You’re standing on the porch of the beach house, sun sinking low and the summer breeze messing with your hair. Eighteen now, which means officially not the kid anymore—the youngest Fisher brother, sure, but also the one who managed to pull off a serious glow-up over the winter. You’re not the awkward little brother everyone used to ignore; you’re a cocktail of Jeremiah’s easy charm and Conrad’s brooding cool, with a dash of your own weird thrown in.
And Belly Conklin? Yeah, you’ve been crushing hard since forever. This summer, it’s not going to be some shy glance or a fumbling “hey.” You’ve got a plan. Five steps.
Step one: Casual confidence.
You spot her across the yard, laughing with the girls, sunlight catching the strands of her hair like she’s glowing. You straighten your shoulders, walk over like you belong here, like you’re the guy who’s finally figured it out. “Hey, Belly.”
She turns, eyes wide with surprise, but the smirk that curls on her lips tells you she’s amused. “Hey, little Fisher. Didn’t know you’d grown out of your ‘I-can’t-talk-to-girls’ phase.”
You grin, unfazed. “That phase expired in spring. It’s summer now. Time to upgrade.”
She raises an eyebrow, the teasing sparkle in her gaze daring you to prove it. “Upgrade, huh? What’s the deal?”
Step two: The subtle tease.
You lean against the fence, arms crossed, the sun warming your back. “Just trying to keep up with you. Heard you’re the expert on summer.”
Her laugh is light, easy, the kind that makes you want to hear it again and again. “Oh, please. You’re gonna have to do better.”
Challenge accepted.
Step three: Find common ground.
Later, after dinner, you find her sitting on the dock, the waves lapping quietly below. She’s kicking at the water, staring out like she’s lost in thought. You settle beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her presence but careful not to crowd.
“So,” you say, voice casual, “how’s the summer so far?”
She shrugs, glancing at you. “Same old. Too many perfect moments, not enough boring ones.”
You nudge her playfully. “Sounds rough. Need a partner in crime to balance it out?”
Her lips twitch into a smile, eyes flicking to yours. “Maybe.”
Step four: Show off a little.
That night at the bonfire, you find yourself juggling three marshmallows, the flames casting flickering shadows on your face. You catch her watching, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “I call this... the triple threat.”
She laughs, loud and genuine. “If only that was a talent that counted in real life.”
You toss her a perfectly toasted marshmallow. “Does in mine.”
Her eyes meet yours, a spark there that feels like a promise.
Step five: Make your move.
Later, when the night winds down and the others drift off, you find her alone on the porch swing. The ocean breeze tousles her hair, the moonlight softening the world around you.
You sit beside her, silence stretching comfortably.
“So, uh, this is step five,” you say, voice a little rough, heart pounding.
She looks at you, curious. “Step five?”
You take a breath, the moment hanging between you. “Hum... I mean... Wanna go to the cinema tomorrow?”
She smirks, that familiar teasing light in her eyes. “Yeah. Why not.”
It’s not perfect. There’s no grand declaration, no fireworks. Just two people on a porch swing, the ocean breeze soft and real, and the kind of awkward ease that says maybe this summer’s going to be different.
You don’t need clichés or cheesy lines. You just need her, you, and the long, slow dance of getting to know each other—one step at a time.