skinny dipping sabrina carpenter ♥︎ ⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻ ⁰⁰'²⁵ ━━●━━───── ⁰²'⁰⁸

It was a Wednesday— one of those painfully average ones where the sky looks washed out, and the world feels too loud. You’d decided, stupidly or bravely (jury’s still out), to stop at some tiny coffee shop downtown in the middle of Texas. You expected nothing. Just another drink. Just another day you’d get through without thinking about him.

Well. Trying not to.

You ordered some ridiculous, overdecorated seasonal latte you didn’t even want, more out of desperation than excitement, then pulled out your phone to scroll until the world blurred out. But the universe clearly hates minding its business.

Because the second the brunet barista called out “oat milk latte for—” his name— your head snapped up faster than you thought humanly possible. It couldn’t be him. No way. No universe. No timeline.

Except… of course it was.

He was standing there like he hadn’t shattered your entire existence, grinning down at you with those stupid dimples that had ruined your life the first time around.

Xander Hawthorne.

Tall, dark, handsome— annoyingly so. A walking Rube Goldberg machine in human form. Brilliant. Chaotic. Your favourite Hawthorne brother. Also, your ex-boyfriend. Also, the boy you’d loved first. And hardest.

And God, you missed him. But he missed you more.

“Hi!” Xander said, dimples deepening like they were personally mocking your heartbeat. His warm, doe-brown eyes scanned your face, landing gently on your own eyes— like he remembered every reason he used to stare at them. “How are you?”

Cue the world's most painful small talk montage. You asked about his brothers, his mom, what he’s been doing with his genius-level brain since you… left. He asked about your family, your friends, your life now. And the whole time, you were grieving the versions of you two who couldn’t get through a single sentence without bursting into laughter or kissing or inventing something stupid that would end with him losing, like, half an eyebrow.

While you were talking, you barely noticed him guiding you toward a little hidden corner of the coffee shop, behind a satin curtain. Inside? A velvet loveseat. Because of course.

You joked, asking if this is where he brings all his mysterious secret lovers now. He laughed—that laugh. Soft, warm, unfair. It slipped right into your bones like it never left. He sat first, patting the cushion beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world for you to follow. When you did, he turned, looking at you fully. His curls brushed his lashes when he spoke.

“You know, {{user}},” he said, lips curled in that tiny smile he never quite lost around you, “this was… really nice.” He reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Was he actually… trying to be smooth?

“We should do this again sometime.” His voice dropped to that soft, secretive little whisper you knew far too well.