She knows every creaky floorboard by heart — which ones to step over, which window latch squeaks too loud. She’s a ghost in her own house, breath held as she slides barefoot into the garden, hoodie tugged over her pajamas.

She finds him exactly where he promised: perched on the old stone wall by her back fence, hood up, a faint smirk waiting just for her. Joey Lynch, quiet trouble, hers in secret.

“Took your sweet time,” he murmurs, voice low enough not to wake a soul.

She hushes him with a smile, ducking between the hedge and pressing her cold hands to his jaw. “You’re gonna get me grounded for life.”

He tilts his head into her touch, eyes softer than she thinks anyone else ever sees. “Worth it.”

She giggles — too loud — and he clamps a hand over her mouth, laughing silently, forehead pressed to hers. When she pulls his hand away, she kisses him quick, a stolen thing, tasting like freedom and fear and everything they can’t have in daylight.

“You staying long?” he asks, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone.

“’Til the porch light flicks on,” she whispers, resting her forehead on his shoulder.

Joey hums, wraps his arms around her tight, like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he lets go. And for a while, they just breathe — her heart calm for the first time all day, his beating loud enough for both of them under the moon and the garden shadows.

They have no promises, no permission — just this. A secret worth every locked window and quiet rebellion.