All The Summers After | TSITP | Sequel

The Way It's Meant To Be.

The living room looked like the inside of a Christmas snow globe — warm lights, glowing garlands, mismatched blankets, and people everywhere. Every couch cushion was taken, every chair pulled closer, every lap occupied by a bowl of popcorn or some game piece.

It wasn't chaos.

It was family.

Lydia and Conrad entered last, fresh from upstairs, and immediately Jeremiah yelled:

"OKAY, THEY'RE BACK! GAME NIGHT OFFICIALLY RESUMES."

Belly rolled her eyes affectionately. "Everything resumes when you say it resumes, apparently."

Jeremiah grinned. "Correct."

Conrad tugged Lydia toward the overstuffed couch where a spot had miraculously opened between Denise and Laurel. "Look at that," Lydia whispered, "VIP seating."

"Only the best for the Paris returnees," Denise said, nudging her. "I warmed your spot for you."

"You sat in it," Lydia said.

"Exactly."

Across the room, Adam was shuffling a deck of cards like a Vegas dealer, dramatic flair and all. John watched him with patient amusement, holding a mug of tea, while Taylor and Steven argued about the 'correct' rules of the game they weren't even playing yet.

Daniel sat on the floor beside Denise's legs, leaning back against the couch, comfortable, easy — like he belonged there, too.

It struck Lydia how absurdly normal it all felt. No lingering awkwardness. No weird tension. Just... people who had gone through hell individually and somehow made it back to each other collectively.

Laurel clapped her hands. "Okay! Who's rolling for the next round of Scattergories?"

"I AM," Jeremiah said immediately, grabbing the five before anyone else could.

"You rolled last time," Belly said.

"And I'll roll again," he declared.

Belly, long-suffering, leaned into him. "My dramatic little Christmas elf."

He beamed.

————

Jeremiah slammed the letter die onto the coffee table. It spun, rattled, and landed on S.

"Okay," Laurel said, timer in hand. "Something you'd find in the kitchen, starting with S."

Everyone scribbled furiously.

Adam yelled, "Sausage fingers count, right?"

"No," Laurel said without looking up.

Taylor groaned. "Why did I write 'seafood'? Nobody keeps seafood in the kitchen. That's like... a boat thing."

Steven looked at her. "People keep seafood in the kitchen, babe."

"Oh." She blinked. "Right."

Lydia whispered her answer to Conrad. "Spatula."

He snorted. "Basic."

Her jaw dropped. "Basic?!"

"You could've gone with saffron," he whispered.

"You think I keep saffron in my kitchen?" she hissed back.

"You live in Paris—"

"Not in a Michelin restaurant."

Daniel glanced over and laughed. "You two are going to get disqualified for whispering."

Lydia tossed a balled napkin at his head.