Page 107 of Lost & Found

She looked content. Unburdened. I almost took a photo to send to Marcel as my explanation. Instead, I hastily sent another text.

DANCER:

Never mind. I think the sun is getting to me.

COUNSELOR:

Brother, I’m here for you. What is it?

“So what’s the plan for later?” Isabella asked.

She’d rolled onto her side, the book in her hands now, fingers tracing along the spine absentmindedly. I locked my phone and tossed it onto the blanket beside me.

“I think Lisa mentioned walking the boardwalk. Maybe the arcade. Dinner.” I hesitated. “Game night.”

Her fingers stilled.

“Our kind of game night,” she asked, “or something else?”

The shift was subtle, but I caught it. The way she bit her lip. The flicker in her eyes before she forced them steady again. Despite all the bravado and teasing, the cards and dice still represented something intimate and vulnerable.

“We don’t have to play. We can hand them over and let everyone else entertain themselves.”

“But won’t they wonder why we’re not joining?”

“Let them.” A sigh escaped me before I could filter it. “After this trip, I have a feeling I’ll see less and less of them anyway.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand. You seem to get along with everyone. Okay, maybe not Hannah. But you’ve known these people for years, Pasha.”

She shifted on the blanket and rose smoothly to sit closer to me. With grace, she angled her body toward mine, legs tucked neatly to the side. Her posture was composed, but her hands betrayed her, twisting together in her lap. Being that close again stirred everything I’d just tried to shut down.

“I know,” I began carefully. “And I don’t want you thinking I don’t value the friendships or the memories. I do. They were everything to me once.”

The words came slower now, heavier. “But it’s like…we don’t mesh the way we used to. Maybe I’ve changed. Maybe they haven’t. Or maybe the things they still prioritize just don’t mean as much to me anymore.”

She studied me for a second. “Like an old pair of shoes that don’t fit anymore?”

A small smile tugged at my mouth. “It’s the opposite, and deeper than that.”

I dragged a hand over the back of my neck, organizing the thought. “Imagine you’ve worn one brand of shoes your entire life. They fit perfectly. You don’t even think about it—you stock up. It’s the same pair every time. Then one day you go to shoe store to replace them and find out they’re discontinued. Worse, the company’s gone out of business. So you settle. You find something else. You convince yourself it’s fine. You buy multiple pairs just in case.”

She listened intently. Her fingers reached out and trailed over my calf. The light touch had me tingling.

I was mesmerized by her in every way and couldn’t stop staring at her hands. “They’re comfortable enough. You break them in. But something’s always off. A pinch at the toe. A rub at the heel. You ignore it because what else are you going to do?”

Her pulse fluttered at her throat. An intricate pattern was emerging under her fingertips as if she were inking my skin.

“I don’t understand. Are we the new shoes or the old ones?” She blinked wildly and the pulse at the side of her neck raced.

I chuckled. “I wasn’t finished. One day you walk past a storefront or in my case a dance studio.”

Her chin dipped, lashes lowering. The guarded line of her mouth softened into a warm smile.

“You see the original brand is back. Not only back—but expanded. A whole new line. Nine pairs strong with more to come in the future. You step inside out of curiosity, try them on…”

“Hmm,” she said, scooting closer.

“You look down and realize you’ve been lying to yourself all these years.” I looked at her then. “And you remember what it feels like not to force the fit.”