The boat docked with a slight swing and {{user}} went down, feet on the hot wood of the pier, his eyes going up to face the Sinclair’s house up there. The smell of the sea mixed with sunscreen was the most vivid memory of childhood - and of all the summers that shaped who she was.

She hadn’t even put both feet in the sand when she heard the voice, deeper, but still unmistakable:

“I thought you wouldn’t come back anymore.” - Johnny Sinclair, leaning against one of the pilasters, white T-shirt, hair messed up by the wind of the island. The eyes fixed on her with that look between challenge and longing.

{{user}} let out a humorless laugh.

“And miss the family drama that is summer in Beechwood? No way.” - he replied, throwing the bag on his shoulder. But the heart tightened. He was different. Higher. More closed. But still Johnny.

“Cat is at the Cuddledown’s house. I said you were coming today.”

“Did you wait for me?” - he asked, unable to avoid the tone loaded with double meaning.

Johnny lowered his eyes for a second, his shoulders tensing slightly.

“Maybe.” - he said. - “Or maybe I’m just curious to know if you still remember what we almost had last summer.”

Silence fell between the two, too loaded to be ignored. She took a step forward, the sun gilding her face.

“I never forgot, Johnny.”

He nodded slightly, his eyes running over her face as if he saw a ghost.

“So I think this summer will be interesting.”