Chapter 6

By the fourthweekend of Ameline's visits, I've settled into a sort of routine. Every Friday around six, Cedric drops her off and then vanishes for the entire weekend, leaving me and Johnathan to look after his sister. She's low maintenance, but I can't leave her alone the whole time.

Surprisingly, she's actually taken a liking to the classes with Aunt Ainsley. I'm the one who drops her off early on Saturdays, and Lyric brings her back in the evenings. Usually, John orders pizza, and we all hang out. It's simple, but nice.

Today, however, is different. Johnathan's off to a concert with his girlfriend, and they plan to stay at her place. The apartment feels unusually quiet without him.

"You should go out," Ameline suggests, rummaging through the fridge, pulling out eggs, butter, and milk.

I lean against the counter, watching her. "And miss the one-month anniversary of you moving in with us?" I tease. "Never."

She glances up at me, her expression mock-annoyed as she sticks out her tongue. "Dad should be back next week, hopefully. I really need him home because Helen's getting annoyingly obnoxious, and I don't think I can handle her anymore."

Wanting to distract her from thoughts of the ‘wicked witch,' as she calls her stepmother, I ask, "What are you making?"

"Cookies. Lyric gave me the recipe for the snickerdoodles she brought last weekend. She mentioned something about using them to make ice cream sandwiches." Ameline pauses, eyeing the freezer thoughtfully. "When I told her we had ice cream at home, she gave me the idea."

That sounds like something Lyr would suggest. I'm actually surprised she didn't turn this into a slumber party, inviting all our cousins. My sister is a social butterfly. She has the habit of befriending everyone. While I'm glad she's making Ameline feel welcome, a part of me is uncertain about their friendship. It's supposed to be temporary, after all.

The moment her father is back, I don't think we'll see her again. Once Cedric is no longer my roommate, she'll be a thing of the past. And, somehow, the thought of that happening nags at me. It's an odd, unsettling thought—her absence. I realize, maybe for the first time, how accustomed I've grown to her.

Shaking off these thoughts, I focus back on the moment. "But what about dinner?"

She meets my gaze with a nonchalant shrug and a teasing smile on her lips. "I think cookies and ice cream might just be enough, don't you?"

Her simplicity, her way of finding joy in small things is . . . refreshing? Is that even a thing? Or maybe it's me trying to avoid thinking deeper about how I feel. Though, I can't help but wonder if she could visit a few more times. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't mind this temporary arrangement lasting a bit longer.

"Let's see if we can find something more substantial than ice cream and cookies," I suggest, glancing toward the pantry.

"No, I'm good," Ameline insists, her focus on the ingredients.

I roll my eyes. "You need to stop hanging out with my sister," I say in mock-warning. "Lyric is a bad influence."

Ameline waves off my faux concern. "I doubt that. She and Aerin are pretty cool," she says, bringing up Lyric's best friend, who's also attending Aunt Ainsley's classes.

I don't know how to feel about her becoming connected to a part of my family, though. Cedric, her brother, is barely around, yet Ameline has seamlessly become more of a presence in this place than he has ever been.

"Let me whip up something, so you don't dive into a sugar coma," I say, moving to rummage through the fridge.

"You just want some of these cookies," she accuses playfully, a knowing look in her eyes.

"Guilty as charged," I admit with a grin, pulling out ingredients for a quick meal.

As I start cooking, there's a sudden knock at the door. Wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, I walk over and open it.

On the other side stands Archer, one of my best friends. I take a step backward, an uneasy feeling creeping up on me. "Is everything okay? I thought you were in New York."

"Nah, I had a last-minute—" After he begins, he's cut off mid-sentence.

"Hey, Cee! I didn't know you were coming," Ameline interrupts Archer, her tone squeaky but somehow happy thinking her brother is here.

Archer raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. "We have a visitor, huh? I can't wait to meet her." His eyes dart to Ameline, but then he shoots me a glare, giving me a ‘what the fuck is wrong with you' look.

"Oh, you're not Cedric," Ameline says, disappointed.

"Nope, I'm Archer St. James. His best and only friend," he introduces himself, his grin returning. "And you are?"

Before she can answer, I jump in. "She's my roommate's sister and I have more friends, asshole."

"So you babysit on weekends?" Archer teases. "Nice."

"Fuck you." I flip him the middle finger.

"I'm almost eighteen," Ameline says, quick to defend herself.

"I was wondering if you wanted to do something but . . ." He looks at Ameline again. "But it seems like you're busy. With your roommate's sister."

Leave it to Archer to make this sound dubious and dirty.

"Oh, he's not busy at all," Ameline says, either not understanding what he's trying to insinuate or ignoring him. "You can take him. There'll be more cookies for me."

Arch glances at her, his eyes lighting up. "You're baking?"

I try to divert his attention. "Where's Piper?" I ask, hoping the mention of his girlfriend might encourage him to leave.

"In New York," he replies nonchalantly, already making himself at home by washing his hands at the sink.

"Well, then, shouldn't you be on your way there?" I suggest, almost pushing him out the door.

He shakes his head. "Nope. I'm heading back tomorrow morning after having brunch with my family. So, it's up to you to keep me entertained before I die of boredom."

So much for him leaving quickly. With Piper out of town and a family brunch not until tomorrow, Archer is clearly in no rush. I'll have to deal with him for the time being and hope he doesn't adopt Ameline, too.

* * *

It'saround midnight when Ameline goes to bed. Archer and I head to the roof of the apartment building with a couple of beers.

"So . . . You're dating a high schooler, huh?" Archer asks, his tone teasing but probing.

I shoot him a glare, my grip tightening around the glass bottle's neck. "We're not dating. I already told you?—"

He waves off my protest with a dismissive hand. "Save that bullshit for someone else, man. You like her, but you wouldn't dare to date her because that'd mean moving on from Leslie."

Archer's words are like a punch to the gut. He's been on my case about moving on for a while now. Leslie died four years ago, and here I am, still avoiding anything that resembles an emotional connection. I take a sip of my beer, looking out at the city lights desperately, trying to steer my thoughts away from this conversation. Sure, Ameline is beautiful. Spending time with her has become the highlight of my weekend. But the reality is I can't be anything more than an acquaintance to her. Not even her friend.

The silence stretches between us, filled only by the distant hum of the few cars driving by at this time of night.

"This calls for an intervention," Archer declares.

"You have to stop pushing the subject," I warn him, a note of irritation creeping into my voice.

Archer leans forward, his playful demeanor vanishing as he fixes me with a serious look. The intensity in his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow, and the way he momentarily rests his hand over mine. "I'm doing it because we're concerned about you."

I can't help but push back, though it pains me to even think it. "What would you do if Piper died?" I knock on the table which I hope is made out of wood, immediately regretting the words but needing him to understand.

Archer's reaction is quick and intense. "Shut the fuck up," he roars, his face contorting with anger.

"Exactly," I reply quietly, but I wonder if it's truly the same. Archer and Piper, they've been inseparable since we were kids. His love for her is something deep, something that started the moment they met when we were all toddlers.

"It'd be the same if you died. She wouldn't be able to move on," I add, my voice low. I'm trying to make him see my point, hoping he can understand why I can't just ‘move on' as he suggests.

He frowns, his expression shifting to something earnest, almost pained. "No. If I die, I want her to find someone else." His gaze then fixes on me, intense and imploring, as if he's entrusting me with a solemn responsibility. "Promise me, Gabe. If anything happens to me, you'll help her move on."

"What?" The question slips out, tinged with confusion. Inside, my thoughts are racing, a tumult of emotions swirling. Why is he asking this of me? The request feels heavy, like a weight being placed on my shoulders.

"Promise me, Gabe," he repeats, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

And I do promise, because what else can I say in a moment like this? But as I give my word, it feels like I'm sealing a pact, the gravity of it sinking in. I wish we'd never started this conversation. The thought of losing someone else, the fear of experiencing that kind of pain again, is almost too much to bear. And maybe that's the root of it all—why I keep my distance, why I'm so cautious with my heart. The memory of the agony from four years ago clings to my soul, gripping like a cold ghost. Never again, I promised myself then, and I do now. I can't go through that heartbreak again.

The thought of something happening to Ameline unsettles me, but I instantly push it away. She's nothing to me.

Nothing.