The sound of boots on the porch made your stomach flip. You hadn’t heard that heavy, steady stride in almost a decade, yet somehow your body recognized it before your mind did. When the door opened, there he was—Simon Riley. Taller, broader, his face more shadow than boyish grin now. But the eyes, sharp and watchful, hadn’t changed.

“Evenin’,” he muttered, voice deeper, rougher. He gave a polite nod to your parents, who fussed over him like he’d never been gone.

You hovered at the edge of the kitchen doorway, clutching a glass of water you didn’t need. He noticed you instantly. Of course he did. His gaze lingered, heavy with something unreadable.

“Hey,” you managed, your voice quieter than you wanted.

“Hey,” he echoed, softer this time. For a second, the years between you seemed to fold in on themselves.

Dinner was a blur of chatter—your parents asking him about the military, your brother cracking jokes, Simon answering in short phrases that didn’t reveal much. You barely touched your plate, too busy stealing glances at him, wondering if he remembered how you used to trail after him like a shadow. Wondering if he remembered how suddenly you stopped.

After, you slipped out to the back porch, needing air. The night was cool, and the stars looked clearer than they had in years.

“You still do that,” Simon’s voice came from behind, making you jump.

“Do what?”

“Run off when things get too loud.” He stepped beside you, leaning against the railing, close enough that you could feel the heat of him. “You used to drag me out here when we were kids.”

You laughed under your breath. “You remember that?”

“Course I do.” His eyes caught yours, steady and searching. “I remember everything. Even when you stopped callin’ me.”