All The Summers Between Us | TSITP

Three Weeks To Forever.

The air in Cousins was different now—heavier, richer with the scent of salt and sunscreen and that almost-too-warm breeze that always rolled in mid-July.

Summer felt close to slipping away, and with it, everything that still hadn't been said.

It had been a month since the day Conrad stumbled home from the ocean bleeding and Lydia's hands trembled over his skin. A month since the almost that nearly happened in that small, humid bathroom—a month since she pressed her hand to her chest and realised her heart still hadn't let go.

And in that month, life had gone on.

Daniel was back.

They were everywhere together—inseparable. Errands, calls with vendors, meetings with the florist. The wedding was in three weeks. Twenty-one days until she walked down an aisle wearing white and promising forever. And Lydia, ever the list-maker, had been counting down each one.

————

"Okay," she murmured, cross-legged on the sunroom floor, her wedding planner splayed open between them. "Catering is confirmed. We still need to finalise the seating chart. And..." —she squinted down at her neat handwriting— "oh, we have to pick up the rings from Boston next weekend."

Daniel grinned from where he sat opposite her, leaning against the couch, his hair still damp from their morning walk along the beach. "I cannot believe you have a seating chart. With colour codes."

"Excuse me, this is an essential part of wedding planning." Lydia tapped the page with her pen. "If we don't separate Aunt Claire and Uncle Peter, they will fight about politics before the salad course."

Daniel laughed, that soft, warm sound she'd come to know so well. "You're terrifying."

"I'm efficient," she corrected, fighting a smile.

"You're both," he teased, leaning forward to steal the pen from her fingers. "Okay, Miss Efficient. What's next?"

She glanced over her list. "Music. We still haven't decided on a first dance song."

Daniel tilted his head. "What are you thinking?"

"Something timeless," she said after a beat. "Nothing too cheesy. Maybe Ella Fitzgerald? Or... Billie Holiday?"

He grinned. "You're such an old soul."

"Guilty."

There was a quiet moment then—the kind that sneaks up on you. The house was still around them, the afternoon sunlight spilling through gauzy curtains, gulls crying faintly in the distance. And Lydia felt it, that bubble of warmth in her chest, the one that always came when Daniel looked at her like she was the only thing that made sense in the world.

This was good. This was safe.

"This is really happening, huh?" he said, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, almost disbelieving. "We're getting married."

She smiled, and it reached her eyes. "Yeah. We are."

He shifted forward until he was kneeling in front of her, the sunlight turning his hair a honeyed gold. "I know you're stressed. And I know this house is... complicated for you. But I want you to know—" He reached for her hand. "—that I'm all in. No matter what ghosts are hiding in these walls, I'm not going anywhere."

Her throat tightened. "I know."

"And three weeks from now," he said, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, "I'm going to stand at the end of that aisle and marry you. And it'll be the best thing I've ever done."

Lydia laughed quietly, trying to swallow the sudden weight behind her eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe," he said, grinning. "But I love you."

"I love you too." The words came easily—and they were true. She did love him. She loved his patience, his steadiness, the way he made plans and kept them, the way he made her feel like the safest person in every room.

But as his thumb traced lazy circles against her palm, something flickered at the edge of her mind—a memory, uninvited and stubborn. Salt water and sunlight. A man leaning too close on a bath. A breath shared, a heartbeat away from something they couldn't name.

She blinked hard, clearing it away before it could take shape.

"Hey," Daniel murmured, nudging her gently. "Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere," she lied quickly, squeezing his hand. "I'm right here."

"Good." He brushed his thumb along her jaw, before pulling her into a kiss—soft, grounding, reassuring.

And still, when they parted, she felt a strange ache in her chest. Not regret. Not guilt. Something else.

Something she didn't have a name for.

————

Later that evening, they moved into the kitchen, music playing low from Daniel's phone as they folded place cards and finalised menu choices.

Lydia laughed until her cheeks hurt when Daniel tried—and failed—to make a swan out of the napkins. He called her his "bossy little wedding planner." She threw a tea towel at him.

It was domestic and easy and exactly what she'd always said she wanted.

And yet, when she slipped out onto the porch after he'd gone to make a call, the night air felt heavier than usual. She stared out at the dark, endless stretch of ocean, her heart thudding in her chest—too loud, too fast.

Because she could still see it. Him.

That look on Conrad's face the night he found out. The way it had cracked something deep inside him, even though he'd tried so hard to hide it. The way his voice had gone hoarse when he said "the wedding."

It haunted her more than she cared to admit.

"Three weeks," she whispered to herself. "Three weeks."

It was supposed to be a comfort—a countdown to everything she'd been building toward. But as the wind whipped against her skin and the sound of the waves filled the silence, it didn't feel comforting at all.

It felt like standing on the edge of something and not knowing whether you were about to fall—or fly.