The Carolina sun was starting to dip, casting a golden haze over the Cameron house. You sat on the porch steps, legs tucked beneath you, a sweating glass of lemonade cradled between your hands. Inside, the house was alive with its usual rhythm—Sarah’s music thumping from upstairs, Ward pacing and barking into his phone, and Wheezie tiptoeing around like she was up to something.

And somewhere in there—Rafe.

The one person you tried not to think about, and failed every time.

You saw him through the kitchen window, leaning against the marble counter. Damp hair pushed back. A silver chain glinting against his collarbone. His voice was low, unreadable, the kind that made you feel like he was always hiding something—or everything. You looked away, pretending to watch the breeze sway the trees. But it didn’t help. He was always there, just beneath the surface.

It had always been like this. Since you were thirteen and he handed you a Capri Sun without looking at you. Since fifteen, when he picked you up from a party you didn’t want your parents to know about. Since seventeen, when his eyes started to linger just a second too long, and your stomach flipped like it knew something you didn’t.

But neither of you ever crossed that line.

Maybe it was Sarah. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was easier to stay in the safety of stolen glances and what-ifs than to risk everything on a moment that might burn the whole thing down.

Now, at eighteen, the space between you was no longer empty—it was charged. And you were tired of pretending it wasn’t.

The porch door creaked open behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know.

“Didn’t think you were still here,” Rafe said, voice low and warm, like the sun before it slips beneath the horizon.

“I live here in the summer, remember?” you replied, eyes still on the yard, pulse ticking a little faster.

He stepped closer. “Yeah. I remember everything.”

Your breath caught.

And suddenly, the silence between you wasn’t comfortable anymore. It felt like fire- waiting to be striked.