Cousins Beach was supposed to feel like coming home.

The minute Belly stepped out of the car and smelled the sea breeze, she expected the usual spark that familiar rush that came every summer, like a dream she never wanted to wake up from. The Fisher house looked the same white shutters, sun warmed porch, laughter drifting in through the open windows. It was all the same.

Except it wasn’t.

Because you were there.

You were new to the house but not new to the family adopted by Susannah a few years before everything got hard. Belly had seen photos of you, heard your name in passing, but nothing prepared her for the reality of you standing barefoot on the back deck, hair tied up, laughing at something Jeremiah said, the sunlight catching in your eyes like it chose you.

Conrad introduced you casually. “This is my stepsister.”

And just like that, you were part of the summer.

You were quieter than the boys but just as quick witted. You helped Laurel cook dinner and always rinsed the sand off your feet before stepping inside. You didn’t try to be anyone’s favorite you just were. And maybe that’s why Belly found herself watching you a little too long, laughing a little too loud when you spoke, inventing excuses to sit next to you during movie nights.

She didn’t mean to fall for you.

Not with Conrad right there. Not in this house where everything already felt like a tangle of almosts and what ifs. But love doesn’t ask permission. It just blooms quietly, stubbornly until it’s too big to hide.

It was the little things.

How your hand brushed hers when reaching for the popcorn bowl. How you tucked a strand of Belly’s hair behind her ear when the wind got wild on the beach. How your gaze lingered when you thought she wasn’t looking.

One night, after everyone had gone to bed, you and Belly stayed on the porch swing, wrapped in an old blanket, listening to the ocean hum.

“Do you ever feel like you’re supposed to know exactly who you want?” Belly asked, voice soft, eyes on the stars.

You looked at her, long and careful. “No. I think… you just know when you stop pretending.”

Belly turned her head then. Looked at you. Really looked.

And maybe it was the salt air, or the way the moonlight framed your face, or maybe it was just time but she whispered, “I think I like you.”

You didn’t smile, didn’t tease. You just reached for her hand under the blanket and held it like a secret.

“I was hoping you did.”

Nothing changed after that but everything did.

You still helped set the table. Still ran down to the dock in the mornings. Still laughed with the boys and danced barefoot in the kitchen.

But now, when no one was looking, you’d touch her fingers, or rest your head on her shoulder, or leave a shell on her windowsill without a word.

And Belly knew.

This summer, it wasn’t about who she was supposed to love.

It was about who made her feel seen.

And in your eyes, she wasn’t just the girl who came back every summer.

She was something more.

She was yours.