The sun is still dripping gold across the ocean when you laugh so hard your chest hurts. You’re doubled over at the edge of the beachside restaurant’s patio, a basket of fries in front of you, your long red hair a salty, tangled mess from the sea. Your bikini top is barely dry, your shorts stick to your skin where the water caught them, and you’re glowing—not the polished kind, but the wild, free kind. The kind that says summer just started, and you’re alive.

Lena snorts beside you, flipping her dark braid over one shoulder. “You laugh like you’re being personally attacked by joy.”

You lean back in your chair, grinning. “Better than sounding like a haunted doll.”

“That was one time,” she mutters. “And I had allergies.”

Bea, your other best friend, just smiles like she’s reading your banter as if it were her favorite book. She’s in another oversized pastel T-shirt, her nose slightly pink from the sun, a paperback clutched in her lap even though you’re at a restaurant.

You love them both fiercely—Lena with her sarcasm and sharp wit, Bea with her tender heart and constant belief that love is real. They’re your people. Your chosen family. And this—this moment—is exactly why you begged to spend a few weeks at your family’s beach house before college. You wanted late nights, salty food, and memories.

You just didn’t expect him.

You notice him because Lena stops mid-sentence.

Then Bea inhales sharply.

“Table behind you. Five o’clock,” Lena says without moving her lips. “Tall, tanned, and looks like he walked out of one of Bea’s books.”

Bea elbows her. “Shut up.”

You turn your head. One glance.

Yeah—he’s there.

Brown hair, still damp. Broad shoulders like he belongs in a sports movie. Trouble-blue eyes. He’s tall—comically tall next to your small, freckled self. His friends are joking, but he’s not laughing. He’s looking.

Right at you.

And then he smiles, slow and surprised, like he didn’t expect you.

You whip your head back.

“He’s staring,” Bea whispers.

“Let him,” you say, though your stomach flips in that annoying butterfly way. “He’ll look away in two seconds.”

He doesn’t.

Lena squints. “Wait. Isn’t that Theo Reyes? My cousin plays soccer with him.”

You frown. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because he’s, like, known,” Lena says. “The charming type. Flirts with the entire female population. Total player. Except—” she glances back—“he looks nervous.”

You risk another peek. And yeah—he’s laughing, but it’s that laugh people do when they’re psyching themselves up. His friends tease him; one makes an exaggerated kissy face. Theo swats him, then stands up.

“Oh my God,” Bea says. “He’s coming.”

You sit straighter. Suddenly aware of your messy hair, the sunscreen on your nose. Because Theo? With that smirk and that walk? He is very much your type.

He reaches your table—and hesitates.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice is softer than expected. “Uh… hope this isn’t weird. I just—” He glances at your friends, then back at you. “I saw you laugh. And thought… I should probably meet the girl who laughs like that.”

It’s not smooth.

But it’s real.

You tilt your head. “Is that your line? Complimenting laughs?”

He flushes. “No. Honestly? I don’t usually do this.”

Lena coughs.

He grimaces. “Okay. I do. But not like this. Usually it’s a joke or a dare. But this time I didn’t want to do that.”

Bea shrugs at you, mouthing, He’s being real.

Theo shifts on his feet. “There’s this ice cream place down the boardwalk. Five minutes. Terrible floors, way too much neon. But their mango flavor? Life-changing.”

You blink. “Are you… asking me to go?”

He grins, still nervous. “Yeah. Only if you want. No pressure. You can totally say no and I’ll pretend I meant the table next to you.”

Your heart races.

You glance at Lena. She nods like she’s been waiting for this. Bea clasps her hands like it’s the climax of a rom-com.

You look back at him. “I like mango.”

His grin widens. “Cool. Great. I’ll wait over there. Take your time.”

He walks off a few steps, trying to look casual.