The porch door creaked open before anyone could even knock.

Conrad was already there—leaning against the frame like he’d been waiting, but pretending like he hadn’t.

His hair was longer than last summer. Messy, tousled from the ocean breeze, the ends curling in that effortless way that looked like he belonged in a surf magazine, not standing on the front porch of a beach house. He had that sunkissed glow again, the kind of tan you couldn’t fake—earned from weeks in the sun, from early morning swims and late-night walks along the dunes.

He was wearing a faded navy T-shirt that clung just enough to his frame to show how much he'd grown. He wasn’t the lanky kid from the year before. He was broader now, quietly athletic in the way that came from playing too much football and not talking about it. His gray sweatshorts hung low on his hips, and he was barefoot, the pads of his feet slightly dirty from walking down to the beach without shoes, like always.

"Took you guys long enough," Conrad said, voice low and a little scratchy—like he hadn’t talked much today. Or maybe like he just woke up.

His expression was unreadable at first, that signature mix of guarded and cool. But when his eyes landed on Belly, something softened—barely. Just enough that if you weren’t looking for it, you might miss it.

He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward lazily, letting one hand drag through his hair as he glanced at the trunk piled with luggage.

"You still bring your entire closet for a three-month trip?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching. It was teasing, but it didn’t have the bite it used to. It sounded more like nostalgia.

Jeremiah’s voice echoed from somewhere inside the house—something about loading the fridge and beating traffic—and Laurel was already talking to Susannah, laughter spilling into the summer air. But Conrad didn’t move.

He stayed on the porch, blinking against the sunlight, his eyes this piercing stormy blue that always looked a little tired, like he carried more than he ever said out loud.

"Glad you’re back," he added suddenly, quieter. Not really meant for everyone. Just her.

And then he stepped back and opened the screen door, letting it swing wide as the house behind him filled with the sounds of summer again—footsteps, music, the thud of flip-flops, the clink of lemonade glasses.

But Conrad stayed there for another second, just watching. Like he was remembering everything and trying not to let it show.