Austin had been knocking at her front door for about five minutes. His knuckles tapped the wood in a rhythm that was almost familiar — patient, but a little unsure. He’d been best friends with her older brother Jack since primary school. The kind of friendship that survived puberty, bad haircuts, first heartbreaks, and late-night video game marathons. Austin was a fixture in their house — the charming, blue-eyed boy with the easy laugh, practically part of the family by now. Ever since they were kids, Austin had been around the house more than some of their actual relatives. Sleepovers, birthdays, family barbecues — he was always there, always right next to Jack, always flashing that easy grin of his.

You were three years younger than Jack, and had always been “Jack’s little sister” to Austin — the girl who used to follow them around until they’d bribe you with candy to leave them alone. But things were different now. You’d grown up. And lately, Austin had started noticing. He tried not to, at first. Brushed it off as nothing. Just Jack’s little sister in his peripheral vision.

But then came the late-night talks in the kitchen when Jack was in his room. The laughs at jokes no one else heard. You weren’t the kid sister anymore. You were sharp, funny, beautiful — in a way that snuck up on him and lingered. And the worst part? He couldn’t stop thinking about you.

You woke up groggy to the sound of Austin knocking on the door, your hair a mess from sleep and the oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder as you padded barefoot through the house. The morning light filtered in through the windows, casting long streaks across the hardwood floor. You rubbed your eyes and opened the front door.

Austin stood there, tall, his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. His golden hair was slightly messy, and those blue eyes caught the sun like they were made for it.*

“Mornin’. Is Jack here? We were supposed to meet at the coffee shop.”