Chapter 7: The Front Door

I rang the bell. For a few seconds, nothing happened except the music getting slightly clearer. Then the door opened, and Ryan stood there, shirtless, holding a beer, grinning like he’d been waiting specifically for us.

He looked better in person than he had in the office. At work he was usually in a button-down with the sleeves rolled, the kind of casual that still cost money. Here he was bare-chested, tanned, and carrying the kind of muscle that came from consistent gym time rather than a weekend warrior routine—broad shoulders, a defined chest, abs that showed even when he wasn’t flexing. At six-two, he filled the doorway. Next to him I felt the familiar old math kick in: five-nine, average build, the brother who never cleared six feet. Sarah barely reached his chest.

“Nick,” he said, and pulled me into a one-armed hug that smelled like sunscreen and beer. “You made it. Good.”

He stepped back and looked at Sarah. The smile stayed, but something in it shifted—still warm, still easy, but slower. “You must be Sarah. My god, Nick, you did not do her any justice. She is absolutely gorgeous.”

Sarah’s face went pink immediately. She started to say something and stopped. Ryan didn’t wait. He leaned in and hugged her too, careful but not distant. I watched her shoulders jump at the first contact, then settle. Her free hand hovered for a second before it landed lightly on his back. When he let go, she was still flushed, but she managed a small smile.