I toss my phone aside, ignoring the notification that's been flashing since last night.

I know it's from Naomi. And I know what it'll say-she'll want to talk, to "clear things up."

But after everything Margret said that night, and how demeaning it all was, I'm not ready.

I need a distraction, so I decide to submit my photos for the competition.

The photo I've chosen isn't the sunset silhouette of her. That one feels too raw now, too personal. Instead, I'm submitting the shot from Miller's Lake - the rowboat emerging from the morning mist. It's beautiful in a lonely sort of way.

Fitting.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I double-check, making sure the details are as perfect as I can get them.

Once I hit "submit," a mix of relief and anxiety fills me. It's done. Out there. No going back.

Thought I'd find you here." Rue's voice makes me jump. She's holding two Coffee Corner cups, and I can smell the caramel from here. "Your favorite person came by this morning."

My hands freeze over my now closed laptop. "Did she say anything?"

"Just ordered her usual and asked if you're alright." Rue sets one cup beside me. "I told her you were busy with competition prep."

It wasn't exactly a lie. I have been busy. Just... maybe not as busy as I'm pretending to be.

"You can't avoid her forever," Rue says gently.

"I'm not avoiding her." But we both know that's not true. I've been ducking down different hallways at school, eating lunch in the art room, making excuses about deadlines and family commitments just to get away from her.

The dinner thing happened two days ago and well, let's just say I'm not over it yet.

"Right." Rue hops on the swing next to me. "And Mom's not avoiding dealing with Dad moving out. We're just a family of excellent avoiders."

The truth in that stings. Mom's workaholic-ness has become progressively worse. From double shifts to staying out of the house and at the hospital, coming home only to sleep and change before heading back out.

The house feels like a way station now, all of us just passing through without really connecting.

"I saw her crying yesterday," I admit quietly, focusing on the dead leaves in front of us. "Mom, I mean. She was looking at old photos in the study. She didn't know I was there."

"Shit." Rue takes a long sip of her coffee. "Maybe we should make her talk to us."

"Like you made me talk to you about Naomi?"

"Hey, you brought that up yourself." But she's smiling. "Although I'm still waiting for the full story about what happened at that party. And dinner?"

I gulp from my coffee. "Nothing happened. That's kind of the problem."

When I finally tell her everything - the closet, the kiss, the fight - Rue listens without interrupting. It's one of the things I love most about my sister. She lets you get all the words out before she tries to fix anything.

"So let me get this straight," she says when I finish. "You're mad because she has history with this girl?"

"I'm hurt because she'd I think Margret is right. And because Naomi kissed her ex and brushed me off when I said I didn't like it.

I keep fiddling with my laptop.

"It feels like... like I'm giving her all these pieces of myself, and she's giving me nothing back."

Rue's quiet for a moment. "Have you considered that maybe she's scared?"

"Of what?"

"Of letting someone in. Of being vulnerable." She shrugs. "You said she was a piece of work before you two started dating, maybe she is trying but it's not so simple."

I shake my head. There's absolutely no connection.

But I don't air that out, instead I just sit in comfortable silence with my sister.

My phone buzzes.

I don't have to look at it to know it's another text from Naomi, she's been texting like a mad person lately but I refuse to let her off the hook that easily.

"I need ice cream," I declare.

Which is how I end up at Sweet Scoops with Mia an hour later, demolishing a banana split while my best friend listens to the whole saga again.

"Trouble in paradise?" she asks, as we sit on a bench, the sun warming our faces.

"Something like that," I say, rolling my eyes but feeling a little lighter with her here.

I tell her the whole story, I'm staring to get exhausted with narrating now.

So, basically, Naomi has some messy history, and this Margret girl tried to make you feel like you're just another name on her list?"

"Pretty much." I look down at my ice cream. "I thought...I thought I meant more than that."

Mia shakes her head, putting her hand on my arm.

"Look, I don't know Naomi that well, but I know you. And you wouldn't be with her if she didn't make you feel like you mattered."

"Maybe," I murmur, unsure. "But it still stings, you know? I thought what we had was special, like I knew it wouldn't be because of course she's the queen of flings and all but..."

Mia sighs, giving me a warm look.

"Don't make any big decisions until you're ready. Talk to her if you need to. But don't let one rough night ruin something good."

I smile. "You're the best."

"But you know what your problem is?" Mia asks, stealing my cherry. "You're both terrible at communicating."

"I communicate fine!"

"Really?" She arches an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're hiding and eating your feelings instead of talking to your girlfriend."

"I'm not hiding," I protest around a mouthful of ice cream. "I'm processing."

"Potato, po-tah-to." Mia waves her spoon at me. "Look, I get it. She hurt you. But relationships aren't like your photos, Luna. You can't just wait for the perfect moment to develop. Sometimes you have to mess up a little, see what happens. And I think Margret is just a bitch. If Naomi wanted a fling with you, she wouldn't have lasted this long."

"That's a terrible analogy."

"But you know I'm right."

My phone buzzes again. This time I check it because if I don't, Mia will check it for me. It's not a text but a photo - one I took of Naomi at the factory.

She's mid-laugh, sunlight streaming through broken windows behind her, looking happier in the photo.

I miss you taking pictures of me, Baby. I miss you.

The caption reads.

"Oh god," Mia groans, reading over my shoulder. "That's disgustingly sweet and cute. You have to talk to her right now."

"I will." I swallow a spoon full of ice cream. "Just... not yet."

Because just like in photography, timing matters. You have to know when to capture and when to wait for the perfect moment.

I save the photo Naomi sent, letting my fingers hover over the keyboard before closing the messages app.

Tomorrow, maybe. Or the next day. When I'm sure my heart won't crack open at the sight of her.