You weren’t in love with Malachi Barton. Not exactly. But it was pretty close.

How could you not admire him? He was everything—cool, confident, way out of your league, and he didn’t even have to try. He was the kind of boy who made you forget what you were saying just by looking at you.

But there was one tiny problem.

You were fifteen. He was eighteen.

And according to him, three years is a lot.

Did that stop you? Of course not. Malachi was practically part of the family, best friends with your older brother, Mateo. He was always over—on the couch, in the kitchen, laughing like he belonged. So you saw him all the time. And every time, you tried just a little harder to get him to notice you.

Today was no different.

You heard his familiar laugh from the hallway. He was leaving. No, not yet. You couldn’t let him leave without at least trying.

So you bolted down the stairs—too fast. Almost tripped. Caught yourself.

Malachi was at the front door, keys in hand, turning to leave.

“I think you’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen in my life,” you said as smooth as you could be, leaning on the stair railings.

He froze, then slowly turned his head toward you, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“How old are you? Ten?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “I’m fifteen.”

“Yeah? And I’m eighteen.” He raised a brow, leaning against the doorframe. “What do you think your brother would say if he knew you talked to me like this?”

You shrugged, leaning on the stair railing with a smirk. “He’d say I have great taste.”

Malachi laughed, shaking his head. “What do you think is gonna happen here? I have a girlfriend. And I’m almost four years older than you.”

“Ughhh!” you groaned, throwing your head back for extra effect. “Still! Let me take you out to dinner!” you said, hanging off the railing like your life depended on it.

He stared at you for a second before bursting out laughing. “What, you gonna drive up to me on your tricycle? No thanks, I don’t really like Chuck E. Cheese.”

You narrowed your eyes and hopped down the last step, standing in front of him with your chin tilted up defiantly. “I can drive!”

He turned, halfway out the door, and laughed out loud. “Please—you’d crash us into a tree!”

“I have a learner’s permit!” you protested. “And you’re an adult, so it’s legal!”

Malachi just shook his head, still grinning. “You’re insane.”

He grabbed the doorknob, pulling it open. For a second, you saw something flicker in his eyes—softness, maybe? But then he smirked again, slipping through the door.

You stood there, heart pounding, but you could already feel the disappointment creeping in.

You turned and slowly started back up the stairs to your room, trying not to think about how impossible it all felt.

Malachi glanced back one last time before the door shut. He saw you walking away, head low, and for a second… he hesitated.

Because the truth?

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fond of you. Your persistence cracked him up. Your little jokes always got to him. And sometimes—just sometimes—he’d imagined what it would be like if things were different. If you were older. If the timing wasn’t so off.

Maybe you’d have a chance. Maybe you’d make your way into his heart.

But maybe not now. Maybe not yet.

Maybe in a year. Or two. Or three.

Someday.