Chapter 33: Warm Lights, Familiar Faces
The evening sun had dipped low, casting a golden wash over the backyard.
Lanterns swung gently from the tree branches, swaying in the summer breeze, while soft music drifted from the Bluetooth speaker on the windowsill.
The table on the terrace was already filling with laughter, clinking glasses, and the scent of home-cooked food.
One by one, their friends arrived—each with something in their hands and warmth in their smiles.
Marc came first, balancing a bottle of deep red wine and a loaf of crusty homemade bread. "Don't judge the bread," he said. "It's like me. Slightly burned on the outside, but soft in the middle."
Nina followed with a tray of her famous berry tarts, their glaze shining under the fading light. "Still warm," she warned, "so don't inhale them unless you want third-degree burns on your tongue."
David brought a playlist, claiming it was curated with "scientific precision to match the mood of grilled veggies and emotional oversharing."
Leo showed up with a box of craft beers and a very serious face. "I come bearing hops and secrets," he said solemnly.
Mia and Alex came last—Mia carrying a covered dish of lasagna and Alex with two mismatched cushions under one arm. "She said your chairs weren't comfy enough," Alex grinned.
As everyone settled into the patio space, the dogs—Samba and Tango—trotted between them like shaggy shadows, begging for attention and stealing the occasional napkin.
The wine flowed, the plates emptied and filled again, and stories bubbled up from every side of the table.
"Remember that New Year's Eve when Leo fell asleep in the bathtub fully dressed?" David asked.
"With a half-eaten sandwich," Marc added.
"That was strategic!" Leo protested. "I was guarding the food. Like a true friend."
There was laughter, teasing, and the gentle kind of conversation that came only with years of shared history.
At one point, Jonas refilled everyone's glasses and toasted: "To the ones who stayed. To the ones who returned. And to the dogs who think they're people."
Mia and Marc shared a smile that lingered too long to go unnoticed, and Hanna elbowed Nina with a grin.
"I give them a month," she whispered.
"I give them the weekend," Nina smirked.
As the night wore on, the lanterns cast a warm glow over the group. Lina found herself leaning against Jonas, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. His hand found hers, fingers intertwining with the ease of something ancient.
"They're ridiculous," Jonas murmured with a smile, nodding toward their friends bickering over whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza.
"But they're ours," Lina replied softly.
They watched as Alex helped Hanna string up another set of fairy lights, as Leo recounted an embarrassing high school story that had Mia wiping tears of laughter, and as Marc sneaked a bite of tart when he thought no one was watching.
"This," Lina whispered, "feels like the best kind of home."
Jonas turned toward her, kissed her temple, and said, "You built it. With a big-hearted dog and lasagna and wild, lovable humans."
And as Samba curled up at their feet and Tango snored gently beneath the table, Lina felt the warmth of more than just the wine.
She felt the weight of belonging, the joy of connection, and the quiet promise of all the evenings still to come.