Sunday Morning | Blair's POV
Blair woke earlier than usual. Her room still held the warmth of last night's laughter, her mom's soft scent lingering on the blanket that now sat folded at the edge of her bed. But today felt different. Her body was heavy. Her heart, oddly calm.
She stood in her nightwear, pulling out the last drawer under her bed—the one she hadn't touched in months. Inside were polaroids, scribbled notes, an old bracelet Amanda made her, a birthday card Cole once left taped to her locker. She stared at the mess of memories for a beat, then reached for a small duffel bag and started packing them all inside.
No hesitation. No ceremony.
She zipped it up and exhaled.
Downstairs, voices filtered through the quiet morning. Laughter. Clinking dishes. Victor's voice calling for more coffee. It was Sunday. Everyone was awake.
By the time Blair made it to the staircase, James had just stepped in through the front door, sweat glistening on his collarbone, a towel around his neck. He paused mid-step as he caught the tension in the room—Amanda and Cole were at the entryway, their suitcases lined beside them like punctuation marks at the end of a bad sentence.
Cole stood rigid, his hands clasped like a nervous student. Amanda looked like she'd barely slept, makeup light, lips chewed raw. Lily stood between them, tired but polite, while Victor said something quietly to Caleb behind her.
Then Blair appeared on the last step. The silence was immediate.
Everyone turned.
Blair met her mother's eyes first, and Lily gave her the smallest nod—silent support. She stepped forward slowly, the duffel bag in her hand swinging gently by her side.
Cole stepped forward. His voice cracked.
"Blair. I really— I really love you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I know you probably hate me right now but… please, forgive me. I feel so bad about everything."
Blair looked at him, expression unreadable, like he was someone she didn't know anymore. Her voice never came. Instead, she walked straight past him, over to Amanda, and held out the duffel bag.
"Have a blessed trip."
Amanda blinked, surprised by the calm.
But then her voice sharpened.
"I didn't stab you in the back, Blair. You did. I had a crush on Cole first—you knew that. And yet, you effortlessly stole him from me. I just took back what was mine."
The air cracked.
Cole spun toward her. "Amanda—how the hell is that helping?"
Amanda's face twitched. "No, I'm tired, Cole. Tired of being your secret. Of acting like you don't know what we are."
He scoffed. "I'm tired of you being my girlfriend."
Silence.
A slap to the face would've hurt less.
No one moved. Caleb and Andrew stepped forward quietly, grabbing the suitcases. James, still by the door, didn't need a word. His hand reached for the knob. He opened it and stepped aside, gaze never leaving Blair.
Amanda didn't look back.
Cole glanced at Blair one last time. She didn't flinch.
Then they were gone.
The door clicked shut behind them, the house still heavy with the aftershock.
Cassie let out a breath.
"Wow. Girls really fought for someone like Cole?"
Andrew chuckled softly under his breath. Caleb shook his head and walked toward the kitchen.
Blair didn't say a word. She looked once at James—just once—then turned and quietly walked up the stairs
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Later that Afternoon | Blair's Room
Blair had showered and changed into soft lounge pants and a knit sweater, damp strands of hair falling over her face as she curled up in the wide windowsill of her bedroom. A warm book was nestled in her hands—one she wasn't truly reading. The world outside was quiet, birds fluttering across the yard, the wind brushing against the glass.
For once, her heart didn't ache.
It just… rested.
A soft knock pulled her gaze up. She blinked toward the door.
"…Come in," she called.
The door opened slowly, and Cassie stepped in, awkward but determined. Her expression was unguarded—no makeup, no sass, just Cassie. Real.
Blair looked down at her book.
Cassie stood there for a second too long before walking toward the middle of the room.
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Cassie said quietly. "For calling you a slut… for not asking you what happened. For not noticing you were crying." Her voice cracked a little. "I've been a bad sister."
Blair shut the book and set it aside. Her eyes met Cassie's, calm but a little glossy.
"It's okay," she said softly. "I forgive you."
Cassie's breath hitched, and in one quiet motion, they met in a hug—one that felt years overdue. It wasn't dramatic or perfect, just real. Two broken girls trying to start again.
Just then, the door swung open with a gasp.
"Oh my God, are we witnessing this live?" Maddie stepped in holding a big tub of strawberry and chocolate swirl ice cream, grinning like it was Christmas. Jazmine followed behind her with spoons and four small bowls, eyebrows raised. "No one's fighting? No one's crying? This is not a drill!"
Cassie pulled back with a laugh, wiping her face. "Shut up, both of you."
"We've been dying to stop picking sides," Jazmine teased. "Y'all owe us, seriously."
The girls settled onto Blair's bed, squeezing into the blankets like they had nowhere else to be. Ice cream was passed around, photos were taken—some blurry, some goofy, some absolutely Instagram-worthy. Laughter filled the room like a balm, their voices overlapping with inside jokes and teasing.
Cassie laid back on the bed beside Blair, the two of them sharing a blanket. Maddie scrolled through the new photos. Jazmine was already opening another tub.
As Cassie stretched her legs, her eyes drifted lazily to Blair's wall—and froze.
Pinned gently beside a framed quote and a postcard was a small printed photo. Slightly curled at the corners. Blair and James in the amusement park photo booth—smiling like kids, like something in them hadn't yet learned how to hurt.
Cassie stared at it for a moment too long, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.
Blair didn't notice.
None of the girls did.
But Cassie did.
And then, with another laugh from Maddie about who was going to finish the last scoop, the moment passed.
The chapter ended in soft music, in the crinkle of spoons, in sisterhood.
But that photo still hung on the wall.
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Absolutely! Here's your night garden scene for Chapter 23 (Part 3)—dreamy, soft, filled with laughter, unspoken tension, and that little emotional spark that keeps Blair and James so magnetic together:
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Later That Night | Garden
The house was dim and quiet, the warm echo of earlier laughter fading into soft night sounds. Most of the lights were off, except for the faint amber glow spilling from the kitchen windows. Blair stepped outside, barefoot in her pajamas, the hem of her pants brushing the cool grass as she walked into the garden.
She didn't know what drew her there. Maybe the fresh air. Maybe the stars.
Maybe him.
And then, she saw him—James, sitting alone beneath the old tree near the stone bench, sketchbook open in his lap, pencil gliding across the page with quiet focus.
Blair grinned.
She tiptoed closer through the grass, silent like a shadow, and—
"Jesus, Maybell!" James jolted, dropping his pencil as he whipped around, nearly knocking his sketchbook off his lap.
Blair burst out laughing, hand over her mouth, eyes shining. "You should've seen your face!"
James narrowed his eyes, but there was a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "You're lucky I don't throw this pencil at you."
Before she could protest, he stood up in one swift move, grabbed her by the waist, and threw her over his shoulder.
"James!" she squealed, laughing and kicking in surprise.
He spun her around in a full circle, both of them laughing now, wild and light like two kids stealing joy from the night. Finally, he set her down gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.
"You were missing me," he said with that signature teasing smirk.
Blair rolled her eyes, cheeks still flushed. "No… maybe I just wanted to check on you."
"Mm-hmm," he said, not believing her for a second. "It's okay to admit it."
She nudged him playfully and plopped down onto the bench beside his sketchbook. "What are you drawing now?"
James picked up the book and handed it to her. A soft pencil sketch of a golden retriever, captured mid-run with ears flopping, filled the page. It was full of motion and memory.
Blair smiled. "Your dog?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Her name was Roxy. She died a few years ago."
Blair's face softened. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," he said with a shrug, but his voice held a hint of quiet ache.
"I've never had a dog till Poppy," Blair said, folding her arms over her knees. "Victor got her for us… My mom's scared of them, but I've always loved golden retrievers. They just feel… I don't know, like home."
James didn't respond right away. He just watched her as she rambled—soft eyes studying the way her voice lifted when she talked about the things she loved.
She went on about clouds, how they looked like castles at sunset, about how she'd sometimes watch the stars and make up stories in her head just to feel something beautiful when everything else felt empty.
James leaned back, head tilted toward the sky. "You're a weird little poet, you know that?"
Blair smirked. "Takes one to know one."
He chuckled. "I'm studying business admin. At least one of us is sane."
Blair blinked. "Wait, what? You? Business admin?"
"Don't act so shocked."
"I'm not—okay maybe I am. Wow. So you're smart?"
James gave her a pointed look. "I keep surprising you, don't I?"
"Yeah," she whispered, a bit more honest than she meant to be.
They sat in a comfortable hush. The stars twinkled lazily above them, like they had all night to just… watch.
Eventually, Blair stood. "I should go to bed. School tomorrow."
James stood with her. "Can I pick you up?"
Blair blinked. "What?"
"Tomorrow. After school. I have something to show you."
She hesitated. "I don't know. Cassie might think it's—"
"C'mon, it won't take long," he said, gently. "Just you and me. No pressure."
She looked at him for a long moment… then finally nodded.
"Okay," she said. "Just don't make it weird."
James grinned. "Never."
She smiled, whispered a soft "Goodnight," and walked away—bare feet in the grass, stars in her hair, James's eyes following her until she disappeared into the house.
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