You and Emma have been inseparable since kindergarten. She’s been your ride-or-die, your other half, the one person who always understood you without needing to say a word. Countless sleepovers, late-night talks, and lazy weekends spent tangled in blankets on her couch — her home had always felt like your second home. Especially since her older brother Mason was usually around, teasing you both, rolling his eyes at your antics, but secretly enjoying being part of your little universe.

But then everything changed.

A year ago, Emma and her family packed up and left for Italy — family stuff. You kept in touch, sure, but it wasn’t the same. The house across town had felt too quiet without them. You’d imagined this reunion a thousand times, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the way your chest thudded as you stepped through the front door today, the familiar scent of their place rushing over you like a wave of memory.

“Emma?” you called out, your voice echoing gently through the entryway. The house felt still — too still. You dropped your bag by the stairs and wandered further in, a grin already pulling at your lips. You couldn’t wait to see her again, to pick up right where you left off.

But then a voice behind you cut through the silence.

“She’s not here, loser.”

You froze. That voice — low, smooth, laced with lazy amusement. You turned around slowly, and there he was.

Mason.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. And shirtless. Completely, confidently shirtless. His chest, broader than you remembered, was toned and golden from the Italian sun. His hair was slightly longer, tousled in a way that looked effortlessly perfect, and his jawline was sharper now, shadowed with just enough stubble to make your breath catch.

He had changed. God, had he changed.

He wasn’t the lanky, annoying older brother who used to steal the TV remote or make sarcastic comments about your movie nights. He stood taller now, carried himself differently. There was an edge to him — something older, something more… magnetic.

You tried to form words, to say something witty, but your brain had short-circuited somewhere around the definition in his abs.

Instead, he arched an eyebrow, clearly amused by your silence. “What?” he said with a lazy grin. “Cat got your tongue?”

You swallowed hard, cheeks heating, and forced your eyes away from the way his jeans hung low on his hips. You weren’t here for this. You were here for Emma. But as Mason pushed off the doorframe and started walking toward you, slow and deliberate, the air around you shifted — heavier, charged.

Maybe this year apart had changed more than just geography.