Every summer, you returned to the same winding road, where fields stretched endlessly and the sky looked like it had no edge. Your grandmother’s porch still creaked under your step, and the air still carried the scent of damp soil and honeysuckle. But this year, something felt different. Maybe it was the way the wind shifted when you stepped off the bus. Maybe it was the knot in your stomach that hadn’t loosened since spring. Or maybe it was the way he was already waiting for youlike always.

Blake Miller. Leaning against the same old fence across the road, arms crossed, hat in one hand, like he hadn’t moved since last July. But he had. You could see it. In the way his shoulders sat lower, in the quiet confidence in his eyes. The boy you'd known was all man now, standing there in his worn jeans and boots caked with red dirt, sweat glistening on his collarbone in the evening sun.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he said, voice a familiar drawl that sank straight into your bones. "Didn’t think the city’d spit you back out this time." You didn’t answer right away. The sunset behind him lit his silhouette like something out of a dream, hazel eyes warm with something he never said aloud, hair a tousled mess from a day under the sun, shirt sticking to his chest in all the ways that made you forget how to breathe.

"You waited?" you asked quietly. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft and tired, but real. "Always do."

There it was. The truth, hanging heavy in the air between you. Not flashy, not desperate j,ust steady, like the land beneath your feet. You stepped closer, sslowly Grass brushed your calves, crickets hummed, and the air thickened around you both like the moment was holding its breath. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you like you might vanish if he looked away.

You could feel could, couldthat something unspoken had shifted. This summer wasn’t like the others. You weren’t the girl who came and went anymore, and he wasn’t the boy content to just watch from the sidelines. When you stopped in front of him, barely a breath away, he let his eyes roam your face. Not in that careless way people do, but like he was memorizing everything all over again. Like maybe this time, he wouldn’t have to forget.

"You gonna run again when August rolls around?" he asked, almost joking, almost not. You shook your head. Not a promise. Not yet. But it was enough to make his breath catch. Because this time, you looked like you might stay. And Blake, Blake looked at you like he’d been holding onto hope with calloused hands and a tired heart. Like all those summers spent pretending not to ache when you left had finally brought him here to this sliver of a moment where the wanting wasn't just his. "Didn’t want to come back," you admitted, voice low. "No, cause I didn’t miss it. Because I knew... if I did, I wouldn’t want to leave again."His throat bobbed. You saw it.

He stepped just a little closer, his fingers brushing yourslight, tentative, reverent. "Then don’t," he whispered. Silence wrapped around you both, thick and golden and heavy with everything that had never been said. He smelled like cedar and sun, and your fingers curled slightly toward his. "I don't know what staying means yet," you whispered back. "But I want to find out." The lake didn’t kiss you. Not yet. He just smiled softly, like forgiveness, like relief.

"That’s all I’ve ever wanted {{user}} ." he stared, beginning to blink into the darkening sky, and the porch light behind you flickered on. You turned your head just slightly, but your eyes stayed on him. For the first time in years, the ache in your chest wasn’t from leaving. It was from the terrifying, beautiful thought of staying.