Lara didn't realize how much she missed Vanessa's voice until it filled her ears.
She had just turned the corner toward her condo, the ocean still lingering in her lungs, salt clinging faintly to her skin, when her phone buzzed in her hand again. This time, she didn't hesitate.
"Van?" she answered, breathless, keys still warm between her fingers.
"Oh my God," Vanessa said immediately, relief crashing into excitement. "You're alive."
Lara laughed, pushing through the glass doors of her building. "Barely. Sydney tried to steal my soul this morning."
"I knew it," Vanessa replied smugly. "I told you. Australia would suit you."
The elevator doors slid open, and Lara stepped inside, pressing the button for her floor. The hum of movement felt grounding.
"It's… different," Lara admitted. "In a good way. Everything feels lighter. Even when I'm tired, I don't feel heavy."
Vanessa hummed softly. "That's what happens when you're not surviving anymore. You're finally living."
Lara leaned her head back against the elevator wall. Vanessa had always known how to say the exact right thing. They'd grown up together—kindergarten hand-holding, scraped knees, whispered secrets during sleepovers that stretched until sunrise. Their parents still joked that the girls were more sisters than friends.
"How was your run?" Vanessa asked. "You didn't disappear into the ocean, did you?"
"Almost," Lara said, smiling. "And—don't laugh—but I got hit in the head with a volleyball."
There was a pause.
Then Vanessa burst out laughing. "Of course you did."
"It wasn't funny," Lara protested. "Well. It is now. But at the time, I genuinely thought I was being attacked."
"So?" Vanessa prompted. "Was he cute?"
Lara rolled her eyes, cheeks warming. "Vanessa."
"That's a yes."
"He was… apologetic," Lara said carefully. "Very apologetic. Ran over like he thought I was about to sue him."
Vanessa gasped dramatically. "A man who apologizes immediately? Suspicious."
The elevator chimed softly as it climbed.
"I didn't get his name," Lara added. "Didn't even let him finish talking. My phone rang."
Vanessa's voice softened. "Sorry about that. I needed to hear your voice."
"I'm glad you called."
There was a brief silence—just long enough for Lara to sense the shift before Vanessa sighed.
"Lara… he came by today."
Lara's stomach tightened instantly. "Who?"
"You know who."
The elevator slowed. Lara's fingers curled tighter around the strap of her bag.
"He showed up at the restaurant," Vanessa continued. "At Rougaille."
Lara closed her eyes.
"What did he do?" she asked quietly.
"He asked for you," Vanessa said. "Said he needed to talk. That you were confused. That you'd made a mistake."
Lara's jaw clenched, the familiar heat of anger and disbelief rising in her chest.
"I told him to leave," Vanessa went on, her voice firm now. "I told him you weren't here, that you didn't want contact, and that if he came back, I'd call the police."
"Did he listen?"
"Eventually. But not before causing a scene. Yelling. Saying you owed him an explanation."
The elevator doors opened. Lara stepped out slowly, her chest tight but her steps steady.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For protecting me."
"Always," Vanessa replied without hesitation. "You're my family."
Lara unlocked her apartment door and stepped inside, exhaling as the familiar calm greeted her.
"I'll message him," Lara said after a moment. "One last time. Just to be clear."
Vanessa hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Lara said. "Not to open a door. To close it."
"Okay," Vanessa agreed. "But promise me you won't let him pull you back."
"I promise."
They talked until Lara kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the couch, afternoon light slanting gold across the room. Vanessa filled her in on home—on parents, on mutual friends, on how proud everyone was of her for leaving.
When they finally hung up, Lara sat in silence for a long moment.
Then she stood.
Evening came gently.
She showered, letting warm water wash away the residue of the day. She took her time with her skincare, with her makeup—light and natural, just enough to highlight, not hide. When she slipped into the dress she'd chosen, she paused.
The fabric flowed softly around her legs, yellow and white like sunlight and sand. The butterfly heels felt whimsical, almost defiant.
You're allowed to feel beautiful, she told herself.
The restaurant was only a short walk from her condo.
It sat right on the beach, lights glowing warmly against the deepening blue of the sky. Music drifted softly through the air, mingling with laughter and the sound of waves. The place felt alive—full, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
Lara approached the entrance with cautious excitement.
"Reservation?" the hostess asked politely.
Lara hesitated. "No, I was hoping—"
"I'm sorry," the woman said gently. "We're fully booked tonight."
"Oh," Lara replied, disappointment flickering before she masked it. "I understand."
She turned to leave—
"Wait."
She froze.
The voice was unmistakably familiar.
She turned, heart skipping when she saw him.
The man from the beach stood near the outdoor bar, eyes widening in recognition.
"You," he said, pointing lightly. "You're okay. I was worried I knocked you unconscious."
Lara laughed softly. "I survived."
He grinned. "Good. That would've ruined my day."
She shifted awkwardly. "I was just—"
"Hey," he said quickly, glancing at the hostess. "She's with me."
Lara blinked. "What?"
He stepped forward easily. "She's a friend."
The hostess's expression shifted instantly. "Oh—of course. Please come in."
Lara stared at him as they passed security.
"I don't even know your name," she whispered.
"Details," he murmured back. "Crisis managed."
Inside, he guided her toward the outdoor seating. The view stole her breath.
The ocean stretched endlessly, moonlight dancing across its surface. The table he pulled out faced everything—water, sky, possibility.
"This is…" Lara murmured.
"One of the better views," he said.
A server approached, stopping short when she saw him.
"Sir," she said carefully. "This table is reserved for a Reacher's Enterprise guest."
Lara stiffened. "Oh—I'm sorry. I didn't realize."
She began to stand.
He gently stopped her. "It's fine. They won't be joining us tonight."
The server hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Something in his tone settled it.
"Of course," the server said, retreating.
Lara looked at him. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to."
He hesitated. "Would you mind if I joined you?"
She smiled. "I suppose I owe you at least a conversation."
"Jaden," he said, offering his hand.
"Lara."
Their fingers brushed—brief, warm, grounding.
They talked easily after that—about work, about culture, about islands and belonging.
And as the night deepened, Lara realized something quietly, without fear.
This moment hadn't been planned.
But it felt exactly like it had found her for a reason.