Your family went on vacation to a beach in north carolina for a couple of weeks. You rented a house in a small but super nice neighborhood, and the beach was private, the water somewhat resembling Baja Blast.

You decided to take a walk the evening you got there, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, the wind brushing your hair across your face like it had something to say. The sun was beginning to lower, staining the water gold. You were distracted. You didn’t see him until he was right there.

A blur of color and motion, a body nearly colliding with yours.

“Whoa—hey—sorry, I wasn’t looking!”

You turned and met the eyes of a boy around your age. His dark hair was sun-dried and messy, skin tan and sprinkled with freckles. There was a board under his arm, like he’d just come from the water.

“You okay?” He smiled—lopsided, easy, like he smiled like this all the time. “I’m Luca, by the way.” He stuck out his hand, the other still clutching his board.

You hesitated, then shook it. His hand was rough with salt and sand, but warm. He didn’t rush to leave. In fact, he stepped back just a little and stood there, rocking on his heel.

“So… are you a local?” he asked, glancing at the towel and water bottle in your hand. “Haven’t seen you before.”