.” Sarah twists her body around to lean on the back of the couch so she can continue to talk to John B. “It was straight-up witchcraft how she connected the dots. So for our child’s sake, I want Auntie Kie to remain in our good graces.”
John B laughs, deep and warm, bringing a hefty bowl of the pasta salad she made yesterday.
“Oh yeah good call, you don’t want to cross Kie.” John B hums thoughtfully as he takes the fork and starts eating her share of the food. He speaks again with his mouthful, “Now our daughter won’t be cursed with eternal sleep because you think Kie is somehow the wicked wi—”
Sarah leaps onto him and tries to wrestle the fork out of his hand but he just shushes her and tells her to sit back, bringing the fork to her mouth and feeding her.
“What do you think about making them godparents?” John B asks, Sarah relishes in the fact that she’s already considered the same thing.
“God I love you.” Sarah grabs the bowl and takes another bite.
John B watches in adoration as she scarfs down the rest of the pasta salad. Her sweater, which is actually his, covers her arms so severely she needs to take breaks to push up the sleeves.
Now she talks with her mouth full, “Did Topper tell you about his planned pilgrimage around the world yet?”
March: Galway, Ireland
It’s too cold for her to be dressed this nice, but for once she doesn’t shiver or shake. Despite it being a sunny day, the chill in the air shoots straight to her bone but she doesn’t falter as she crosses the street.
Rafe leans against the car, a jacket slung on his arm for her that he extends the moment she gets close.
His eyes are assessing and his brows raised in question, her eyes catch on the bouquet hanging loose in his hand.
“When’d you have time to get that?”
Rafe glances down at his hands, “Hm these? I thought we could spruce up our hotel room. Oh, did you think they were for you?”
He says it with the cheesiest grin on his face and Kiara rolls her eyes, a permanent side effect of dating Rafe Cameron.
“How’d it go?” Rafe asks and hands her both things, the jacket she gladly accepts and the bouquet of flowers she tucks under her arm.
He opens the door for her and she ducks in, “Strangely really well.”
“Mhm,” Rafe starts up the car and they drive through the open road, “I’m kinda getting tired of your fake humility.”
Kiara picks off a few petals and throws it at him, he bristles. “Those are native wildflowers— don’t just, hey— stop throwing them at me.”
“Anyway,” Kiara draws it out, the sea wall lines the street and she can only catch a glimpse of the water when there’s an opening. “They’re down to fund it, or whatever.”
Rafe takes his eyes off the road to get a look at her face; a smile she bites back but her eyes shine with excitement.
Once they returned home from Christmas in Oregon, Rafe encouraged Kiara to take her project out of Dalton & Rise and find outside funding. She’d already garnered a group of people rallying behind her and just needed the right people to invest in it.
It pissed him off a little more than normal that Dalton & Rise tried to bring in Winston as an investor— sure the asshole had the money but so did countless other places. And at the end of the day no matter how the company spun it, the project was fully Kiara’s IP.
He couldn’t encourage the project or aid in its success, but naturally, he found a loophole. He had his lawyer on retainer, not just for himself but for friends and family. So he’d slipped his lawyers’ number to Kiara and told her that he couldn’t advise her on the next moves but they could.
Apparently, the annual retainer fee he coughs up was worth it.
Kiara sat down with Timothy, who is an absolute killer, and the two of them drew out a contract that was so thorough Dalton & Rise had no other option but to let Kiara take her project and shop it around. He’d kill to see how they managed that in 9 pages.
He wasn’t implicated but fuck if he cares if he were.
“Thank you,” Kiara says, squeezing his arm. He drops that hand from the wheel and interlaces his fingers with her own.
He lifts her hand and kisses it, taking a turn to enter the parking lot for their hotel. “Can we go home now?”
Kiara groans in agreement, “Rafe, if you catch us a flight outta here tomorrow, I swear I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll need a day off.”
Rafe pulls a face at her choice of words but looks up early morning flights regardless.
April: Thessaloniki, Greece
JJ’s pretty pleased with himself. It’s not like Pope thought he couldn’t plan a perfect vacation but, yeah, essentially that.
And miraculously he found the most perfect place for the both of them. There was enough history and culture for Pope to sink his teeth in and completely nerd out. And JJ could jump into any body of water and it was socially acceptable.
“Socially acceptable and people minding their business are two very different things,” Pope’s face peers over the ledge JJ just jumped off of. They’d been walking all day in the blistering heat and JJ wanted to cool off.
What Pope didn’t register was that JJ didn’t mean he wanted to go inside a cafe and enjoy a crisp glass of Coke but to quite literally cool off. His boyfriend was taking off his shirt and toeing his shoes off while Pope scanned the street for which store to go into.
The splash is what made him turn around, at first he thought JJ had fallen into the crystal blue water. But as the blond resurfaced with a toothy grin, it was evident that wasn’t the case.
“Get in!” JJ wades water a little further out and fuck, Pope looks around and actually considers it.
“I can’t just leave all our things here— I’ve got our wallets and everything,” There’s no one else on the sidewalk, and cars barely pass by. Most people are so exhausted by the heat they’re all inside or at an actual beach. Pope scans the water, there’s no shallower area for them to get out of. “And where do we even get out from?”
“There’s nothing in that wallet but like maybe $20 cash, max. Keep your watch on, and leave everything else behind.” JJ yells and floats on his back, “There’s a ladder right below you.”
JJ casually eases Pope’s mind, like he always does.
“Come on Pope, stop thinking so much,” JJ squints his eyes and nudges his head to encourage Pope to get in. “We’re on vacation.”
Pope mumbles under his breath and takes his shirt off. He takes a step forward at the ledge, looking around once more, and jumps without much fanfare.
When he resurfaces he feels solid again, as if he’d been a puddle before. He uses his hands to hold JJ’s face tenderly and kiss him.
“You did good,” Pope says against his lips, “This has been amazing.”
JJ leans his head back and his smile grows cocky. “Wait till you see what I have planned for Portugal. Insane waves Pope, I’m talking Empire State Building level of height.”
Pope can’t help but get excited with him. The waves are a stupid idea, way too dangerous, but JJ’s ambition sucks him in every time. He won’t be surprised in a few months if JJ actually rides it out.
May: London, England
Rhea clicks her nails on the table, it’s an irritable move and highly rude but it’s not like there’s someone sitting across from her that’ll glare at her and tell her to stop.
Nope. The seat opposite to her is unoccupied in this busy restaurant. If anything this makes her look like a twat who stole a seat and won’t give it to the standing bodies at the bar.
The days are starting to get a little longer, and the sliver of the sunset’s glow still illuminating the room shows for that.
Rhea huffs and crosses her legs the other way, getting comfortable. There’s a scuff on her patent black heels, the right foot where she’d been rushing to the platform and hit the concrete with the expensive leather. What a waste.
Finally, someone drops down in the seat and she dusts off her most scathing glare but it falters in momentary confusion when she realizes who’s sat in front of her.
“Jesus, not you.” Rhea’s scowl just makes Barry’s smile grow wider.
“You looked lonely.”
She wants to strangle him but she plasters on a sweet voice that’s only 99% sarcastic, “Appreciate it but I’m actually waiting for someone.”
“Are you now?” He says teasingly.
“Very much so,” Rhea gestures for him to scatter, “So if you don’t mind.”
“Who is it you’re waiting for?” Barry only gets more comfortable. “Could it be me?”
Rhea’s face twists up in a grimace. Kiara would’ve warned her in advance if Barry was who she was setting her up with— especially with the fight Rhea put up.
After Kiara had divulged how her kissing frogs led her to her finally finding her prince, Rhea had enough of her rom-com bullshit and conceded.
She would not be kissing Barry anytime soon, even if he were a frog.
“You’re not Kiara’s childhood friend.” Kiara had told her that much, some guy she knew back home who was traveling around the world now.
“You don’t know my story,” Barry reaches over and takes the glass of water intended for someone else. “Anyway, I saw you across the room and thought I’d say hi.”
They don’t see each other often, not that Rhea or Barry go out of their way to make an effort.
“Sure, hi,” Rhea sighs and relaxes a fraction. She might as well kill some time. “Everything work out with that case you had?”
She’d been over at Kiara and Rafe’s place for dinner and she recalls something they said about a complication in a project Barry encountered. Her questioning is vague enough that if it applies, he’ll talk. If it’s irrelevant, it’ll stop the conversation right here.
Barry’s lip curls up in distaste, “You’re the one person I don’t have to talk about work with so, tell me what’s new with you .”
Rhea might as well bring him up to date, “Does Rafe try to set you up too?”
“No, I’m grown.”
Exactly. Rhea throws her head back in frustration.
He speaks again, “So that’s what this is.”
“Unfortunately.” Rhea throws a side eye at the people around her, drinks are flowing and the atmosphere is too lively for her to people watch without getting a headache. “I blew off the game tonight for this.”
“You keep up with football?” Barry asks in surprise, his eyebrows actually shoot up.
“Contrary to popular belief, there are actually more sports outside of soccer,” she’s intentional with her wording; soccer leaving her mouth sounds unjust, not with her accent. “Basketball. I was gonna get some Chinese and enjoy the rest of my evening yelling at the TV, but instead, I’m yelling at you.”
“You’re not yelling,” Barry says kindly but with a joking lilt, “The guys and I are heading over to Belushi after this round to catch the game— you wanna join?”
Rhea eyes him dubiously, “You watch basketball?”
Barry rolls his eyes, “I’m American.”
She’ll give him that.
She should just go with him, do what she wants to do. This guy Kiara’s set her up with is a flake, or worse, got horrible time management skills. Either way, she knows it won’t work out.
But she made a promise to her friend.
“Maybe another time,” Rhea says finally and gives Barry a flash of a smile. He’s happy enough with that answer and knocks on the table and says he’ll hold her to it.
Barry walks back to his group of friends and disappears into the crowd at the bar. He disappears into the back of her mind as well, along with the thought of frogs and princes.
“Hey Rhea?” A tall, bright-eyed man with swoopy boy-band hair stands by the seat just vacated by Barry, “I think Kie’s told you a bit about me, I’m Topper.”
Rhea smiles and gestures for him to sit down, her annoyance and scorn at the waste of her night disappears. Maybe she’ll go to Belushi after this.
For the game, of course.
June: A random winding road in England
“Petrol.”
“Gas.”
“Petroleum.”
“Gasoline.”
“I’m going to kill you both.” Sarah pinches her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. The car ride back into the city is already nausea-inducing but the incessant dialogue from her brother and her best friend is guaranteed to drive her mad.
The landscape outside is breathtaking, with lush green hills that contrast the gray sky. They’re the only car on the road for miles ahead. Luckily the roads are less broken than she thought it’d be.
Everything added up for it to be the perfect moment for her to turn her mind off as John B drove them through the countryside. She would be free to daydream about running through the hills with her family in a cute little dress.
But Kiara and Rafe made it impossible. They’re both confined to the back seat but their bickering spills into the front seats. The early years of her and John B dating were filled with wistful glances and shy smiles, they held each other's hands and whispered sweet nothings often. That was not the case with Kiara and Rafe; Sarah’d never seen a couple argue for fun throughout their honeymoon phase.
“It’s called banter,” Kiara tossed at Sarah as Rafe pulled his girlfriend into his arms, his eyes filled with playful mirth as she defended their nonsensical argument.
“A battle of wits. You wouldn’t know about that.” Rafe retorted back.
Sarah’d been too tired from the flight to even argue. If she had more energy she’d tell them they’re the lamest people to exist and they peaked when they did debate in high school.
John B laughed at their words, eliciting a glare from Sarah.
“Gasoline.” John B joins in now and breaks Sarah out of the memory. Rafe smugly juts his head at Kiara in a ‘told you so ’ manner.
She bristles at Rafe, “You’ve been here for like a million years and you still don’t call it petrol?”
John B mulls this over and interjects instead, “Well Kie, you’ve been here for like five, and calling it petrol makes you sound like a poser.”
Sarah shoots him a look. Okay, so now she has to get involved. “Kiara’s been filling up the gas at every station we’ve been at so far so I think she’s fully justified in calling it petrol.”
Kiara blows Sarah a kiss and promptly sticks up row middle fingers for the boys. “Fuck y’all, it’s three against two.”
“Baby Valerie doesn't count,” Rafe hates losing and tries to find another way around it.
“I’ll tell her you said that,” Kiara retorts quickly, like a kid about to narc on the bully.
John B’s hand finds its way to rest on Sarah’s thigh. She can barely see it with how big her bump’s gotten.
“Maybe just one kid for now,” John B says with a little exhaustion in his eyes.
Sarah laughs and shakes her head in amusement, she lets the noise of the two in the back drown out her worries and fears.
July: Mallorca, Spain
Topper adjusts the beach chair until he’s able to lay flat on it. He’s not sure if the sun is just stronger here or because of the lack of air-conditioned places he just feels the warmth more.
Either way, he’s loving it.
After Spain, he’s got Prague and Vienna before he returns home.
He thought it’d be a little more nerve-wracking traveling alone, being alone— he’d always had his family, or a girlfriend, or the Pogues with him.
It was time for him to throw himself headfirst into the abyss, and take it out for a drink.
The only problem had been his parents, his mom threatened to cut him off, as if Topper were still under allowance. She cried because according to her Topper was throwing away his life to go party.
Ibiza hadn’t been on his list until then, the argument made him book an Airbnb out of spite.
For the first time he was alone, and strangely enjoying every aspect of it. It was freeing.
It didn’t hurt that at his core he was a lover, and there was nothing more romantic about traveling the Romance countries.
He’s always wanted a summer romance, fleeting and innocent. Sweet, simple, filled with sunshine.
And now he’s had about ten.
It was fucking amazing.
August: Outer Banks, North Carolina
Rafe slides into the seat Kiara’s been saving for him.
For all intents and purposes, The Wreck was closed today, but the crowd of people outside celebrating indicated otherwise.
Everyone’s stomachs were full of Mike’s famous gumbo, garlic fries, deep-fried pickles, and countless other equally delicious things. When Mike and Anna host an event, no one goes hungry.
There are enough vegan options for Rafe to be as stuffed as the rest of them. Anna tries to force-feed him an additional slice of cake that he knows will make him pop like a balloon. That’s the metric for a successful night.
He’s kept an eye out for Kiara all night, just keeping her within eyeline to make sure she’s okay. She migrates from group to group, catching up and saying her pleasantries on behalf of Rafe, she’s finally settled down at one of the tables with Valerie being handed off by Pope to her.
It was like she knew he was off his game tonight so she turned on the charm on behalf of them both. He was typically able to do this, and socialize, but today he was off his game.
He knows why, she doesn’t.
Everyone’s congregated to the deck at this point. The circular lanterns light up the area, ready to take over from the setting sun. The wind is warm and it feels like home; Kiara always says that— that the wind is the first thing that makes her feel at home. He understands it now.
She’s got Valerie in her arms as she points outside and coos at the baby, John B beside her and talks to Kiara. Finally getting a break.
Their baby has Sarah’s cheeks and John B’s eyes, the parents say that’s subject to change since every day she looks more and more like a Cameron. But the way she grabs a fistful of Kiara’s hair and yanks it, that’s all Routledge.
John B laughs as Kiara gently tries to pry her grip out of his new reign she’s found.
It was serendipitous how it all worked out. Kiara and Rafe would’ve been here regardless for Mike and Anna’s anniversary. Valerie being born just two months ago was the cherry on top.
But to be fair John B and Sarah had to talk Rafe and Kiara out of getting a plane ticket over right away. Only when the married pair told them to sit their asses in London so they could adjust to having a baby first did the two listen.
And now that they’re here, they haven’t left Valerie alone for a second.
It helped to know that they would be making their way to London in November for a business trip. Well, John B has a business trip and Sarah wanted to make the most of it and Rose was more than happy to have time with her granddaughter.
Rafe, personally, was a little caught off guard at how tiny she was. And he found it mildly creepy how she would stare at him with ridiculously big brown eyes.
Kiara gleefully rejoiced at that, the baby ‘liking’ Rafe.
Valerie took to Kiara right away, as if she could sense her love and affection right away. If cats had a radar for sickness and loss, babies have a radar for good people. Or, maybe just Kiara.
“Traitor,” Kiara smiles and whispers at the baby who reaches out for Rafe.
Rafe laughs and accepts the baby’s request.
“I’m starting to think she’ll be trouble, the way she’s able to play us all. Didn’t she jump from Pope to you?” Rafe asks as Valerie settles in his hold, her neck always supported.
“Can’t blame her for playing sides,” Kiara leans back and takes a sip of her white wine. “She’s got the scrappiness of her parents.”
John B runs his hand through his hair, “Scrappiness aside, it really does take a village.”
“I can only imagine,” Rafe says as his eyes flash towards John B and how tired he looks. Not just him but Sarah. And Wheezie and Fiona who made their way over last month to help the couple.
Sarah’s inside the restaurant, Kiara helped put together a set of chairs so the new mother could get a few hours of sleep.
“But it’s the best feeling in the world,” John B says so certainly, Rafe doesn’t doubt it.
Kiara heaves out a sigh, “I can’t believe that’s a Cameron-Routledge baby in your hands. I remember you guys getting married as if it were just yesterday.”
Rafe’s head perks up and Valerie assesses him like she just knows. Kiara’s words jog his memory and why he was feeling anxious tonight.
Valerie gives him a reassuring smile and Rafe’s a little less nervous. “Have you seen Mike?”
Kiara narrows her eyes in suspicion but John B pipes up right away, his hands open to take back his daughter. “He’s by the docks with JJ.”
Rafe wipes his palms on his legs and stands up with a nod to the table and a kiss to the top of Kiara’s head. He heads towards the docks as the conversation between JJ and Mike wraps up.
Eventually, Kiara will discover what Rafe was up to tonight and roll her eyes at his traditionality. But for now, Rafe knows what he has to do, it’s only right.
“Hey Mike, you got a minute?”
September: Portland, USA
Wheezie is wheezing, is that ironic or prophetic? She can’t tell or bring herself to care because her lungs feel like they want to claw their way out of her body.
Fiona bounces in step, her stupidly perfect ponytail bobbing with her movement. The wooded area was her recommendation to run in, citing the fresh air to be an aid. “You good Wheeze?”
“Yeah,” Her voice cracks in exhaustion. The dirt ground beneath her is damp from the rain.
“We can stop anytime,” Fiona says in a sing-song tone.
She’d be damned if she couldn’t join Rafe for his usual seven-mile circuit during Christmas. She needed to train for this.
“Fuck it, we only have, what? Two miles left?”
“Six point three, actually.”
Wheezie can’t even groan, that would take too much energy.
“Fuck it, let’s go.” Wheezie slides her finger in her shoes, pulls up her sliding socks, and mentally prepares for this. “I hate Rafe.”
Fiona laughs at that, because no, she really doesn’t.
October: London, England
It was so strange putting faces to names, especially after a year and a bit of scrambling to get this project funded.
People were taller than she expected, or shorter, sometimes even just entirely different that she didn’t recognize them until their mouths opened and she could recognize their voice in her sleep.
It had been a year of this; meetings, research, emails. And Kiara was one of the lucky ones that it only took a year. When she took the project outside of Dalton & Rise, she’d thought she would be stuck in limbo for a minimum of three years.
She was willing to make that choice if it meant her project would be done right. Paige gave Kiara her former contacts at Greenpeace, and Kiara fell into a rabbit hole.
There’s been names she never thought she’d have in her contacts but here she was, in a room with all of them.
No Dominic, no Winston.
She’d given the green light to her inner network to invite people who would be interested in following the project, just so it has enough buzz to not smolder and die when it reaches the public.
Kiara looks around the room. When Rafe said he would handle the venue, Kiara wasn’t afraid to admit that she was nervous. Rafe was very practical and liked overhead lighting, and white open spaces that felt very corporate.
Sure, Kiara’s event was also corporate but she’d be damned if it felt like work.
Instead, Rafe opted to rent out Browns in Old Jewry; the venue was warm and cozy with just enough pops of green to tie it back to Kiara’s project. It was a relaxed environment where everyone felt comfortable enough to talk while sitting down.
Through the arched panes of windows, people walk briskly through the streets trying to get home and away from the cold.
Rafe said a little quip about her tying a scarf on the lamppost and she promptly glared at him.
“Congratulations on your project Kiara,” A voice breaks her from reminiscing about Rafe. Kiara turns to see Cleo, “And just generally everything.”
“Thank you, Cleo.” Kiara lights up brightly and matches Cleo’s smile. She then looks around the room, there’s Rhea standing at the bar, Barry beside her, and some of her co-workers eating the apps, but she can’t find Rafe. “Rafe’s around somewhere, I can call him over.”
“No need, I'm here for the project and you,” Cleo shakes her head gently, “Just wanted to come to express my appreciation for the work you’re doing.”
Kiara feels a strange sense of responsibility, she and Rafe got together only really because of Cleo.
Cleo, as if reading her mind, speaks. “Sometimes we’re just a chapter in someone’s life, other times we’re the whole story.”
November: Madeira, Portugal.
Pope and JJ get married within 24 hours of deciding they’re engaged.
The conversation happens on their hike up Pico Ruivo, the sunrise lights up this blessing as they welcome this new journey in their lives together. Pope suggests they just do it, here and now. Nothing is stopping them.
It’s the kind of spontaneity that surprises even JJ.
He really had no idea it was coming and immediately after saying yes, the blond whined about how he had a ring ready to go for his planned proposal back home.
The day is beautiful like the clouds parted just for them. People smile at them and they smile right back.
Eloping was never on his mind until now, it was just too perfect. Pope, for all his caution and straight-laced behavior, looks up the process and finds a witness.
Topper is shocked and in Austria. Pope thought he was still in Spain but assumed incorrectly. No matter, Topper gets on the first flight to Portugal so he can be their witness.
Their friend buzzes with excitement and runs over to hug them both once they’re pronounced married. They have a small celebration with wine and cheese, there’s a slice of cake Topper brought over from an Austrian bakery that’s divine and gone too quickly.
When JJ pulls Sarah up on FaceTime, Kiara quickly comes into frame and tells them to get their asses over to London so they can celebrate. John B jumps around in excitement and Rafe rushes over to make sure he heard them right.
In London, they go out to celebrate this occasion, the union, as Topper calls it. JJ and Pope aren’t packed for this weather so they borrow Rafe and John B’s clothes.
Topper has picked up a chic fur-trimmed hat from East Germany and wears it around the city. They all comment on it but Topper continues wearing it with pride.
The group is loud, too loud for London but they don’t care. They’re all together and the moment will be a memory all too soon. Their overlapping conversations sound the restaurant they’re in, take over the music that plays in the bar, and down the halls of the tube. The gaggle of noise follows them as they walk down the sparse streets, the clacking of their shoes sounding as the backdrop.
In Kiara, and now Rafe’s, apartment, the seven of them squeeze together in whatever way they can.
Originally, Sarah and John B had the guest room while Kiara and Rafe kept their own room. Now with an additional three guests, this changes.
They go to bed as normal, JJ and Pope taking the air mattress in Kiara’s office and Topper using the pull-out couch in the living room.
Sarah and Kiara chat a little too long at the door of the guest room, they get on FaceTime with Rose who is watching Valerie for this week. The noise causes a sleepy John B to poke his head out of the blanket to tell them to wrap it up.
The opposite happens as John B is promptly kicked out of the room so the girls can keep chatting in low voices. John B wraps a thin blanket around him and goes to Kiara’s office and makes himself comfortable in between JJ and Pope.
JJ, in such a deep sleep, begins to snore. Pope and John B kick him out and JJ, with sleep in his eyes, makes his way to the master bedroom and plonks down in bed with Rafe.
Rafe’s passed out and thinks the dip in the mattress is Kie. It’s only the next morning when he wakes up to run his hand over her back he realizes how broad she’s gotten and jumps out of bed with a screech.
Topper thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world.
They have breakfast all together, finding random objects to sit on to all fit at the table. It’s a special moment for all of them, reminding them of their time in the Bahamas— reminding them that they can still chase that feeling.
December: London, England
There’s a saying, that flowers given with love last longer.
The bouquet is always displayed on their kitchen island, a simple white vase that Rafe picked out to balance the tasteful maximalism of the rest of their flat.
The white vase isn’t the only addition to Kiara’s flat, there are countless new books from Rafe’s own collection and a bookshelf that takes up the far left corner of her office. She discovers that Rafe is also a fan of soft lighting— well, maybe a fanatic, not a fan.
Kiara was okay with the IKEA lamps she had, they were cheap and the trek lugging them from Wembley to avoid the delivery cost made her appreciate them out of spite. Rafe was much more sophisticated in his taste, his lamps were from designers who had names that sounded cursive.
There’s also a lot more photos now. Snapshots of their time in Oregon for the first time, framed and propped up on their console table. There’s a picture of Valerie as well, Rafe swelling with pride when he introduces her as his niece.
He’s got a photo of Kiara in his office downtown and a small one in his wallet. Kiara’s got him as her lock screen. They both gleefully indulge strangers in how wonderful the other is, if a stranger is naive enough to ask.
In their room is a photo of the two of them. They sit on the back of the boat, Rafe’s hair is freshly buzzed and Kiara is mid-laugh as she touches his head. He looks at her like she hung the moon herself. The photo was printed out and gifted to them by Sarah for Christmas; she’d taken it and thought they might like it.
As much as Kiara’s tried before, her home has never felt this bright. It’s effortless now, with Rafe existing in the same space as her.
They have their own quirks; Rafe dutifully turns off all appliances at night for fear of electrical failure, and Kiara cites it as him caring about the environment. He rolls his eyes, as always, and continues to unplug his laptop charger. Kiara uses too many mugs, and Rafe gets on her for that, so they circumvent this by having a ‘special’ mug for her to only use. It’s a little petulant but it works.
Rafe prefers Vietnamese over Chinese, Kiara compromises and they get Pho on the particularly grey days. But most of the time they cook. The recipes range and it’s mostly Kiara barking out orders and Rafe saluting and falling in line.
There was an especially disastrous evening when they tried to make pasta from scratch, they underestimated how long it would take and accidentally got drunk off the bottle of red that was intended for dinner.
Kiara was the first to slump down on the couch and Rafe quickly followed her, they were giddy and needy— fucking on the couch and completely unaware of the pot that was boiling over. After that, they stuck to the dried noodles from the store.
They got up in the mornings and went to work, they took days off to hang out and play hooky, and they grew every day, independently and with each other.
It’s Sunday and the sunlight comes through the same window he once looked up at, slumped on the floor as he made sure Kiara made it home safe. Now he wakes up to her every day, knowing that she’s okay and he is too.
“Get your feet off me,” Rafe grumbles, not sure how many times he needs to say it until it sticks.
Kiara doubles down and presses her frozen feet against his back. “I’m cold.”
“You’re hypothermic,” Rafe twists his body around and faces her. “Put some socks on you weirdo.”
“But that means getting out of bed and you’re a furnace,” Kiara rolls closer to him, tucking her feet in this time and Rafe gladly accepts her in his arms.
They bicker about what to set the temperature all the time. Rafe wins that argument since his logic is that Kiara can dress warmer, he can’t just dress cooler.
Kiara doesn’t make it easy for him, always complaining about anemia and blood circulation. Rafe promises her that their next place will have a fireplace. That makes her much more amenable.
Sundays are reserved for them, they always make time for each other on this day to welcome in the new week. At one point Sundays used to scare Kiara, that the weekend and fun was all over, it passed by too soon. She was too caught up in the incoming week to appreciate the day off.
Now Sundays are a full day, not an in-between that bridges the weekend and weekdays, it’s their day. Rafe picks up bagels and Kiara makes a volatile green smoothie that Rafe requests— spinach, spirulina, sea moss, and half an apple.
She made the mistake of trying it once and Rafe found her heaving in the sink.
She loves Sundays now, it feels like coming home after a party ends. It’s a deep breath and a warm bed; it’s fresh laundry and lemon tea. There’s a ease to it now, they slot together like two puzzle pieces and it should worry her how easy it is but it doesn’t. There’s no concern about it because it just feels right, there’s not a doubt in her mind and if there were Rafe would be the first to dispel it.
Their living room is stacked with all the presents they need to bring for Christmas, this time they’ll be celebrating it in the Outer Banks at John B and Sarah’s place. About ninety percent of the presents are for Valerie.
“Would I be the worst person in the world if I said we should set them up?” Kiara asks suddenly with her lips curled up in a grimace. Fortunately, Rafe is able to follow her thought pattern at this point and knows exactly what she’s talking about.
Rafe continues cutting up the bagels and hums in agreement, “I was actually about to say that—”
“Because how the fuck have they not—”
“I know. And the other day I saw them hanging out but then they acted like they didn’t—”
“Pause.” Kiara throws a hand out abruptly and pales, “I just took a metaphysical step back and realized I sound like them.”
“Come again?” Rafe sets the plate down and Kiara reaches over for the top half of a sesame bagel, Rafe takes the bottom half.
“JJ and Pope, and John B and Sarah. All of them— I sound like them now.” Kiara smears some normal butter on her slice and slathers it with strawberry jam.
Rafe frowns in confusion until the lightbulb goes off. “You’re trying to meddle.”
Kiara’s face drops and she just about whines, “But it’s so much fun— Rhea and Barry keep tiptoeing around each other.”
“I guess we gotta let this go,” Rafe says, very diplomatically and Kiara knows to drop it.
“Right.” Kiara leans back in her seat with a stretch, still adjusting to waking up. “Cause we know nothing about meddling.”
Rafe’s lips quirk up as he brings his coffee mug up. “Not at all.”
“It’s not like we know them better than they know themselves.”
“Or that we have a pretty solid plan for how things can happen without even knowing.”
Kiara tilts her head.
Rafe raises an eyebrow, “You haven’t been keeping notes?”
“For what?”
“You know,” Rafe gestures between them, “documentation for this, our relationship.”
“Excuse me? ” Kiara’s eyebrows shoot up and she sits up in her chair, “You’ve been tracking how our relationship develops?”
Rafe gives her a duh look. In another life, he would’ve been worried, being so logical and analytical was not romantic. He couldn’t help it since their relationship developed from the most bizarre circumstances that he had to make sense of it, and he never kicked the habit. It was more a journal than anything, one about the story of him and Kiara.
Kiara practically crawls onto his lap in excitement, “ Please tell me the data.”
Rafe’s heart grows ten sizes as he pulls her firmly in his lap, wrapping his arm around her. He shifts a little to make her more comfortable but also to shift the surprise.
The weight of his heart is heavy, with all the love he has for her that he undoubtedly knows will continue to grow.
It’s almost as heavy as the engagement ring in his pocket.
The flowers are meant to be a weekly thing, but one bouquet lasts almost a month.
Rafe always hands it to her at the door, on Sundays, the bag of bagels under his arm as she smiles at the assortment of colors. He can’t find it in himself to look away, just taking in her bashful smile at his action.
He kisses her, letting it linger. She wraps her arms around him and gets up on her tip-toes; now smothering him with little pecks across his face.
There’s a saying, that the more someone loves you the longer the flowers gifted from them stay alive.
When Rhea comes over, she eyes them and assumes they’re fake by the way they last so long. Barry assumes that they are swapped out weekly, and that Rafe’s allocated a floral budget in his finances. But in all honestly, Rafe and Kiara work to keep them alive. Separately, without the other knowing.
Kiara changes the water twice a week usually while waiting for Rafe to come home from work. She adds a bit of sugar each time to make sure there’s enough food for the flowers.
Rafe trims the stems once a week, early in the mornings while Kiara is still asleep.
It’s a balance, they both do something for the flowers to stay alive.
And there’s just sheer luck; they’ve gotten lucky every time.
“We had rules, didn’t we?” Kiara thinks back to the early stages of their non-relationship, “What even were they?”
Rafe isn’t going to let that slide.
He holds Kiara’s hand and brings it to his lips to kiss her knuckles, a little hint of what’s to come.