Cheap uplights, a banner corrected with Sharpie, and a rented DJ. Peak Orangeside High.
Faces blurred together: linemen turned loan officers, class clowns selling insurance, a handful of people he’d liked then and figured he’d still like now.
“Chase,” Vincenzo said, sweeping past with confidence. “Let the record show: Orangeside High’s ‘top creamers’ has returned.”
“Please stop narrating,” Chase muttered. “And never call us creamers again.”
“Practice. I’m going live later. Nostalgia pulls views.”
“Don’t publicize our adolescence.”
“Too late,” Vincenzo said, already shaking hands, dispensing smiles.
Vincenzo moved through the room with an ease Chase remembered from high school. Part charm, part momentum. But something was different now.
He wasn’t just greeting people. He was positioning them.
Chase watched him pause near the banner, lift his phone—not to post anything, just long enough to frame—and then slip it away again, satisfied.
After a weak coffee, Chase slipped away from Vincenzo and headed for the bar. Whiskey first; Seltzer later if the night demanded it. After ordering, he turned and nearly walked into Noah Winters.
“Wright,” Noah said, pleasantly surprised. He’d aged into a solidness that suggested both lapsed gym membership and blue collar job. “Heard you’re back. Michael & Cole, right?”
“Right,” Chase said. “You here with Phoebe…”
“Actually, no. I came with a proxy.” Noah’s smile twitched. “My sister. She volunteered when my wife got sick. She’s around here somewhere.”
Chase opened his mouth to say, ‘tell her I said hi,’ but his chest had already tightened.
The room thinned; the music dulled. She stood by the photo board in a black dress, her hair pinned up.
Amelia.
She was laughing at a picture of someone’s horrible perm, the sound caught him mid-step.
Noah followed his stare. “Right. You two… know each other.”
“College,” Chase said, memories flooding back of late-night study sessions, near-kisses, and classes that too often involved dioramas.
“Be nice,” Noah said, vanishing into a huddle of people.
He looked back at Amelia. In college, the distance between them had felt bigger.
“Amelia Bethany Winters,” he said, close enough to catch that familiar sweet scent of honey.
She turned, and he watched recognition move across her face. Followed by a smile, small and real.
“Chase Wright,” she said. “Look at you.”
“Wasn’t sure I’d see you here,” he said, then immediately regretted saying it.
She chuckled, “Noah guilted me. Prepaid ticket. I’m here to protect sunk costs.”
He laughed. “Economics. Classic Amelia.”
“Better than Theory of Conspiracies. Classic Chase.”
They stood there, pretending to be casual.
Chase started,“You look—”
“—don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she cut in, smiling.
He chuckled. “How are you?”
“Work’s good. Clinic keeps me busy. I have a bowl of judgmental fish now.” She tilted her head. “You?”
“Well, after getting a degree from Orangeside a law firm actually took me in,” he said, then lowered his voice. “At Michael & Cole.”
“You don’t sound thrilled.”
“I sound employed.”
“I guess ‘happy’ and ‘employed’ doesn’t blend for everyone.”
He wanted to tell her about the feeling he sometimes got in Sydney Hall back in Orangeside Community College. Open up, tell her how Vincenzo stormed back into his life, offering shade and asking only that Chase not ask what he was being shaded from.
Instead, he said, “The coffee’s terrible.”
Her smile sharpened. “Let’s fix that.”
She led him to the side table where a percolator burbled, surrounded by sugar packets and powdered creamer.
“Do you remember the library?” she asked, tearing two sugar packets at once. The paper split unevenly.
“Which time?” Chase said.
“You used to weasel out of doing actual work on projects like it was a habit.”
“It WAS a habit.”
She snorted. “And I would pretend not to find it charming.”
Chase wanted to tell her that pretending had never fooled him. Instead, he said, “Because I was a disaster in class and outta class.”
Her eyes flicked to his suit. “You’re upgraded now,” she said. “More like a disaster with a movie made about it.”
He laughed before he could stop himself.
“Do you live far?” he asked.
“Two blocks, close to PawsCity Vibes,” she said. “Small place. Good light.”
“Plants?”
She held up three fingers, then folded one down. “Two are alive.”
Chase smiled. He watched the way she stirred her cup, too long. Around them, the reunion swelled, someone chanting Class of— before giving up halfway through.
“Do you ever think about–” He stopped himself, shook his head.
She tilted her head. “No. Say it.”
He swallowed. “Timing,” he said. “Like sneezing right before someone takes a picture.”
Her mouth twitched. She looked down at her cup, then back up, eyes warmer than a second ago. “You got poetic in your thirties.”
“Occupational hazard,” he said. “Some clients do that to you.”
She nodded once, slow. “You disappeared fast after graduation.”
“I had to,” Chase shrugged. “It was… a lot,” he finished lamely.
The air hung between them until she said steadily, “I figured.”
She tore another sugar packet.
“I didn’t…” she started, then stopped. Shaking her head, she tried again. “No. I did mind. But I knew I didn’t get to mind.”
Chase felt that like a verdict. “That sounds unfair.”
“It was.” She met his eyes this time. “You could have called.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re right,” he said. “I could have.”
The space between them didn’t close, but it stopped pressing.
Chase realized he was holding his breath and let it go.
Only then did he notice her fingers — tapping once against the side of her cup. Then again. Not nervous. Measured. A quiet, off-kilter rhythm.
She nodded once, small. He’d always admired that about her. The way she could name a truth without sharpening it into a weapon.
“Hey,” a voice cut in, bright and intrusive.
“Look who’s rekindling old flames,” Vincenzo said, sliding up with two drinks. “Chase,” he said slyly, “introduce me to the woman the room keeps looking at.”
“Vincenzo,” Chase said, cautiously. “This is Amelia Winters.”
“Pleasure,” Vincenzo said, extending a hand.
She weighed it, decided, and shook once. “Hi.”
Vincenzo’s smile didn’t change, but his attention sharpened.
He took half a step back. Chase recognized the look by now—the same way Vincenzo had been sizing up the whole room.
Amelia shifted slightly, closer to Chase.
Chase frowned.
“I’m what you’d call a local success story,” Vincenzo said, cheerful. “Corporate executive. Thought leader. Occasional menace. El Viento Securities, subsidy of El Viento Heavy Industries.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “That menace part is a strange brag.”
“Honesty is the purest marketing,” he said. “I also stream. Politics, games. Fortnite when the updates aren’t crashing the game. You’d love my chat. I’m their Golden god.”
“Does your chat vote?” she asked.
“Early and often.”
Chase coughed into his cup to hide a laugh.
Vincenzo’s focus drifted. “We’re doing a small after-thing,” he told them. “Celebration, reunion afterparty. A few worthy people from the old crew are invited. You should both come.”
“Tempting,” Amelia said.
“We’ll see,” Chase said.
“Time-sensitive,” Vincenzo said, smile widening. “I’ve got something moving. A real upgrade. I’m grabbing the royal and loyal.”
“I didn’t realize ‘securities’ had loyalty tiers,” Amelia said.
“Well, ‘Securities’ has a bit wider reach than you’d think,” Vincenzo said mildly.
Chase’s posture stiffened. “We’ll talk later,” he said.
Vincenzo lifted his glass, then drifted on, hugging strangers.
They watched him go, the jacket moving through the crowd.
“He’s a lot,” Amelia said.
“He’s… like camping,” Chase said.
Amelia gave Chase a confused look.
“Intense.”
Amelia thought for a moment, chuckled, “That’s one word for him.”
“Does he always move people like furniture?” she murmured.
“He calls it social networking,” Chase said.
“I call it playing real life Sims,” Amelia retorted.
They stood beside the percolator and photo board, letting the room reclaim its noise. Someone started a chant that dissolved into laughter. A slideshow froze on a face neither of them recognized.
“Do you want air?” he asked. “This place smells like cheap perfume and old memories.”
She glanced at the door, then at him. “Yeah.”
They wove through congratulations that weren’t theirs, apologies neither needed, and the last gasp of a chorus everyone pretended to remember. Then they stepped out into the night.
Outside, the air was wet, the lights giving everything a warm gold tint.
Amelia kicked off her shoes, held them by the straps, and stepped into the cool of the concrete.
“Don’t judge,” she said.
“Wouldn’t dare,” he answered playfully.
They moved toward the edge of the lot where the light wasn’t struggling. The rain had tapered to a mist; the street smelled faintly of cut grass and cheap beer. Her shoulders dropped.
“So,” she said, half-smile, “tell me the worst thing about being in your thirties.”
He matched it. “I finally understand why socks are a good present.”
“That’s… so sad,” she chuckled.
“It is,” he said. “What’s the best thing about being in your mid twenties?”
“I can still make mistakes and live with them,” she said, then bit her lip. “And I’m not saying that I have…or will.”
They both laughed.
A shadow shifted near the doors.
Behind them, a cigarette flared in the dark.
Neither of them cared.
Neither of them mentioned it.
“Walk me home, I’m not too far?” she asked.
They stepped off the curb into the kind of damp night that made bad ideas feel reasonable.
By the first block, an old, easy rhythm had returned. Every few steps she brushed his arm without meaning to, and every time he pretended not to notice.
The street narrowed to rows of apartments that used to be houses.
“Feels smaller,” he said.
“That’s because you changed,” Amelia said. “Or maybe you don’t look at it long enough to appreciate it.”
He laughed quietly. “You always say things that sound like poetry until they start to hurt.”
“Comes from living I guess.” She balanced on a curb line, shoes dangling from her fingers. “So tell me, SilverTongue, what’s it like being the evolved version of the guy who used to sign up for classes just to flirt and coast?”
He smiled, half-embarrassed. “Less charming, more billable.”
“That’s tragic.”
“It’s a career.”
They passed a Panera Bread with its lights off. She slowed a little, voice dropping. “You really never called?”
“I thought about it,” he said. “Then I thought about how much of that was me trying to fix something that wasn’t broken.”
She looked at him. “It wasn’t broken. It just never started.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s what I meant.”
A comfortable silence settled between them. Chase gestured to the darkened storefront. “Remember when we used to study here? That semester when the library was under construction.”
Amelia smiled. “My gosh, remember when my red pen vanished and I freaked out? I made all of you help me find it or confess to stealing it. Elvis wasn’t happy about missing his CSGO tournament and called it a ‘bottle episode’.”
Chase chuckled. “Elvis Santiago. Whatever happened to him? He was the only one who could make Professor Hendricks reconsider who really was ‘Saved By The Bell’.”
Amelia’s expression softened, then shadowed slightly. “I don’t know. He just… drifted after graduation. We all did, really. I wanted to message him, but I just never really found the time. I even stopped visiting our Facebook group page.”
“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Everyone just scattered after Orangeside. You, me, Elvis, Christina… like the baby spiders at the end of Charlotte’s Web, we all just scattered with a smile.”
“That part hurt me, but I understood,” Amelia said softly.
Chase smiled. “I teared up.”
They just listened to the wet rhythm of their steps. Chase glanced over his shoulder. The street was empty, just wet pavement and shadows, but the back of his neck prickled. It was a familiar feeling lately, the sensation of being observed by someone that wasn’t there.
She stopped under a lamppost, its gold light catching at the loose strands around her face.
The quiet between them changed.
“Two years,” she said. “You’d think time would make it less weird.”
“It doesn’t,” he said.
Her eyes met his. “So what happens now?”
“I don’t know. But I’m not walking away this time.”
That earned him a smile. Not big, not dramatic, but enough. “We’ll see.”
She stood close enough that Chase could feel her warmth in the damp air. For a second she didn’t move, just hovered at the edge of the moment. He couldn’t tell if she was waiting for him to step in…or daring herself not to.
“Thanks for the walk,” she said.
“Always,” he said.
“Careful,” she said, teasing. “That’s a dangerous word.”
“I like danger,” he said.
“Yeah,” she answered, starting up her steps. “You always did.”
She paused halfway, turned back. “Oh—and Chase?”
“Yeah?”
“If your friend offers you anything like money, favors or advice… Don’t call it a gift.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Because men like that don’t give,” she said. “They trade.”
She vanished into the stairwell’s glow, leaving him on the sidewalk.
He stood there a while, listening to the rain tick on the awning above her door.
Something about the way she’d said men like that stuck under his ribs.
