“Yeah. Gay sex There was a Hydro Flask on the windowsill, next to a phone charger curling like a snake off the edge.A few framed prints hung above the desk: black and white architectural sketches. The “Sutton Realty: Melissa Hartley–Pierce” sign gleamed beside them.That had to be Drew’s mom. The ache under everything had sharpened. A toddler rested on her hip, blond too, cheeks round, and beside them stood a girl, maybe ten or eleven, hand on her mother’s waist, chin lifted like she already knew what ambition looked like. Still freezing.“Uh…Drew?” I called out, angling my body behind the frosted corner of the glass panel.No answer. He handed me a bowl heavy with noodles, soft egg just barely jiggling in the broth.We sat at the island, stools slightly too modern to be comfortable, our knees brushing once, then again. “You passed. Barely.”He shot me a crooked look but didn’t argue. “I am a ranger.”“Oh, right. “I’d say it’s more of a badge.”He didn’t move when I stepped in close; I just exhaled this soft laugh and placed my hand on his shoulder.
