You grew up on Figure Eight, just two houses down from the Camerons. Summers were made of bonfires, saltwater, and scraped knees. You and Rafe had been best friends since you were six—when he caught you trying to climb the oak tree in your front yard and helped you up instead of tattling.

Back then, he was just Rafe—before the Cameron name became a shadow, before his eyes held storms instead of sunshine.

Now, years later, you were home for the summer after your first year of college. Rafe hadn’t left like you had. He stayed behind, stayed tangled in Kildare’s mess and expectations. But something in his voice when he saw you again—that familiar crooked grin—made you feel like nothing had changed.

Except everything had.

“You still drink orange soda?” he asked, leaning against the railing of the boat dock where you used to sit for hours.

You smiled, bumping your shoulder against his. “Only if it’s the cheap kind from the gas station.”

He laughed. “God, some things really don’t change.”

But they had. His voice was deeper, his jaw sharper, his presence more intense. And when his hand brushed yours—accidentally or not—you didn’t pull away like you would have before.

You both sat there in silence, the sound of cicadas and water lapping against the dock between you.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, like it wasn’t meant to be said out loud.