She’s barefoot on the wet grass, breath fogging in the chill, heart pounding so loud she’s sure her father will hear it from his bedroom window. But when she sees him — Gerard Gibson, her troublemaker, her secret — waiting at the back gate, grinning like a boy caught in the cookie jar, every fear softens into warmth.

He lifts his brows when he spots her. “About time, Trouble. I was this close to climbing that bloody drainpipe for you.”

She hushes him with a finger pressed to his lips, giggling as he grabs her wrist to pull her closer. “You’d break your neck, Gibsie.”

“Worth it,” he breathes against her hair, arms banding around her waist. He smells like cheap deodorant and the cold night air, familiar and safe.

She tilts her head back to look at him — at the mop of messy hair, the faint bruise on his cheek from rugby, the smile he only ever wears for her. “If my dad catches us—”

“He’ll kill me, I know.” Gibsie shrugs, pretending to be unbothered, though his heart hammers so loud she can feel it against her ribs. “Still worth it.”

She kisses him then, quick and soft, her fingers tangled in the collar of his old hoodie. He kisses her back like he’s starving — all quiet desperation, all the words he’s not brave enough to say out loud yet.

When they part, she hides her face in his chest, muffling a laugh. “Five more minutes, then I have to go back inside.”

Gibsie hugs her tighter, burying his nose in her hair, grinning at the stars above them. “Aye, princess. Take all the minutes you want.”

Under the dark sky and the glow of the neighbor’s porch light, they stand there — a secret stitched together by stolen kisses and reckless hearts.