You weren’t sure why you agreed to come to this camp in the first place. Maybe it was the pressure from friends. Maybe you thought being away from home would give you some sort of clarity—or distraction. But now, sitting by the fire pit in the freezing night air, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, all you could think about was how stupid you were for forgetting a sweater.

Across the crackling flames sat him.

Luca Romano.

The golden boy of your class. Effortlessly charming, obnoxiously confident, and probably the most infuriating person you’d ever met. You two had never gotten along. Always clashing, always throwing sharp words at each other. He was arrogant. Loud. Too good-looking for his own good. And you—well, you had no intention of ever falling for it.

But somehow, tonight felt… different.

Luca sat relaxed, legs spread, shoulders loose, talking to the people around him, the firelight casting shadows across his sharp jaw and cheekbones. Malia—queen bee, drama queen, and obvious flirt—was practically on his lap, wrapped in a plush blanket, giggling at everything he said.

You shifted, trying to rub warmth into your arms.

“Here. Wear it.”

You looked up. Luca was holding out his jacket to you, his voice thick with his Italian accent.

You blinked. “What?”

“You cold. Take it.” His eyes—one brown, one pale green—held yours like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Ugh, I deserve it more!” Malia groaned, clinging to him. “It’s freezing, Luca!”

He barely glanced at her. “You have blanket. Stop talking.” Then, to you again, gentler, “{{user}}, it will look good on you.”

You hesitated. Then slowly took it, slipping your arms into the sleeves. It was warm, and it smelled like him—cedar, smoke, and something faintly sweet.

He leaned back, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“That’s my girl.”