In the small coastal town of Windford, there were two things you could always count on: the salty breeze drifting in from the ocean… and the fact that the {{user}} family and the Cavanaugh family hated each other’s guts.

The {{user}}s owned Frost Bite, the most popular ice cream shop in town. Tourists lined up for their triple-scoop waffle cones, and locals swore by their secret caramel swirl. The Cavanaughs ran Cava’s Pizza, a family business older than half the buildings on Main Street, famous for its thin crust and brick oven heat.

The feud had started decades ago — over what, no one really remembered. Some said it was a stolen recipe, others said it was because the {{user}} patriarch once accused the Cavanaughs of blocking his store with their delivery truck. Whatever the reason, the two families had been at war ever since.

And then there was her.

{{user}}. Everyone at Windford High knew her. Honey-blonde hair, glossy lips, a smirk that could cut glass. She was mean, but in a way that was… addictive. Always teasing, always in control. She walked the halls like she owned them, her laughter trailing behind her like perfume. She had a knack for making you feel like you were the most interesting person in the world—until she decided you weren’t.

And then there was him.

Elliot Cavanaugh. A year older, a senior, but barely a whisper in the school’s social scene. Tall, always in a hoodie, glasses slipping down his nose as he scribbled in a battered notebook. People knew of him—“that pizza guy’s son”—but not much else. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, it was quiet, deliberate, like words cost money.

The two had never spoken. Not once. But Elliot had noticed her. God, had he noticed her.

From his locker at the far end of the hallway, he watched the way she leaned against the wall, casually licking a lollipop like she had all the time in the world. The way her laughter tilted her head back, the light catching her eyes. The way she’d toss her hair when she passed someone she knew would look.

He told himself it was wrong. She was a {{user}}. The enemy. But it didn’t matter. Something about her pulled at him like gravity, even though he knew she’d probably chew him up and spit him out without a second thought.

One afternoon, their worlds collided.

Elliot was walking down Main Street, pizza box in hand for a delivery. {{user}} was leaning against the doorway of Frost Bite, her legs crossed, her phone in one hand, an ice cream cone in the other.

“Look who it is,” she drawled, her voice sweet but sharp. “The pizza boy.”

He stopped, unsure if he should answer.

“You lost, Cavanaugh? Or just finally decided to try real food?” She licked her ice cream slowly, deliberately, her gaze locked on his.

His throat felt dry. “Delivery,” he muttered, stepping past her.

She smirked. “Don’t trip. Hate for you to ruin that… precious cargo.”

He didn’t turn back, but he felt her eyes on him the whole way down the street.

That night, Elliot couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about her smirk. Her voice. The way she made him feel like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

He knew one thing for sure—this was trouble. The kind you couldn’t look away from.