Thomas was sitting on the top porch step when the familiar silver sedan turned into the driveway. He rose as Eric climbed out, sleeves rolled to the elbow, looking more relaxed than any adult Thomas had ever known on a Saturday.

  “Good to see you,” Eric said, smile easy. “Ready?”

  Thomas brushed imaginary dust from his slacks. “Yeah. Still waiting for the part where someone tells me this is all a prank.”

  Eric laughed, warm and low. “So which is it: are we picking you up early because we think you’ll bolt, or because we just wanted more time with you?”

  Thomas lifted an eyebrow. “Would you believe I was hoping for both?”

  “Kid, you’re catching on.”

  Wendy leaned across the console, passenger window already down. “We like spending time with you, Thomas. Get used to it.”

  Heat crawled up his neck, but it was the good kind. He followed Eric toward the car.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “I’m usually a fifteen-minutes-and-out-the-door guy,” he admitted.

  Wendy shook her head. “Not today.”

  Eric paused at the car door. “Before we roll—go grab the dinner training kit.”

  Thomas jogged back inside. The slim black case was exactly where he’d left it on the entry table, heavier than it looked, like it contained more than silverware and folded napkins. When he returned, Eric took it from him without comment and slid it onto the back seat beside him.

  Thomas buckled in. Wendy met his eyes in the rear-view mirror.

  “Nervous?” she asked softly.

  “A little,” he said. “Mostly about which fork I’m going to embarrass myself with first.”

  Eric twisted around, grinning. “That’s why the case is coming with us. We’re doing a dry run at the house before we leave for the venue. No audience, no pressure.”

  Thomas blinked. “You’re… practicing with me?”

  “Someone has to make sure you outshine every adult in the room,” Wendy said, pulling out of the driveway. “Might as well be us.”

  The car rolled down quiet streets lined with turning maple trees. Sunlight flashed through the windows in warm pulses. Thomas rested a hand on the black case beside him, feeling the faint embossed lettering under his fingertips: Property of M. Mickelson – Return When You No Longer Need It.

  For the first time all week, the knot in his chest loosened enough to let him breathe.

  He didn’t say it out loud, but the thought came anyway, clear and startling:

  They came back for me.

  And this time, they brought the good silver.