Chapter 271 Homecoming

Chapter 271 Homecoming
Months had passed since that starlit night on the rooftop of Matteo’s Seafood Grill, where Millie and Evan had laid bare their hearts and love for each other. They had built a quiet life together—Millie balancing college and Evan managing his growing chain of restaurants, their days filled with mundane joys like late-night takeout and walks by the beach.
But the past still lingered, a soft ache in Millie’s chest, especially when she thought of her mother and the home she had left behind.
Now, as Evan’s car wound through the familiar streets of Millie's neighborhood, Millie sat in the passenger seat, her fingers twisting in her lap, nerves buzzing like static.
Evan gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tight. Meeting Millie’s mother for the first time was no small thing—her family was a world he had only glimpsed through Millie’s stories, and the weight of making a good impression pressed hard on him.
Millie glanced at him, her short, wavy hair brushing her shoulders. “You okay?” she asked.
Evan’s lips quirked into a half-smile, his gaze still on the road. “Just hoping your mom doesn’t hate me on sight,” he said.
Millie reached over, squeezing his arm. “She won’t,” she said, though her own nerves betrayed her certainty.
The car slowed as they pulled into a mid-sized neighborhood, the kind with cracked sidewalks and modest lawns. Millie’s breath caught as the two-story house came into view—her childhood home, where she had spent her teen years and early adulthood. It looked smaller, wearier than she remembered, the white paint peeling at the edges, the porch sagging as if it carried the weight of too many years.
Had it always been this worn, or had her absence sharpened her eyes to its decay?
Evan parked along the curb, the engine’s hum fading into silence. He turned to her, his blue eyes searching. “Ready?” he asked.
Millie nodded, though her stomach twisted. “Yeah,” she said, more to herself than to him. They stepped out, the cool autumn air brushing their skin, and Evan took her hand, his grip warm and steady.
Hand in hand, they walked up the uneven path to the porch, the familiar creak of the boards underfoot stirring memories Millie had buried—arguments with her mom, nights sneaking out.
Millie raised her hand, hesitating before knocking, her heart thudding in her chest. Evan squeezed her hand. They waited, the seconds stretching, until the door swung open. A man stood there, his face unfamiliar—too young to be her mother’s new boyfriend, his features softer, almost boyish, with dark hair and a cautious smile. He wasn’t Clint, the rough-edged man her mom had been with when Millie left.
Millie’s brow furrowed. “Who are you?” she asked, her hand tightening in Evan’s.
The man tilted his head, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I’m Richard,” he said. “And you are?”
Millie’s grip on Evan’s hand tightened, her heart racing as she processed the stranger’s presence. “Millie,” she said. “Is my mom here?”
Richard’s expression softened, recognition dawning in his eyes. “Oh, you’re Gretchen’s daughter,” he said, his smile warm but hesitant. He extended his hand, and Millie shook it, her movements stiff, her mind reeling. “Nice to meet you, Millie. I’m Gretchen’s boyfriend. She’s in the kitchen.”
Millie’s jaw dropped. “Boyfriend?” she said, her eyes narrowing as she studied him—his boyish features, his casual jeans and hoodie. “How old are you?”
Richard chuckled, unfazed, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m almost 27… in December.”
Evan, standing beside Millie, let out a quiet smirk, his amusement barely concealed. “That’s, like, eight months from now,” he said.
Richard grinned, shrugging. “Yeah, well,” he said, stepping past them toward the porch. “Nice to meet you, Millie. Sorry, but I’m late for work. I’ll see you around, I guess.”
Millie and Evan turned, watching as Richard jogged down the path and swung a leg over a bike parked by the house, its frame glinting under the streetlight. He pedaled off, disappearing around the corner, leaving Millie rooted to the spot.
Evan’s hand squeezed hers, grounding her. “You okay?” he asked.
Millie shook her head, a dazed laugh escaping. “I don’t know,” she said, bewildered. She turned toward the open door. “Let’s go.”
They stepped inside, crossing the threshold into a living room that stopped Millie in her tracks. It was neat, almost unnaturally so—a stark contrast to the mess she remembered: piles of magazines, scattered clothes, and half-empty coffee mugs. Now, the furniture was arranged with care, the cushions fluffed, a knitted throw draped over the couch. A small vase of fresh flowers sat on the coffee table, their petals bright against the muted decor.
Had her mother changed, or had Richard’s presence reshaped this space?
Evan’s towering frame seemed out of place in the cozy room, his broad shoulders and easy confidence clashing with the delicate knickknacks and faded wallpaper. He glanced around, his posture stiff, as if trying not to disturb the fragile order of the space. Millie led him through the living room toward the kitchen, her heart thudding with anticipation.
The clatter of dishes and the savory aroma of soup greeted them as they reached the doorway. Millie paused, her breath catching at the sight of her mother standing at the stove, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon. Her hair, once a vibrant auburn, was streaked with gray, pulled back in a loose bun, and her frame seemed smaller, more fragile than Millie remembered. The kitchen, like the living room, was tidy, the counters clear except for a cutting board and a bowl of chopped vegetables.
Millie's mother looked up from the stove, her spoon pausing mid-stir, her eyes widening at the sight of Millie in the doorway. Shock flickered across her face, quickly followed by confusion as her gaze landed on Evan, his tall frame looming beside Millie.
“Millie?” she said, the spoon clattering against the pot. Who’s this?”
Evan shifted, feeling the awkwardness—a lack of warmth between Millie and her mother that spoke of years without a tight bond. He stayed quiet, his hand still in Millie’s.
Millie swallowed. “Mom, this is Evan,” she said, her fingers tightening around his. “Evan, this is my mother, Gretchen. How have you been, mom?”
Gretchen’s lips pursed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Where have you been, Millie? I called you so many times. You just disappeared.”
Evan felt the sting in Gretchen’s words, the way she wanted to care but didn’t know how to show it, her hands gripping the spoon.
Millie’s shoulders sagged, guilt flashing across her face. “I was working,” she said, skirting the truth of her time with the Morettis. “Something happened, and I couldn’t call. I’m so sorry.." She hesitated, then went on to ask, “Where's Clint? And his son? Where are the twins?”