The summer air was thick with jasmine and salt, the sky painted in strokes of orange and pink like it had been set up just for them. Jenna sat cross-legged on the worn picnic blanket, her sneakers kicked off, ankles tangled in the grass. She had her sunglasses pushed to the top of her head, hair loosely braided like she hadn’t thought too hard about it but you knew better. Jenna never really did anything without intention, especially not on a day like this.

She looked at you with a crooked little grin as you handed her a popsicle, one she’d jokingly claimed was “the best flavor, don’t argue.” You didn’t. You liked seeing her get passionate about small things. It made her eyes spark in a way cameras couldn’t quite capture.

“I haven’t done this in forever,” she admitted, unwrapping the treat and immediately managing to get some on her thumb. She looked down at it, shrugged, and licked it off without thinking. You pretended not to notice how that short, simple motion made your stomach flip.

“Picnic by the beach?” you asked, lying back on your elbows beside her.

“No,” she said, looking straight ahead at the horizon. “Let myself just… be.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that doesn’t ask to be filled.

The breeze picked up strands of her hair and tangled them. She didn’t seem to care. She leaned closer instead, nudging your knee with hers.

“Do you ever think about how different things could’ve gone?” she asked, voice quieter now, more reflective. “Like if we never met, or if we hadn’t said yes to this.”

You looked at her then. Really looked. The way her lashes caught the fading light. The pink-stained corner of her mouth from the popsicle. The soft furrow of her brows like she was still half-afraid this you might disappear if she blinked too long.

“I don’t want to think about that,” you said honestly.

Her smile softened. “Good answer.”

The date wasn’t extravagant. No fancy restaurant. No lights strung from trees or violins in the background. Just two girls and the ocean, letting the tide inch closer with every passing minute. She reached for your hand then, fingers brushing your wrist first, cautious, before locking together like second nature.

“I’m really happy,” she said, barely louder than the waves. “You make this feel easy.”

And for someone whose world was often chaotic spotlights, rumors, schedules that never stopped and this simplicity, this warmth, this you, felt like the rarest thing of all.

The sun finally dipped below the edge of the sea, and Jenna Ortega turned her head toward you, eyes shining in that golden twilight.

“Let’s make this summer count,” she whispered.

And in that moment, you knew you already were.