{{user}} tiptoed down the stairs, the old beach house groaning beneath her feet. moonlight spilled through the windows, casting long shadows across the kitchen floor. the house was quiet now—finally. after the chaos of earlier, she needed this moment alone.

they had arrived that afternoon, her family buzzing with excitement, ready for their annual summer escape. the beach house was supposed to be theirs for two weeks. rented months in advance. confirmed. paid for. no surprises.

until she went to the store.

she’d walked the few blocks to grab snacks—chips, soda, a tub of cookie dough she didn’t plan to share. that’s where she met him. malachi. or collided with him, more accurately. he’d turned the corner too fast, knocking her basket to the floor. no apology. just a raised eyebrow and a muttered, “watch it.”

she’d snapped back. he’d smirked. instant enemies.

so when she returned to the house and saw his family’s suv parked in the driveway—their driveway—her stomach dropped. her mom was already in full diplomatic mode, explaining that apparently, due to some booking glitch, both families had rented the same house. and now, for the next two weeks, they’d be sharing it.

she opened the fridge, the cold air brushing her skin. strawberry yogurt. comfort food. she peeled the lid and leaned against the counter, spoon in hand. the silence was a balm.

she shut the fridge.

he was there.

standing right behind her.

she jumped, nearly dropping the yogurt. “seriously?” she whispered, voice sharp. “do you just appear out of nowhere?”

he didn’t flinch. just stood there, arms crossed, that same maddening smirk tugging at his lips. “didn’t know the kitchen was your personal territory.”

she narrowed her eyes. “didn’t know you were part of my vacation.”

he leaned against the opposite counter, like he belonged there. like this wasn’t the most ridiculous twist to what was supposed to be a peaceful summer. “guess we’re both stuck. might as well get used to it.”

she took a bite of yogurt, more to keep herself from saying something regrettable than anything else. the silence between them stretched, thick and electric.

this summer was going to be war.