Chapter 11

Finding Their Rhythm

Spring break came faster than either of them expected. The beach house David had rented was in the Outer Banks—a sprawling place with windows facing the ocean, enough bedrooms that everyone could have their own space, and a deck perfect for watching sunsets.

Rin and Kiko drove down together in Kiko’s car, a six-hour trip that gave them time to prepare mentally for a week with their parents as an openly acknowledged couple.

“Ground rules?” Kiko suggested as they merged onto the highway.

“Like what?”

“Like ... how much affection is okay in front of them? Do we hold hands at dinner? Kiss goodnight? What’s the line?”

Rin thought about it. “I think we follow their lead. If they seem comfortable, we can be more open. If they’re struggling, we pull back a little.”

“That seems reasonable.” Kiko changed lanes, overtaking a slow-moving truck. “What about sleeping arrangements? Do you think they’ll expect us to have separate rooms?”

“Probably. At least at first.” Rin reached over and took her hand. “But we can talk to them about it. See where they’re at.”

“This is going to be weird, isn’t it?”

“Probably. But we’ve handled weird before.”

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the landscape gradually shifting from urban to rural to coastal. When they finally pulled up to the beach house, David’s car was already in the driveway.

“Ready?” Kiko asked, putting the car in park.

“As I’ll ever be.”

They grabbed their bags and headed inside. The house was beautiful—all light wood and ocean views, the sound of waves a constant backdrop. Rin’s mother appeared from the kitchen, and Rin felt the familiar anxiety spike. But her mother was smiling.

“You made it!” She pulled Rin into a hug, then—after a brief hesitation—hugged Kiko too. “How was the drive?”

“Good,” Kiko said. “Easy traffic.”

David came down from upstairs. “Girls. Good to see you.” He hugged Kiko, held her a bit longer than usual, and Rin saw emotion flash across his face before he masked it. Then he hugged Rin too.

“So,” Rin’s mother said, and Rin could hear the careful tone in her voice. “We set up the two bedrooms at the end of the hall for you. They share a bathroom, so you’ll have your own space but you’re close together.”

Separate rooms, then. But close. It was a compromise, and Rin appreciated the effort.

“That sounds perfect,” Rin said. “Thank you.”

They carried their bags upstairs, and Rin saw that her mother had put thought into it—fresh flowers in both rooms, good reading lights, the kind of small touches that showed care. It made her throat tight with emotion.

“Your mom’s trying,” Kiko said quietly once they were alone in Rin’s room.

“She is. They both are.”

“So we try too.”

“Yeah. We try too.”

The first day was careful, everyone feeling out the boundaries of this new dynamic. They spent the afternoon on the beach, and Rin was hyperaware of every interaction. When Kiko’s hand brushed hers in the sand, should she hold it? When Kiko laughed at something David said, was it okay for Rin to look at her the way she wanted to?