I told myself I didn't care. But when they sat next to someone else, my chest got tight in a way I couldn't explain

The thought lingered as I stared out at the lake, pretending to focus on the fishing line dangling from the dock.

The summer sun warmed the back of my neck. Charlie was cannonballing off the end of the dock. Everything was almost the same as it had been nearly every summer.

Except for me.

Because every time I looked over, there you were—laughing at something one of the local guys said, your knees brushing his as you sat together on the dock.

And I hated it.

Which made no sense.

You were my best friend.

Had been since that first summer when you showed up at the lake and somehow became part of every memory worth keeping.

We spent every day together.

Every bonfire.

Every boat ride.

Every late-night conversation beneath the stars.

You were mine in the way best friends belonged to each other.

At least, that's what I'd always told myself.

But lately, things felt different.

The way my stomach dropped when another guy made you laugh.

The way I noticed when you wore my favorite swimsuit.

The way I looked for you first whenever I walked into a room.

The way I couldn't stop looking at you now.

As if sensing my gaze, you glanced over.

Our eyes met.

And just like always, you smiled.

A smile meant only for me.

The tightness in my chest eased instantly.

That should have told me everything.

Then I started walking toward you.

Toward my best friend.

Toward the problem I wasn't ready to admit had become something much, much more.