Family vacations had always been a strange kind of refuge for you.

Ever since you were kids, Forty had dragged you along with him — begged his parents, refused to take no for an answer. He knew your home life was rough. He knew you needed somewhere else to be. The Quinns’ beach house became that place, year after year.

And Love was always there too.

She’d watched you grow up alongside her brother. She’d noticed how you kept to the edges of rooms, how you were quieter than most people, how you never complained even when things were hard. She’d always thought you were different — in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Tonight, the rest of the family had gone back inside, leaving just the two of you on the sand. The ocean was calm, the air cool. You sat a little apart from her, staring out at the water.

“You’ve been quiet,” Love said.

You shrugged. “Just tired.”

She studied you for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable — just heavy.

“Coming here used to be the best part of my year,” you said quietly. “Still is, honestly.”

Love glanced at you. “Because of the beach?”

“Because it was… peaceful,” you replied. “My house wasn’t.”

She didn’t push you for details. She never did.

“I used to count the days,” you added. “Forty thought it was just because I loved the ocean. But it was really because this place felt safe.”

Love’s expression softened. “I’m glad you had that.”

You hesitated, fingers digging into the sand. “You were part of that too.”

Her gaze stayed on you now.

“You were always nice to me,” you said. “You didn’t treat me like I was… fragile.”

Love smiled faintly. “You weren’t fragile.”

You exhaled. “Maybe not. But I felt like it sometimes.”

Another pause.

“I liked you back then,” you admitted. “Not in some dramatic way. Just… quietly. You made things feel lighter.”

Love’s voice was low. “You never said anything.”

“I didn’t think I was supposed to.”

She looked out at the water, then back at you. “What about now?”

You swallowed. “Now I think about you more than I should.”

Love’s breath slowed. She shifted slightly closer, not touching you, just enough for you to notice.

“I do too,” she said.

The words weren’t rushed. They weren’t dramatic. They were honest.

You turned toward her. “So what do we do with that?”

For a second, Love didn’t answer. Then she leaned in — slowly, carefully — like she was giving you time to change your mind.

Your heart hammered.

And then—

“Yo! You guys alive out here?!”

Forty’s voice cut through the night.

You both pulled back instantly.

He jogged down the sand, grinning. “I thought you ditched us.”

Love stood, brushing sand from her hands. “We were just talking.”

Forty dropped between you like nothing had almost happened. “Classic. My best friend and my twin sister having deep beach conversations. Love that for us.”

You stared back at the ocean, the moment slipping away.

Love’s gaze lingered on you just a second longer than necessary.

Because some things didn’t need big words.

They just needed time.