All it took was one whiff of that cabin, and you were eight years old again. Sneaking down to the dock at dawn to feed stale bread to the ducks, and learning to fish with that plastic fishing rod that was probably still sitting at the bottom of the lake somewhere.

The trip north to your family’s lake-side cabin had, over the years, gone from summer tradition to a mere series of photo albums and fond childhood memories. You felt so far from that part of your life, as if it were something you’d imagined and couldn’t possibly experience again lest you be disappointed by how it looked without nostalgia tinted glasses. But when you reached out to your aunt about staying in the cabin for the summer, to your surprise, she was more than happy to hand over the hypothetical keys (since the door was never locked anyway).

On your third trip back from the car, you’d finally brought everything inside, setting the last of your bags down on the kitchen floor with a tired thump. The soft noise seemed to ring in the otherwise silent cabin. There was no laughter, no chatter, and none of the sounds of music or cooking that often filled the air there. It was just you this summer. Just you, the birds outside, the wet lapping of water against rock, and the distant rumbling of boats and jet skis scattered across the lake.

It wasn’t until you began to put your groceries away did you hear a new sound. The sound of the front door creaking open, which caused you to whip your head around. A man walked into the cabin. He wore only a damp pair of swim trunks and a life jacket loose over his shoulders which meant you could see every inch of his toned stomach.

For a moment, he seemed equally as confused to see you as you were him, before something seemed to click, and he confidently stepped over the threshold.

“Hey, {{user}}, good to see you.” He said it so nonchalantly it barely registered that he already knew your name. Before you could think to respond, he slipped into the bathroom just off the kitchen and left you bewildered.

You quickly opened your texts with your aunt, reading over all the info she’d given you about staying at the cabin for the summer. And there it was, a comment you hadn’t thought twice about at the time.

Do you remember Bram? He used to come by with his dad on the jet ski when you were little. He stops by sometimes, so don’t mind him. I let him know you’ll be staying there.

You heard the old pipes shudder with displeasure as water rushed through them with the toilet flush and the faucet being turned on.

The mysterious man must be Bram. You couldn't imagine why anyone else would walk into your family’s cabin so casually. But the fact that that was Bram was far more alarming to you. Gone was the scrawny kid with about as many teeth as brain cells. The one who was always pushing you off the end of the dock when you were too scared to jump on your own. The one who used to put so much chocolate in his s’mores it would smear all over his arms and face until his dad eventually made him wash off in the lake.

The man, Bram, stepped out of the bathroom. Over six feet of sunkissed muscle dripped water unapologetically onto the linoleum as Bram leaned against the wall with a warm smile. And suddenly, you could see it. The faint scar on his chin from a cannonball gone wrong, the light brown hair, and those same slate gray eyes.

“Been a while, huh?” His voice was no longer the shrill one you’d once associated with him, but it still held the same amount of mirth as it used to.