Summary: While searching the garage for his missing baseball glove, Carter Robinavitch finds an old photograph of his aunt curled against Uncle Jack’s shoulder. His dad, Robby, makes the mistake of telling him the truth. They loved each other once. They are both single now. And Carter has recently discovered The Parent Trap.
Warnings: no major warnings; references to Jack leaving for Army basic training, old romantic history, and a scheming nine-year-old
Author's Note: Welcome to The Nephew Trap, a new Jack Abbot x Reader mini-series featuring Robby’s sister!Reader, an old summer romance, forced-proximity babysitting, and Carter deciding the adults require logistical assistance. The Photograph is our prequel: the moment Carter discovers Auntie and Uncle Jack used to be in love, and, thanks to a recent viewing of The Parent Trap, begins developing a plan. Expect second-chance romance, domestic chaos, old love letters, breadstick-based deception, and Robby’s nine-year-old son becoming everyone’s problem.
Xoxo, Del
The search for Carter Robinavitch's missing baseball glove had started inside the hall closet and eventually driven them into the garage, where Robby was beginning to suspect it had disappeared into whatever dimension also contained unmatched socks and every screwdriver he had ever purchased.
“It has to be out here,” Robby said as he pulled a cloudy plastic tote away from the wall. “You had it when we played catch last weekend.”
Carter stood beside the workbench with his hands planted on his hips. “Maybe you put it somewhere.”
Robby looked over his shoulder. “It’s your glove.”
“You touched it too,” Carter argued.
“I threw a baseball into it,” Robby said. “That does not make me responsible for its long-term storage.”
Carter tilted his head. “You’re the adult.”
Robby stared at his son for a long moment.
“That argument only works when it benefits you,” Robby said.
Carter shrugged without remorse. “It benefits me now.”
The July heat had settled thickly inside the garage despite the wide-open door. Sunlight stretched across the concrete floor, catching dust in the air. Somewhere down the block, a lawn mower droned steadily, and the smell of freshly cut grass drifted in on the occasional breeze.
Robby lifted the lid from the first tote and stared down at several tangled extension cords, a broken desk lamp, and a curved piece of plastic that no longer appeared connected to anything useful.
“No glove,” Robby announced.
Carter leaned over the side of the tote. “What’s that?”
“Evidence that I don’t know how to throw things away,” Robby said.
Carter picked up the plastic attachment and turned it over. “What does it do?”
Robby took it from him and examined it. “I have no idea.”
“Then why do you have it?” Carter asked.
“Because the second I throw it away, I’ll discover it’s the only thing keeping the house operational,” Robby said.
Carter nodded solemnly. “That makes sense.”
“It really doesn’t,” Robby muttered.
He pushed the tote aside and reached behind two folded camping chairs. His fingers caught on the softened corner of a cardboard box wedged between an old cooler and the wall.
Robby pulled it free, sending a thin cloud of dust into the air.
Carter coughed dramatically and waved one hand in front of his face. “What’s in there?”
“Probably more evidence of poor decision-making,” Robby said as he wiped his palm over the top.
The cardboard had bowed inward with age. Its flaps were folded loosely over one another, and there was no label written across the side.
Carter immediately dropped to his knees beside it.
“Careful,” Robby warned as Carter reached for the top flap. “It might be important.”
Carter glanced at the buckling corners. “It looks old.”
“Old things can still be important,” Robby said.
“You said the vacuum piece was garbage,” Carter reminded him.
“That was different,” Robby said.
Carter looked up. “How?”
Robby opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
A small smile appeared on Carter’s face. “You don’t know.”
“I’m your father,” Robby said as he sat down on an overturned bucket. “I’m allowed to be inconsistent.”
Carter pulled the box closer. “Is that a real rule?”
“It is in this garage,” Robby said.
Carter peeled back the flaps and found the box filled with photographs.
Most were loose, their glossy surfaces faded and dulled with time. A few remained inside paper envelopes with dates scrawled across the fronts in blue ink.
Carter’s face brightened. “These are old pictures.”
Robby leaned forward to look inside. “That appears to be the theme.”
Carter pulled out the first photograph.
A much younger Robby stood waist-deep in lake water, both arms thrown into the air and his mouth open in outrage. Sunlit water droplets hung around him, and a dark object floated several feet away.
Carter held the photograph up. “What happened to you?”
Robby squinted at it. “Your aunt shoved me off the dock.”
Carter studied his father’s expression. “Why?”
“She was violent,” Robby said.
Carter looked over the top edge of the picture. “What did you do first?”
Robby shifted on the bucket.
Carter continued watching him.
“I may have thrown one of her sandals into the lake,” Robby admitted.
Carter glanced at the object floating behind him in the photograph. “Is that the sandal?”
“Probably,” Robby said.
“Then she wasn’t violent,” Carter decided. “She was getting it back.”
“With my body?” Robby asked incredulously.
Carter placed the picture carefully on the concrete. “It worked.”
Robby pointed at him. “You are disturbingly loyal to her.”
“She gives me money for the ice-cream truck,” Carter said.
“So your loyalty has been purchased,” Robby said.
Carter reached into the box again. “That’s how money works.”
The next photograph showed you and Robby sitting on the hood of an old car. You had one arm hooked around your brother’s neck while Robby held two rapidly melting ice-cream cones away from both of you. You were laughing.
Carter smiled down at it. “Auntie looks the same.”
Robby leaned closer. “Tell her that. She’ll like you even more.”
“Her hair is different,” Carter observed.
“She’ll like that part less,” Robby said.
Carter placed the photograph beside the first and reached into the box again.
The next photograph made Carter laugh before Robby could see it.
“What?” Robby asked as he held out his hand. “Let me see.”
Carter passed it over, still grinning.
The picture had been taken at the end of a wooden dock. Robby and Jack were soaked through, barefoot in their swim trunks, and caught halfway through what looked like a wrestling match. Jack had one arm hooked around Robby’s neck while Robby had both arms locked around Jack’s waist, both of them grinning at the camera like they had spent the entire afternoon making themselves everyone else’s problem.
Carter leaned closer and pointed at Jack. “His hair is different.”
Robby looked down at the photograph. Jack’s hair had been dark then, wet curls falling over his forehead.
“It wasn’t gray yet,” Carter added.
“No,” Robby said. “It wasn’t.”
Carter studied the picture for another moment. “Who won?”
“I did,” Robby answered.
Carter looked at the way Jack had Robby caught beneath one arm. “It doesn’t look like you did.”
Robby lowered the photograph. “A picture only shows one second.”
Carter raised a skeptical brow. “Was that second before Uncle Jack threw you in?”
Robby set the photograph on the floor. “We’re moving on.”
Carter smiled. “That means yes.”
“It means history has been imperfectly preserved,” Robby countered.
Carter began sorting through the remaining photographs, creating loose, uneven piles on the garage floor.
There were pictures of you, and Robby stretched across a picnic blanket, each trying to shove the other out of the frame. Jack asleep in a lawn chair with an open paperback covering his face. All three of you crowded around a bonfire. Robby holding up a small fish while you stood behind him pretending to gag. Jack wearing mirrored sunglasses and looking deeply unimpressed with whoever held the camera.
An entire summer had been preserved in square, sun-faded pieces.
“Why is Auntie wearing Uncle Jack’s hat?” Carter asked as he held up another picture.
Robby glanced over. “Because your aunt stole anything that wasn’t physically attached to someone.”
Carter looked at the baseball cap sitting low over your eyes. “Did she give it back?”
“Probably not,” Robby said.
Carter selected another picture. “Why is Uncle Jack asleep on the grass?”
“He claimed it was comfortable,” Robby said.
Carter looked at him. “Was it?”
“No,” Robby answered.
“Then why did he sleep there?” Carter asked.
“He was in his twenties,” Robby said with a shrug. “Logic was still developing.”
Carter placed that photograph onto the pile and reached deeper into the box.
Then he stopped.
Robby did not notice immediately. He had moved to the shelves and was checking behind a stack of old folding chairs.
When Carter remained quiet for several seconds, Robby looked back.
His son sat perfectly still, one photograph held carefully between both hands.
“What did you find?” Robby asked.
Carter did not answer.
His brow had furrowed as he stared at the picture.
“Carter?” Robby prompted as he straightened.
Carter slowly turned the photograph around.
Robby recognized it immediately.
You were curled sideways in the passenger seat of Jack’s old Jeep, your knees pulled close. Your arms were folded across Jack’s shoulder, and your cheek rested on top of them, your body tucked comfortably into his side.
Jack sat behind the wheel in a plain white T-shirt, his head tipped back against the seat. His dark hair was thick and wind-tossed, and his eyes were closed. A soft, private smile rested on his mouth.
The lake stretched blue behind you beneath a nearly white summer sky.
Nothing about the photograph had been arranged.
That was what made it intimate.
You looked as though you had folded yourself against Jack without thinking. Jack looked as though he had forgotten anyone else was there.
Carter looked from the photograph to Robby.
“She’s using him as a pillow,” Carter said.
“She had a tendency to do that,” Robby replied.
Carter looked down at the picture again. “Does she still?”
“No,” Robby said.
Carter raised his head. “Why not?”
Robby turned toward the shelves again. “People get older.”
“That doesn’t answer the question,” Carter said.
Robby closed his eyes briefly.
“No,” Robby admitted. “It doesn’t.”
Carter traced one finger carefully along the faded white edge.
“Uncle Jack looks happy,” Carter said.
Robby glanced back at the photograph.
Jack did look happy.
Not the quiet, restrained happiness Robby knew now. Not the small smile Jack gave Carter after a joke or the tired amusement he wore after a manageable shift.
He looked young and completely unguarded.
He looked gone for you.
“He was,” Robby said.
Carter’s eyes shifted to your face. “Auntie looks happy too.”
“Yeah,” Robby said softly. “She was.”
Carter studied the two of you for another moment.
Then he looked up at his father.
“Were they boyfriend and girlfriend?” Carter asked.
Robby huffed out a quiet laugh. “That depends which one you ask.”
Carter shifted closer. “What does Uncle Jack say?”
“He says they were,” Robby replied.
Carter glanced down at the photograph. “What does Auntie say?”
“She says it was only a summer,” Robby said.
Carter frowned. “That’s not no.”
“No,” Robby conceded. “It isn’t.”
“Did they kiss?” Carter asked.
Robby gave him a warning look. “I’m not discussing your aunt’s kissing history with you.”
Carter pointed toward the photograph. “They look like they kissed.”
Robby pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. “You’re nine.”
“I know what kissing is,” Carter said.
“That is not the reassuring statement you think it is,” Robby replied.
Carter looked at the photograph again. “Why did they stop being boyfriend and girlfriend?”
Robby reached into the box and began gathering some of the scattered pictures. “Jack joined the Army. He left for basic training at the end of that summer.”
“Did they break up?” Carter asked.
“Not exactly,” Robby answered.
“Did they have a fight?” Carter asked.
“No,” Robby said.
“Did Uncle Jack do something bad?” Carter continued.
“No,” Robby replied.
“Did Auntie?” Carter asked.
“No,” Robby said again.
Carter’s frown deepened. “Then why did they stop?”
“Because Jack left,” Robby explained.
“But he came back,” Carter pointed out.
“Eventually,” Robby said.
“And Auntie was still here,” Carter added.
Robby gave him a wary look. “Yes.”
Carter stared at his father. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“No,” Robby said before he could stop himself. “It doesn’t.”
Carter’s expression changed.
It was subtle, a thoughtful press of his mouth, a slight narrowing of his eyes, but Robby recognized the look. His son had found a problem, and he was beginning to organize it inside his head.
Robby held out his hand. “Let me have that before you bend it.”
Carter kept the photograph resting on his knees. “Did Auntie want Uncle Jack to stay?”
“I don’t know,” Robby said.
“You know everything about Auntie,” Carter insisted.
“I absolutely do not,” Robby replied.
“She calls you every day,” Carter said.
“That doesn’t mean she provides a detailed emotional transcript,” Robby told him.
Carter studied Jack’s face. “Did Uncle Jack want her to wait?”
Robby hesitated.
Carter immediately looked up. “You made a face.”
“I did not make a face,” Robby said.
“You did,” Carter insisted.
“I have one face,” Robby replied.
“You have lots of faces,” Carter said. “That was your yes face.”
“I don’t have a yes face,” Robby argued.
“You do when Auntie asks if you ate lunch,” Carter said.
Robby pressed his lips together.
Carter nodded knowingly. “That one too.”
Robby stood and brushed the dust from his jeans. “We were looking for a baseball glove.”
Carter held the photograph against his shirt. “Did Auntie talk to him after he left?”
“She wrote to him,” Robby said as he moved another cooler away from the wall.
Carter’s eyes widened. “Real letters?”
“Yes, real letters,” Robby answered.
“With stamps?” Carter asked.
“With stamps,” Robby confirmed.
Carter stared at him. “Why didn’t she text him?”
Robby looked back over his shoulder. “Because some of us lived before constant internet access.”
Carter’s expression suggested this was barely believable.
“Does Uncle Jack still have them?” Carter asked.
Robby turned back to the shelves. “How would I know?”
“You’re his best friend,” Carter said.
“I do not inventory Jack’s personal belongings,” Robby replied.
Carter looked down at the picture. “They look like they loved each other.”
The simple certainty in his voice made Robby pause.
Robby considered correcting him. He could have explained that they had been young, that it had been brief, and that sometimes affection survived long after a relationship ended.
Instead, he remembered Jack leaving that summer.
He remembered you pretending not to be heartbroken.
“They did,” Robby said quietly.
Carter raised his eyes. “Do they still?”
Robby went still.
Outside, a dog barked twice. The air conditioner hummed through the garage wall, and a dry leaf scraped across the concrete.
Carter looked deeply unimpressed. “That usually means yes.”
Robby frowned. “Who told you that?”
“Movies,” Carter said.
“That explains very little and concerns me greatly,” Robby replied.
Carter glanced toward the house, where the television waited in the living room.
Robby began stacking the photographs and returning them to the cardboard box.
“We’re done with ancient history,” Robby said. “Help me check beneath that tarp.”
Carter glanced down at the Jeep photograph one last time.
While Robby turned to shift a pair of folding chairs and a cooler, Carter folded the picture against his palm, not enough to crease it, only enough to hide it, and slipped it carefully into the deep pocket of his shorts.
By the time Robby turned around, Carter was crouched near the canvas tarp with both hands apparently empty.
Together, they dragged the cooler several inches from the wall.
The edge of the canvas tarp shifted with it, revealing the worn leather pocket of Carter’s glove beneath a collapsed camping chair.
“There,” Robby said as he pointed. “Your glove.”
Carter dropped to his knees and pulled it free. “I knew it was out here.”
Robby stared at him. “You accused me of losing it.”
“I was considering possibilities,” Carter said as he slid the glove onto his hand.
“You owe me forty minutes,” Robby told him.
Carter opened and closed the glove. “How do I give you minutes?”
“I’ll figure something out,” Robby said.
Carter headed toward the open garage door, striking the glove with his fist as though catching an invisible ball.
At the threshold, he stopped.
“Your conference is next weekend, right?” Carter asked as he turned back.
Robby bent to replace the lid on a storage tote. “Yeah.”
“And Auntie’s staying with me?” Carter continued.
“She’s taking most of the weekend,” Robby answered.
Carter slipped one hand into the pocket containing the photograph. “Is Uncle Jack coming too?”
“He’s covering Saturday while your aunt has plans,” Robby said.
Carter’s fingers settled against the faded edge of the picture.
“Only Saturday?” Carter asked.
Robby looked up. “Why?”
Carter withdrew his empty hand from his pocket. “No reason.”
“That sounded like a reason,” Robby said.
Carter began walking backward toward the house. “Can we watch a movie tonight?”
Robby narrowed his eyes. “Which movie?”
“I’ll pick,” Carter said as he turned around.
“That answer did not make me less suspicious,” Robby called after him.
Carter disappeared inside without responding.
Robby remained in the garage, surrounded by open bins and displaced camping equipment, with the uneasy feeling that he had just told his son something he would eventually regret.
Inside the house, Carter carried the photograph directly to his bedroom and tucked it beneath the book on his nightstand.
Then he returned to the living room, picked up the remote, and searched until he found the movie he remembered seeing advertised.
Two girls smiled back at him from the screen beneath the title.
Carter settled into the couch and selected The Parent Trap.
By the time Robby came inside, Carter was watching very carefully.
Auntie was staying Friday.
Uncle Jack was only coming Saturday.
Carter kept his eyes on the girls scheming across the screen.
Summary: You arrive at Robby’s house expecting a quiet weekend with Carter and find Jack’s truck already in the driveway. Carter insists the overlap is accidental. Neither of you believes him. By the end of the night, an old photograph, a box of letters, and one unanswered question make it clear that Carter’s plans are only getting started.
Warnings: no major warnings; past romantic history, references to Jack leaving for Army basic training, meddling-child behavior, emotional incompetence, competitive board-game conduct
Author's Note:
Welcome to the first official chapter of The Nephew Trap!
After discovering photographic evidence of Auntie and Uncle Jack’s long-ago summer romance, Carter has decided that their current relationship status is unacceptable. His first step is simple: get them into the same house for an entire weekend and hope they remember how much they like each other. Unfortunately for Jack and Reader, Carter is remarkably good at selective honesty. This chapter has forced-proximity babysitting, adjoining rooms, Jack being interrogated during a game of catch, domestic taco preparation, an aggressively competitive game of Sorry!, and the reveal that Jack kept every letter Reader sent him during basic training.
Carter may be nine, but he has a plan.
Xoxo, Del
| Prologue |
Jack’s truck was already parked in Robby’s driveway.
You slowed behind it, one hand still resting on the steering wheel, and stared through the windshield.
Jack was not supposed to be there until Saturday evening.
At least, that was the arrangement Robby had given you. You were staying with Carter while he attended a medical conference, and Jack was covering the few hours you would be gone for dinner Saturday night.
Simple.
There was no reason for Jack’s truck to be sitting in the driveway before noon on Friday.
The front door opened before you could reach for your overnight bag.
Carter stepped onto the porch in basketball shorts and a faded Pirates T-shirt. His face brightened when he spotted you.
“Auntie!” Carter called as he hurried down the steps.
You climbed out just in time for him to throw both arms around your waist.
“Hi, bud,” you said, bending to squeeze him. “Did your dad leave you anything edible before he abandoned the state?”
Carter pulled back and nodded. “He made eggs.”
“Then I’ll postpone calling social services,” you told him.
You opened the back door and pulled out your overnight bag. As you lifted the strap onto your shoulder, Carter rocked on the balls of his feet beside you.
Your attention shifted to the truck.
“Why is Uncle Jack here?” you asked, pointing toward it.
Carter followed your gesture. “He’s staying too.”
Your hand stilled on the strap. “He’s what?”
Carter turned toward the house. “He brought groceries.”
You followed him across the driveway, your confusion growing with every step.
“Carter,” you said as he reached the porch, “Uncle Jack is supposed to come tomorrow while I’m at dinner.”
Carter pushed open the front door. “I know.”
“Then why is he here now?” you asked as you followed him inside.
Carter stepped into the entryway and looked back at you. “I asked him to come early.”
You stopped beneath the doorway. “You did what?”
“I called him,” Carter explained, as though this were the obvious solution.
Before you could ask why your nine-year-old nephew was independently reorganizing his childcare arrangements, Jack’s duffel caught your eye.
It sat beside the stairs, zipped shut, with a sweatshirt folded over the top.
You pointed toward it. “Why does he have luggage?”
Carter glanced at the bag. “Because I told him to stay.”
“For tonight?” you asked, looking back at Carter.
“For the weekend,” Carter clarified.
You stared at him.
Carter returned the look with a level of composure no child caught rearranging multiple adults’ lives should possess.
Jack stepped out of the kitchen before you could question him again.
He carried two paper grocery bags against his chest, with a receipt caught between his fingers. He wore jeans and a dark T-shirt, and his reading glasses sat low on his nose while he scanned the receipt. His gray hair was slightly disordered, as though he had already run his hand through it several times that morning.
Jack looked up.
His gaze found your face first, then dropped to the bag hanging from your shoulder.
He stopped walking.
“You brought a bag,” Jack observed.
You shifted your attention pointedly toward his duffel. “So did you.”
Carter slipped past both of you and returned to the kitchen island.
“Good,” Carter said as he climbed onto a stool. “Everybody’s here.”
Jack slowly turned toward him. “Why did you say that like this was a scheduled outcome?”
Carter looked between you and Jack. “Because I invited both of you.”
You set your overnight bag beside Jack’s duffel and followed them into the kitchen.
“What exactly did you tell him?” you asked, pointing toward Jack as Carter began tracing his finger along the edge of the counter.
Carter kept his eyes down. “That you had plans.”
“One date,” you corrected as you folded your arms. “Tomorrow night.”
Jack’s attention shifted toward you. “A date?”
You caught the slight change in his face and narrowed your eyes. “Stay focused.”
Jack pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “I am focused.”
“You made a face,” you told him.
Jack’s expression settled into deliberate neutrality. “I did not make a face.”
Carter looked up. “You did.”
Jack turned his head toward him. “This conversation is about you.”
Carter lowered his gaze.
Jack set the grocery bags on the counter before looking back at you.
“He called me last night,” Jack explained. “He said he wasn’t sure how much you’d be here because you had plans.”
You stared across the island at Carter. “You know I’m staying all weekend.”
Carter lifted one shoulder. “You said you had plans.”
“Saturday night,” you reminded him.
Carter tapped his finger on the counter. “You didn’t say those were your only plans.”
Jack folded his arms over his chest. “He also said he didn’t want to be alone if you left before I got here.”
You looked back at Jack. “You were supposed to get here before I left.”
Jack glanced toward Carter. “That information was not included.”
Carter looked down again.
You planted both hands on the edge of the island. “So you called Uncle Jack and told him I might not be around.”
Carter swallowed before answering. “I said I didn’t know how much you’d be around.”
“You did know,” you said, keeping your eyes on him.
“I knew you were leaving,” Carter replied.
“For dinner,” you emphasized.
Carter lifted his shoulders. “That is still leaving.”
Jack rubbed one hand along his jaw.
“I asked whether he wanted me to come for the full weekend,” Jack said. “He said yes.”
You turned toward Jack. “And you just agreed?”
Jack’s eyebrows rose. “He sounded worried.”
Carter’s expression softened as he looked down.
“I was worried,” Carter said quietly.
Jack’s attention shifted back to him.
You watched Carter twist his hands in his lap.
“I wanted both of you here,” he added without looking up.
The answer was sweet enough to dull the edge of your irritation.
Only slightly.
You stepped around the island and stopped beside his stool.
“You could have asked me,” you said, resting a hand on the back of his stool.
Carter tipped his head back to look at you. “You would’ve said Uncle Jack was coming tomorrow.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again.
Carter turned toward Jack. “And you would’ve said Auntie already had it handled.”
Jack’s jaw shifted, but he did not deny it.
You pulled your phone from your bag.
“I’m calling your father,” you announced as you searched for Robby’s name.
Carter returned his attention to the counter. “He’s at the airport.”
You glanced at him over the top of your phone. “You have been remarkably thorough.”
Jack leaned one hip against the counter. “Put him on speaker. I’d like to know whether your brother authorized any part of this.”
Robby answered after several rings, airport noise filling the background.
“Hey,” Robby greeted.
You tapped the speaker button and held the phone between yourself and Jack.
“Michael,” you said.
Jack glanced toward Carter. “Did he just get full-named?”
Carter looked up at Jack. “That means she’s mad.”
Robby released a tired sigh through the phone. “What happened?”
You looked pointedly at Carter. “Your son called Jack and invited him to move into your house for the weekend.”
Carter immediately sat straighter. “I did not invite him to move in.”
Jack pressed his lips together, visibly fighting a smile.
Robby went quiet for a moment.
“Jack,” Robby said carefully, “why are you there?”
Jack shifted closer to your phone. “Carter called me last night.”
Robby remained silent, so Jack continued.
“He said he wasn’t sure how much his aunt would be around because she had plans,” Jack explained.
Robby’s confusion came clearly through the speaker. “She has dinner Saturday.”
“I am now aware of that,” Jack replied.
You pointed toward Carter. “He made it sound like I had an entire mysterious weekend elsewhere.”
Carter frowned at you. “I didn’t say mysterious.”
Jack tilted his head. “No. He allowed me to supply that detail independently.”
Robby exhaled slowly. “Carter, did you tell Jack your aunt wasn’t staying?”
Carter shook his head before remembering his father could not see him.
“No,” Carter answered. “I said I didn’t know how much she would be around.”
Robby’s tone sharpened slightly. “You did know.”
Carter gripped the edge of the counter. “She has plans.”
You held up one finger. “One dinner.”
Carter glanced between you and Jack. “That could take a long time.”
Jack looked away, but not before you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
You pointed at him. “Do not encourage him.”
Jack looked back at you. “I am doing nothing.”
“You are enjoying this,” you accused.
Jack glanced toward Carter. “I’m impressed by his commitment to technical accuracy.”
Carter’s face brightened.
Jack immediately lifted a hand. “That was not praise.”
Robby’s voice cut back through the kitchen.
“Okay,” Robby said. “Jack was only supposed to cover Saturday night.”
You nodded firmly at the phone. “Thank you.”
“But you’re both already there,” Robby continued.
Your nod stopped.
“That is not an argument,” you told him.
“It is when my flight boards in ten minutes,” Robby replied.
Jack looked toward the two overnight bags in the entryway.
“I can leave,” Jack offered.
Carter’s face fell.
You noticed.
So did Jack.
Robby’s voice softened. “Carter clearly wants both of you there.”
Robby paused as airport announcements echoed behind him.
“You both took the weekend off, you’re already at the house, and I trust you to sort it out,” he added.
Jack looked at Carter, who had begun studying the marbled kitchen island with unnecessary concentration.
“Your father is a coward,” Jack said.
You slipped the phone back into your bag. “He has always been a coward.”
Carter lifted his head and looked between you.
“So Uncle Jack can stay?” he asked hopefully.
You turned toward Jack.
Jack met your eyes across the kitchen.
Neither of you answered immediately.
Carter waited.
Jack broke eye contact first and glanced toward his duffel.
“I can go,” Jack said, his voice quieter now. “This was supposed to be your weekend with him.”
Carter’s face fell before he could hide it.
You saw Jack notice too.
You exhaled and rested one hand against the island.
“You already came all the way over here,” you said.
Jack lifted one shoulder. “I know how to drive home.”
Carter looked down.
“I wanted you to stay,” he admitted.
Jack’s expression softened. “I know, buddy.”
Carter dragged his finger slowly along the edge of the counter. “Both of you.”
That landed differently.
You looked at Jack again.
“It’s two nights,” you said finally.
Jack studied your face. “Are you sure?”
You picked up your bag from beside his. “No. But apparently I am outnumbered.”
Carter’s expression brightened instantly.
Jack glanced at him and then back at you.
“That recovery was suspiciously fast,” Jack said.
Carter grinned. “I feel better.”
“You’re a menace,” you told him.
Carter smile grew. “Dad says I get it from you.”
You stared at him.
Jack coughed into his fist.
You turned sharply. “Was that another laugh?”
Jack shook his head as he reached for the grocery bags. “Breathing.”
“You should see someone about that,” you muttered.
Jack carried the groceries farther into the kitchen, his smile still visible in profile.
Behind you, Carter watched the two overnight bags resting together beside the stairs.
The first part of his plan had worked.
You hooked your fingers beneath the strap of your overnight bag and lifted it onto your shoulder.
“Which room am I in?” you asked, turning toward Carter.
Carter slid down from the stool and headed for the stairs.
“The guest room,” he answered over his shoulder.
Jack retrieved his duffel from beside yours and followed the two of you.
“And where is Uncle Jack sleeping?” you asked as you started upstairs.
Carter reached the landing and pointed toward the end of the hall.
“The office,” he said.
Jack adjusted the strap of his duffel.
“The office has a bed?” he asked.
Carter crossed the hall and pushed open the door.
“It has a futon,” he explained.
Jack peered into the room.
“That is not quite the same thing,” he said.
Carter pointed toward the folded futon against the wall.
“It turns into a bed,” he insisted.
Jack stepped inside and lowered his duffel onto it.
“I’ve slept in worse places,” he conceded.
You stopped in the doorway behind him.
“That is not a particularly enthusiastic endorsement,” you said.
Jack glanced back at you.
“It wasn’t meant to be,” he replied.
Carter crossed the office and opened a door beside the bookshelf.
“There’s a bathroom too,” he announced.
You followed him through the doorway and found a narrow bathroom with another door on the opposite side.
Carter opened that one and stepped into the guest room.
“And Auntie sleeps in here,” he said, gesturing toward the bed.
You set your bag on top of the comforter before looking back through the bathroom.
“The rooms connect,” Carter beamed.
Jack stood in the opposite doorway with one hand resting against the frame.
“Convenient,” he said.
Carter smiled. You caught it.
“Why do you look so pleased?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.
Carter’s expression immediately flattened.
“I don’t,” he replied.
Jack looked down at him. “You do.”
Carter turned toward the hallway.
“I’m going downstairs,” he announced before slipping out of the room.
You watched him disappear.
“He’s being weird,” you said.
Jack removed his glasses and began wiping the lenses against the hem of his shirt.
“He successfully manipulated both of us into spending a weekend together,” he replied. “I think we’re past weird.”
You watched him slide the glasses back onto his face.
“You really thought I might not be here?” you asked.
Jack’s hand paused beside the frame.
“He sounded worried,” he answered.
You leaned one hip against the dresser.
“That isn’t what I asked,” you said.
Jack lowered his hand. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he glanced through the open bathroom toward your room.
“You had plans,” he said.
You folded your arms across your chest.
“One date,” you reminded him.
Jack lifted one shoulder.
“I didn’t know that,” he replied.
“You could have called me,” you pointed out.
Jack gave you a look.
“And said what?” he asked. “‘Your nephew told me you have a mysterious social life. Please account for your movements’?”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Jack smiled at the sound.
“You could have asked whether I was still covering the weekend,” you said.
Jack’s smile faded into something quieter.
“You said yes to Robby,” he replied. “I didn’t think you’d leave Carter without someone.”
You held his gaze.
“No,” you said. “I wouldn’t.”
Jack’s expression softened.
“I know,” he answered.
The certainty in his voice settled strangely beneath your ribs.
You looked away first and reached for the zipper on your bag.
“You could still go home,” you said as you opened it.
Jack remained in the bathroom doorway.
“I could,” he replied.
Neither of you moved.
From downstairs, Carter shouted both of your names.
You pulled a folded shirt from your bag and placed it on the bed.
“Come on,” you said, turning toward the hallway. “Before he plans the rest of our lives.”
Jack pushed away from the doorframe and followed you into the guest room.
You had almost reached the hall when his voice stopped you.
“Hey,” Jack called softly.
You turned back toward him.
Jack stood between the two rooms, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans.
“Good to see you,” he said.
The last of your irritation slipped away before you could hold on to it.
“You too,” you replied.
Jack smiled.
It was small and warm and painfully familiar.
Carter called your names again, louder this time.
You tilted your head toward the stairs.
“We should go before he comes looking for us,” you said.
Jack stepped into the hallway beside you.
“He’ll give us another thirty seconds,” he replied. “Then he’s coming up.”
As though summoned by the prediction, Carter shouted again from downstairs.
You started toward the stairs.
“There it is,” you said.
Jack followed, smiling faintly.
A few minutes later, Carter slipped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him.
He crossed to his nightstand and lifted the book resting on top of the old photograph.
Separate rooms were not ideal.
Connected rooms would have to do.
Carter lowered the book into place again and hurried out to the kitchen.
He found you standing at the kitchen island, removing groceries from one of the paper bags while Jack arranged them inside the refrigerator.
Carter stopped in the doorway.
You passed Jack a carton of eggs without looking up.
Jack took it from your hand without looking back.
Neither of you seemed to notice.
Carter did.
“What are we doing today?” Carter asked as he entered the kitchen.
You pulled a loaf of bread from the bag and glanced toward him.
“What do you want to do?” you asked.
Carter climbed onto his stool.
“I don’t know,” he replied, resting his elbows on the island.
Jack closed the refrigerator and turned toward him.
“That is not a useful contribution,” Jack said.
Carter looked at you.
“Auntie usually has ideas,” he pointed out.
You placed the bread on the counter.
“Auntie usually has advance notice that she’s planning activities for three people,” you replied.
Jack reached into the second grocery bag.
“I bought lunch,” he offered.
You glanced at the container in his hand.
“You bought enough lunch for the Steelers’ offensive line,” you observed.
Jack set the container of deli meat beside the bread.
“I was told your availability was uncertain,” he reminded you.
Carter quietly lowered his gaze to the island. You looked toward him.
“Nice try,” you said.
Carter traced one finger through a small patch of condensation.
“I didn’t say anything,” he replied.
“You didn’t have to,” you told him.
Jack removed a bottle of coffee creamer from the bag and set it on the counter.
Your attention caught on the familiar label. Your favorite.
“You bought that?” you asked, pointing toward it.
Jack followed your gaze.
“It’s creamer,” he answered.
“I can see that,” you said as you picked it up. “Robby doesn’t drink this kind.”
Carter looked at the bottle in your hand.
“Dad drinks the plain one,” he confirmed.
Jack began folding the empty grocery bag.
“I must have grabbed the wrong one,” he said.
You turned the bottle around and looked at the label. “You accidentally grabbed the exact creamer I use?”
Jack kept his attention on the paper bag.
“It was next to the other one,” he replied.
Carter looked between you.
“You knew which one Auntie likes,” he said.
Jack flattened the bag against the counter.
“I have seen her drink coffee before,” he answered.
You studied him. “You remembered.”
Jack finally looked at you.
“You still use it, don’t you?” he asked.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the bottle.
“Yes,” you admitted.
Jack gave a small nod.
“Then I remembered correctly,” he said.
The simplicity of the answer left you with nowhere to put the sudden warmth spreading through your chest.
You opened the refrigerator and placed the creamer inside.
Carter watched you put it beside Jack’s carton of milk.
One shelf.
That seemed promising.
You closed the refrigerator and turned back toward the island.
“Lunch first,” you decided. “Then we can figure out the rest of the day.”
Carter sat straighter.
“Can we go to the batting cages?” he asked.
Jack pulled a cutting board from beneath the counter.
“I thought you hated the batting cages,” he said.
Carter frowned at him. “I don’t hate them.”
“The last time we went, you said the pitching machine was trying to kill you,” Jack reminded him.
“It was throwing too fast,” Carter muttered.
You leaned against the counter beside Jack.
“We can go somewhere else,” you offered.
Carter glanced between you. “Could we all go to the park?”
Jack set a knife beside the cutting board.
“All three of us?” he clarified.
Carter nodded.
“You’re both here,” he said simply.
Jack looked at you. You held his gaze for a moment before lifting one shoulder.
“The park sounds harmless,” you said.
Jack turned back toward Carter.
“The park it is,” he agreed.
Carter smiled. You reached for the bread.
“What kind of sandwich do you want?” you asked him.
Carter looked at the ingredients spread across the island.
“Turkey and cheese,” he answered.
Jack opened the container of turkey. “With mustard?”
Carter shook his head.
“Mayonnaise,” he corrected.
You opened the refrigerator again.
“You hated mayonnaise last month,” you said as you searched the door.
Carter rested his chin in his hand.
“I changed my mind,” he explained.
Jack glanced toward you.
“He’s allowed to grow,” he said.
You found the jar and placed it beside him.
“You’re defending him because he complimented your grocery choices,” you accused.
Jack picked up the jar. “He has excellent judgment.”
Carter smiled at Jack. You pointed the loaf of bread at both of them.
“I see how this weekend is going to go,” you said.
Jack’s mouth curved as he reached for the bread.
“You’ve been here less than an hour,” he reminded you.
“And I’ve already been deceived, outvoted, and assigned half a bathroom,” you replied.
Carter raised his hand from the island.
“You got the better bedroom,” he pointed out.
You looked at him. “Whose side are you on?”
Carter considered the question. “Both.”
Jack glanced toward him.
“That sounds suspiciously diplomatic,” he observed.
Carter lowered his hand.
“I’m hungry,” he announced.
You exchanged a look with Jack.
Jack passed you two slices of bread. You accepted them and moved closer to the cutting board.
For the next several minutes, the three of you fell into an easy rhythm. Jack assembled the sandwiches. You sliced strawberries. Carter stole slices of cheese whenever he thought neither of you was watching. Jack caught his wrist on the fourth attempt.
“That belongs on your sandwich,” Jack said, holding Carter’s hand above the cutting board.
Carter looked at the piece of cheese between his fingers.
“It was extra,” he argued.
Jack glanced toward the sandwich.
“It was the last piece,” he replied.
You covered a laugh with the back of your hand. Carter looked toward you for help. You shook your head.
“You were caught in the act,” you told him. “I can’t save you.”
Carter placed the cheese reluctantly onto the bread. Jack released his wrist.
“Thank you,” Jack said.
Carter watched Jack turn back toward the counter. Then he looked at you. Then at Jack again.
The photograph had not lied.
You fit together so easily.
Carter only had to make sure the two of you noticed.
The park was quiet for a Friday afternoon.
You spread a blanket beneath a wide tree at the edge of the field while Carter carried two gloves and a baseball toward the open grass. Jack stopped beside the blanket and held out your book.
“You left this in your bag,” he said.
You looked up at him. “You went through my bag?”
Jack shifted the sunscreen tucked beneath his arm.
“I was looking for this,” he explained.
You took the paperback from him.
“And somehow found my book instead,” you said.
Jack lowered the sunscreen onto the blanket.
“It was a complicated search,” he replied.
Carter lifted his glove from several yards away.
“Uncle Jack,” he called. “Come on.”
Jack glanced toward him.
“I’ve been summoned,” he said.
You opened the book across your lap.
“Try not to injure each other,” you told him.
Jack started backing toward Carter.
“He’s nine,” he reminded you.
You raised your eyes from the page.
“I was talking to him,” you said.
Carter laughed as Jack turned toward the field.
You watched them move farther into the grass before lowering your attention to your book.
Carter threw first.
The ball sailed high and slightly to Jack’s left. Jack caught it easily, transferred it to his throwing hand, and sent it back in one smooth motion.
Carter caught it against his chest.
“Nice,” Jack called as he adjusted his glove.
Carter pulled the ball free.
“I’m glad Auntie is here,” he said.
Jack glanced toward the blanket beneath the tree. You had stretched out on your stomach, ankles crossed behind you, with your attention fixed on the page.
“Yeah,” Jack replied as he looked back at Carter. “Me too.”
Carter rolled the baseball between his palm and glove.
“She’s pretty cool,” he said.
Jack raised his glove.
“She is,” he agreed.
Carter threw the ball back.
“And nice,” he added.
Jack caught it near his shoulder.
“Usually,” he replied.
Carter frowned across the grass.
“She’s always nice,” he insisted.
Jack pulled the ball from his glove.
“You didn’t know her when she was seventeen,” he said.
Carter’s expression sharpened.
“What did she do when she was seventeen?” he asked.
Jack sent the ball back toward him.
“Nothing I’m telling you without your father present,” he answered.
Carter caught the throw against his chest.
“She’s funny too,” he continued.
Jack adjusted the glove on his hand.
“She thinks she is,” he said.
Carter glanced toward the blanket.
You turned a page, entirely unaware of the conversation happening across the field.
Carter tucked the ball against his hip. “And she’s really pretty.”
Jack’s eyebrows rose. “You think I haven’t noticed?”
Carter’s face brightened.
Jack immediately pointed the baseball at him. “That is not permission to do whatever you’re doing.”
Carter lifted his free hand.
“I’m not doing anything,” he claimed.
Jack gave him a long look. “You called me under false pretenses, arranged adjoining rooms, and now you’re listing your aunt’s best qualities,” he said. “You’re doing something.”
Carter shifted the ball beneath his arm.
“I’m making conversation,” he replied.
Jack held out his glove.
“Then make conversation about baseball,” he said.
Carter drew his arm back.
“Have you ever had a crush on someone?” he asked as he threw.
Jack caught the ball but did not immediately return it.
“That is not about baseball,” he pointed out.
Carter shrugged.
“I used to have a crush on someone in my class,” he explained.
Jack studied him for a moment.
“Did she know?” he asked.
Carter looked down at his glove.
“No,” he admitted.
Jack tossed the ball back more gently.
“Why not?” he asked.
Carter caught it against his chest.
“I didn’t tell her,” he said.
Jack nodded slowly.
“That would do it,” he replied.
Carter picked at one of the laces on his glove.
“Then she started liking somebody else,” he added.
Jack’s expression softened.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” he said.
Carter lifted his head.
“Have you ever done that?” he asked.
Jack narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Done what?” he asked.
Carter shifted his weight.
“Liked someone and not told them,” he clarified.
Jack’s gaze drifted toward the blanket again.
You had shifted onto your side, one hand tucked beneath your head while you read. The breeze lifted a few loose strands of hair across your cheek, and you brushed them away without looking up.
Carter followed Jack’s gaze. Jack finally turned back to him.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “I have.”
Carter’s eyes brightened.
“Was it Auntie?” he asked.
Jack pointed the baseball at him again.
“Catch,” he warned.
He threw the ball before Carter could ask anything else.
Carter scrambled to raise his glove and caught it awkwardly against his shoulder.
“That wasn’t an answer,” he called.
Jack lifted his glove.
“It was the only one you’re getting,” he replied.
Carter considered him for a moment. Then he drew his arm back.
“Okay,” he said.
He threw the ball. Jack caught it. Carter waited exactly two seconds.
“Did you ever kiss Auntie?” he asked.
Jack dropped the ball.
From the blanket, you looked up at the sound of Carter’s laughter carrying across the field.
Jack bent to retrieve the baseball.
“What happened?” you called.
Jack straightened and looked toward you.
“Nothing,” he called back.
Carter cupped his hand around his mouth.
“I asked him a question,” he shouted.
Jack reached over and lowered Carter’s arm.
“She doesn’t need the details,” he said.
Your eyes narrowed from beneath the tree.
“What question?” you called.
Carter opened his mouth.
Jack placed the baseball directly into it before he could answer.
Carter spluttered and pulled it away.
“You can’t do that,” he protested.
Jack walked backward across the grass.
“I just did,” he replied.
Carter wiped the ball against his shirt.
“That’s gross,” he complained.
Jack raised his glove.
“Then stop asking questions that make me panic,” he said.
You watched them for another moment.
Jack said something you could not hear. Carter grinned. Jack pointed at him in warning.
You shook your head and returned to your book, smiling despite yourself.
Across the field, Carter tossed the ball back to Jack.
The questions had worked.
Uncle Jack still thought Auntie was pretty.
That was important information.
By the time you returned to Robby’s house, Carter had grass stains on both knees and Jack had lost whatever authority he had started the afternoon with.
“He cheated,” Carter announced as he kicked off his sneakers in the entryway.
Jack closed the front door behind him.
“I adjusted the rules,” he corrected.
You lowered the folded blanket onto the bench.
“You threw the ball farther every time he caught it,” you said.
Jack placed the gloves beside the door.
“That is called encouraging growth,” he replied.
Carter pointed toward him.
“He made me run into a bush,” he said.
Jack looked down at him.
“The bush was avoidable,” he replied.
“It moved,” Carter insisted.
You turned toward Jack.
“The bush moved?” you asked.
Jack lifted one shoulder.
“I wasn’t watching the bush,” he said.
Carter started toward his bedroom.
“I’m telling Dad,” he called over his shoulder.
Jack watched him go.
“Your father has done worse,” he called after him.
Carter disappeared. You bent to pick up one of the sneakers he had left behind. Jack reached the other one first.
“He learned from Robby,” Jack said as he set it beside its match.
You straightened.
“That is an unfair accusation,” you replied.
Jack looked at you.
“I’ve known your brother longer than Carter has,” he said.
“You’ve also encouraged him for decades,” you pointed out.
Jack considered that.
“That is fair,” he admitted.
Carter shouted from his room that he could not find a clean shirt. You looked toward the hallway.
“He has an entire dresser,” you said.
Jack picked up the blanket.
“And yet the shirt remains hidden,” he replied.
You pointed toward the kitchen.
“You start dinner. I’ll find the missing clothing.”
Jack gave you a small nod.
“I can do that,” he said.
You started down the hall while Jack carried the blanket toward the laundry room.
By the time you returned, Carter had changed into clean shorts and a T-shirt and taken his usual place at the kitchen island.
Jack stood at the stove, breaking ground beef apart in a skillet with a wooden spoon.
“What are we making?” you asked as you walked into the kitchen.
Jack glanced over his shoulder.
“Tacos,” he answered.
You crossed to the refrigerator and opened it.
“Good choice,” you said.
Jack turned back to the stove.
“I thought so,” he replied.
You took out the tomatoes and lettuce, then opened a drawer for the cutting board. Jack shifted slightly to give you more room at the counter. You set the tomatoes beside the sink and reached for a knife. Without looking, Jack slid one toward you. You took it from the counter.
“Thanks,” you said.
Jack nodded as he stirred the meat.
“Mm-hm,” he replied.
You began slicing the tomatoes while he added seasoning to the skillet. Carter watched from the island. Jack opened the cabinet above him and reached for the taco shells. You moved the cutting board aside before his elbow could catch it. He set the box down in the space you had cleared. Neither of you commented on it. You finished the tomatoes and reached into the refrigerator for the cheese. Jack lowered the heat beneath the skillet.
“Lettuce too?” he asked.
You set the cheese on the counter.
“Already out,” you answered.
Jack glanced down and found it beside your cutting board.
“Right,” he said.
You began shredding the lettuce while he drained the meat. Jack reached behind you for a serving bowl. You shifted left before he had to ask. He passed close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“You’re fine,” you said without looking up.
Carter’s gaze followed the movement. Jack poured the meat into the bowl and set it on the island. You carried the tomatoes and lettuce over behind him.
“Cheese,” Jack said as he turned back toward the counter.
You handed it to him before he finished reaching. Jack looked at the bag in your hand, then at you.
“Thanks,” he said.
You smiled faintly.
“Mm-hm,” you replied.
Carter rested his chin in his hands. Neither of you had discussed who was doing what. Jack had started the meat. You had filled in everything around him.
By the time dinner was ready, the counter held the beef, tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, salsa, and warm taco shells in a neat line. Jack carried the last bowl to the island.
“Plates,” he said.
You opened the cabinet and took down three.
“Already on it,” you replied.
Carter watched you place them beside the food.
The park had given him answers.
Dinner was giving him evidence.
After the last plate had been loaded into the dishwasher, Carter disappeared down the hallway and returned with a blue box tucked beneath his arm.
“Can we play Sorry!?” he asked as he carried it into the living room.
You lowered yourself onto the rug beside the coffee table and held out your hands.
“Absolutely,” you answered.
Jack paused beside the couch.
“That was alarmingly enthusiastic,” he observed.
You took the box from Carter and pulled off the lid.
“It’s a board game, Jack,” you reminded him.
Jack sat on the edge of the couch and leaned toward the table.
“It’s a board game you once refused to finish because Robby sent you back to start,” he said.
You gathered the red pawns.
“Robby cheated,” you replied.
Jack claimed the green pieces.
“He drew a Sorry! card,” he corrected.
“He enjoyed it too much,” you argued as you placed your pawns in their starting circle.
Carter settled cross-legged across from you and arranged the blue pieces.
“Are you not supposed to enjoy winning?” he asked.
You glanced toward him.
“Not that much,” you explained.
Jack placed his final pawn on the board.
“That is exactly how much you should enjoy it,” he countered.
You looked across the table at him.
“That explains a lot about you,” you said.
Jack’s mouth curved.
“I’m comfortable with that,” he replied.
Jack reached for the deck, but you took it before he could.
“I’m shuffling,” you announced.
Jack withdrew his hand.
“Why?” he asked.
You began shuffling the cards.
“Because you bend them,” you explained.
Jack leaned back against the couch.
“I do not bend the cards,” he argued.
Carter looked toward him.
“Dad says you do,” he offered.
Jack’s expression tightened. “Your father is unreliable.”
You placed the deck in the center of the board.
“Carter goes first,” you decided.
The game remained peaceful until Jack drew a Sorry! card.
You saw his eyes settle on your red pawn.
“No,” you warned as you placed one hand beside it.
Jack lifted a green pawn from start.
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he said.
“You’re looking at mine,” you accused.
Jack reached around your hand and replaced your red pawn with his green one.
“Sorry,” he said as he returned your piece to start.
You stared at the displaced pawn.
“You don’t sound sorry,” you told him.
Jack settled back onto the couch.
“I’m honoring the title of the game,” he replied.
Carter laughed from across the table. You pointed toward Jack.
“Remember this when you get a chance to send him back,” you instructed Carter.
Jack looked toward your nephew.
“She’s recruiting you into a vendetta,” he warned.
Carter reached for the deck. “Will it help me win?”
You nodded firmly.
“Yes,” you answered.
Jack shook his head. “No.”
Carter drew his card.
“I’ll decide later,” he replied.
Several turns later, Jack moved one of his green pawns within a few spaces of home.
You watched him sit back with a satisfied smile.
“You look smug,” you observed.
Jack rested one ankle across his opposite knee.
“I’m winning,” he replied.
You drew an eleven. Your attention went immediately to the green pawn near home. Jack followed your gaze and lowered his foot to the floor.
“Don’t,” he warned.
You lifted the card between two fingers.
“Don’t what?” you asked innocently.
Jack pointed toward your other available pawn.
“You have another move,” he said.
You reached for the red piece across from his.
“Not a better one,” you replied.
You switched the pawns, placing yours close to home and sending Jack’s back across the board.
“Sorry,” you said sweetly as you discarded the card.
Carter burst into laughter. Jack stared at his displaced pawn.
“You’ve been waiting to do that,” he accused.
You smiled across the table.
“Since you sent me back to start,” you confirmed.
“That was fifteen minutes ago,” Jack reminded you.
You folded your hands beneath your chin.
“And I remembered,” you said.
Jack looked at you over the top of his glasses.
“You’re vindictive,” he told you.
You leaned back on one hand.
“You like that about me,” you replied.
Jack held your gaze for a beat.
“Occasionally,” he admitted.
Carter looked between the two of you before quietly drawing his next card.
By the end of the game, all four of Carter’s pawns were safely home while you and Jack each had two stranded on the board.
“I won,” Carter announced as he raised both arms.
You stared at his blue pieces. “How did that happen?”
Jack leaned forward and inspected the board.
“He played the game instead of trying to ruin my life,” he explained.
You looked up at him. “You started it.”
Jack began collecting his green pawns.
“And you escalated,” he replied.
Carter gathered the discarded cards into a pile. “Can we play again?”
You returned your red pieces to their starting circle.
“Absolutely,” you answered. “I want a fair game.”
Jack reset his pieces and looked down at you.
“The first game was fair,” he said.
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“You’re afraid I’ll beat you,” you challenged.
Jack leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“You came in third,” he reminded you.
You placed your last pawn into start.
“I beat you emotionally,” you replied.
Carter frowned. “What does that mean?”
Jack kept his eyes on you.
“It means she lost,” he explained.
You pushed the deck toward him.
“Shuffle the cards, Abbot,” you ordered.
Jack smiled as he picked them up.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
Carter watched the look that passed between you. Neither of you noticed him set his blue pawn down.
“I’ll be right back,” he announced as he pushed himself to his feet.
You adjusted one of your red pieces.
“Where are you going?” you asked.
Carter backed toward the hallway.
“I need something from my room,” he answered.
Jack began shuffling the deck.
“You have thirty seconds before we start without you,” he warned.
Carter hurried down the hall.
“You can’t start without me,” he called over his shoulder.
Jack squared the deck against the table.
“Then you’d better move quickly,” he replied.
Carter slipped into his bedroom and crossed to the nightstand. He lifted the book resting on top of the old photograph.
From the living room, your voice carried down the hallway. “You’re bending the cards.”
Jack answered a moment later. “I am not bending the cards.”
Carter picked up the photograph carefully by its edges.
It was time to find out exactly what had happened that summer.
Carter returned to the living room with the photograph tucked carefully behind his back.
Jack looked up from the deck in his hands.
“What do you have?” he asked as Carter stopped beside the coffee table.
Carter kept one hand hidden behind him.
“I found something,” he announced.
You adjusted one of your red pawns inside the starting circle.
“That sentence rarely ends well,” you said.
Carter stepped closer and placed the photograph in the center of the board. Jack’s hands went still around the cards. Your fingers froze against the red pawn.
The faded photograph lay across the path between your pieces, half covering the deck Jack had been shuffling.
You recognized the Jeep first. Then Jack’s dark hair. Then yourself, curled against his side with your arms wrapped around one of his and your head resting on his shoulder.
For one disorienting second, the room seemed to tilt backward through time.
Carter rested both hands against the edge of the coffee table.
“Were you boyfriend and girlfriend?” he asked.
“No,” you answered immediately.
“Yeah,” Jack said at the same time.
You turned toward him.
“We were not,” you insisted.
Jack lowered the cards onto the table.
“That isn’t how I remember it,” he replied.
Carter looked between the two of you.
“So one of you is wrong,” he concluded.
You picked up the photograph by its edges.
“No one is wrong,” you explained. “We just never called it that.”
Jack leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees.
“You never called it that,” he corrected.
You looked at him over the photograph.
“Neither did you,” you reminded him.
Jack’s mouth pulled slightly to one side.
“I didn’t think I needed to file paperwork,” he said.
Carter frowned.
“But you liked each other?” he asked.
You glanced back down at the picture. Jack’s smile in it was easy and unguarded, his cheek pressed lightly against the top of your head.
“Yes,” you admitted.
Beside you, Jack watched your face.
“Very much,” he added.
Your eyes lifted to his. The quiet certainty in his answer caught you off guard. Carter leaned closer to the table.
“Did you kiss?” he asked.
You turned sharply toward him.
“Carter,” you warned.
Carter pointed at the photograph.
“You’re sitting on him,” he said.
You looked down at the image.
“I am sitting beside him,” you corrected.
Jack studied the picture.
“You were mostly on me,” he said.
You stared at him. “That is not helpful.”
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“It is accurate,” he replied.
Carter’s eyes brightened.
“So you did kiss,” he concluded.
You lowered the photograph to the table.
“This conversation has taken an unfortunate turn,” you said.
Jack reached for the picture before you could move it farther away.
“Where did you find this?” he asked as he lifted it.
Carter folded his hands in his lap.
“In the garage,” he answered.
You looked at him.
“When were you in the garage?” you asked.
Carter shifted on the rug.
“When Dad and I were looking for my glove,” he explained.
Jack studied the faded photograph again.
“Robby kept this?” he asked.
Carter nodded.
“It was in a box with a lot of other pictures,” he said.
You leaned toward Jack and looked down at the image in his hands.
“I didn’t know this existed,” you admitted.
Jack rubbed his thumb lightly along the worn white border.
“Neither did I,” he replied.
Carter watched the two of you study the photograph together.
“What happened?” he asked.
You looked toward him.
“What do you mean?” you asked.
Carter pointed between you and Jack.
“If you liked each other, why did you stop?” he clarified.
Jack’s fingers tightened slightly around the photograph.
“I left,” he answered.
Carter turned toward him.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
Jack rested the photograph against his knee.
“Army basic training,” he explained.
Carter’s brow furrowed.
“So you broke up?” he asked.
You exchanged a glance with Jack.
“There wasn’t really anything to break up,” you said carefully. “We knew he was leaving.”
Jack looked down at the photograph.
“It was one summer,” he added.
One summer.
As though the length of something determined how much it had mattered.
Carter looked at you.
“Did you miss him?” he asked.
You smiled faintly despite yourself.
“Of course I did,” you answered.
Jack’s gaze lifted to yours. You looked away before the moment could settle too deeply.
“I wrote letters to him,” you added.
Carter turned back toward Jack.
“Letters?” he asked.
Jack nodded.
“Lots of them,” he answered.
You gave a quiet laugh.
“They were mostly nonsense,” you said.
Jack looked offended.
“They were not nonsense,” he argued.
You lifted your eyebrows.
“I once sent you four pages about Michael eating the yogurt I had hidden in the back of the refrigerator,” you reminded him.
Jack pointed toward you with the photograph.
“It had your name on it,” he said.
“Exactly,” you replied.
Jack nodded once.
“That was theft,” he said.
Carter looked between you.
“Dad stole your yogurt?” he asked.
You nodded solemnly.
“Your father has always been a criminal,” you told him.
Jack smiled before he could hide it. Carter’s attention shifted back to him.
“Did you write back?” he asked.
Jack tapped the edge of the photograph against his knee.
“When I could,” he answered.
You looked toward him.
“He wrote terrible letters,” you said.
Jack turned his head.
“I was busy,” he replied.
You raised your eyebrows.
“You once wrote, ‘It’s hot. Training is hard. I miss real food,’” you reminded him.
Jack pointed toward you with the photograph again.
“All accurate,” he said.
Carter smiled.
“What did Auntie write about?” he asked.
Jack glanced down at the picture.
“Home,” he answered. “Her job. Her friends. How school was going. Whatever your dad had done to annoy her that week.”
You folded your arms.
“Michael gave me plenty of material,” you said.
Carter looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he turned toward Jack again.
“Do you still have Auntie’s letters?” he asked.
You reached toward the board and began straightening the discarded cards.
“That was a very long time ago, bud,” you said.
Jack did not answer. Your hand slowed. Carter waited. You looked over at Jack. He was still holding the photograph, his eyes fixed on the younger versions of both of you.
“Jack?” you prompted.
Jack lifted his gaze.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly.
Your fingers stilled against the cards. Carter sat straighter.
“You kept them?” he asked.
Jack nodded once.
“All of them,” he said.
The room went very still. You searched his face.
“You still have every letter I sent you?” you asked.
Jack held your gaze.
“They’re in a box at my house,” he explained. “With some other things from then.”
You swallowed.
“You never told me,” you said.
Jack glanced down at the photograph again.
“You never asked,” he replied.
There was no accusation in the answer. That somehow made it land harder. Carter looked between you, barely containing his satisfaction.
“So you were boyfriend and girlfriend,” he concluded.
You turned toward him.
“That is not what we said,” you replied.
Carter pointed toward Jack.
“He kept all your letters,” he said.
You folded your arms.
“That still doesn’t mean we called each other boyfriend and girlfriend,” you explained.
Jack leaned back against the couch.
“I’m still voting yes,” he said.
You stared at him.
“There was no vote,” you replied.
Jack’s mouth curved.
“There is now,” he said.
Carter accepted the photograph when Jack handed it back.
“Two against one,” he announced.
You pointed at him.
“You do not get a vote,” you told him.
Carter looked down at the photograph.
“I found the evidence,” he said.
Jack covered a laugh with one hand. You narrowed your eyes at him.
“Do not encourage this,” you warned.
Jack lowered his hand.
“I’m not,” he replied.
“You absolutely are,” you said.
Carter held the photograph against his chest.
“Do you still like each other?” he asked.
The question quieted the room.
You looked at Jack. Jack looked back at you. Neither of you answered quickly enough.
Carter noticed.
You reached for the game pieces.
“Bedtime,” you announced.
Carter frowned.
“It’s not bedtime,” he protested.
You began dropping the pawns into the box.
“It is for children conducting interrogations,” you said.
Jack checked his watch.
“That feels legally questionable,” he observed.
You looked at him.
“Whose side are you on?” you asked.
Jack settled deeper into the couch.
“Currently? Carter’s,” he answered.
Carter grinned. You pointed toward the hallway.
“Both of you are impossible,” you said.
Carter rose from the rug and carried the photograph toward his room.
The adults could argue about what to call that summer.
They had liked each other.
They had kissed.
Auntie had written letters.
Uncle Jack had kept every one.
And when Carter asked whether they still liked each other, neither of them had said no.
