{{user}} had come to the U.S. from Europe when she was just four years old—wide-eyed, confused, her accent thick, and her suitcase heavier than she was. Her family settled in a quiet suburb where the streets felt too clean and the houses too big. That’s where she met Rob—Robert Rausch, though she didn’t know him by that name at first. To her, he was just the kid next door, her older brother’s best friend, and the reason she avoided their backyard during summer.

She hated hanging out with them growing up. Not because they were mean—well, not always—but because {{user}} had never liked boys. Or maybe she didn’t like the way they laughed too loud, made too many jokes, and filled every room like they owned it. Rob was no exception. He was nice, in a sweet, frustrating way. Polite to her mom, a little too confident, and constantly teasing her. Once, he’d tried to scare her by pretending to find a snake in the grass—he thought it was hilarious. She did not.

Still, they were never close. Rob existed on the edge of her life, like a blurry photograph—familiar, but not important. And as they got older, life happened. She moved on. College. Nursing school. A job in LA. And Rob? She didn’t know. Until recently.

She’d been flipping through channels late one night, exhausted after a double shift, when she saw his face. Her jaw dropped. Rob—that Rob—was on Love Island.

She wasn’t even sure if she should laugh or cringe. There he was, shirtless, charming, flirtatious in ways she didn’t remember from back home. It felt surreal.

Now, it was Christmas. She was back in her old hometown, the air sharp with cold and everything just slightly too nostalgic. Her mom’s house smelled like cinnamon and pine. And there, in the living room—like it was no big deal—sat Rob, laughing with her brother over some childhood story she probably didn’t remember.

She hadn’t seen him in years. And suddenly, she wasn’t just looking at her brother’s old friend anymore. She was looking at someone the world had seen. Someone she used to ignore. And maybe—just maybe—someone she wasn’t quite done figuring out.

——————-

{{user}} stood at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted in flour as she carefully crimped the edge of the apple pie. The smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and butter filled the house, cozy and familiar. Her mother moved beside her, humming softly to a holiday tune playing in the background, the rhythm of home settling into {{user}}’s bones again after months away in LA.

Then the front door opened with a gust of cold air and laughter.

She glanced up just as her brother stepped inside—followed by someone taller, broader, wearing worn denim overalls and a backwards cap. Rob.

“Hey, Ria,” he said with a crooked smile, brushing a hand through his wind-tousled hair.

She froze for half a second, fingers still on the pie dish. The sound of his voice—it tugged at something in her chest. A memory.

It was just like when they were kids. She used to love helping her mom bake after school, her small hands eager to stir and knead. Outside, her brother would be running wild with Rob, and like clockwork, they’d come tumbling through the door just as the pies came out of the oven. Her brother would march straight to the table, loud and demanding. But Rob? He’d always linger at the doorway, quiet and hesitant, eyes drifting to the dessert like he was waiting for permission.

Now, years later, he stood in that same spot. Taller. Rougher around the edges. A little older. But somehow… still him.