Leo notices my fidgeting. His jaw flexes as he refills his water glass, casual on the surface, but his attention cuts between us. He doesn’t say anything, but his whole posture screams the same protective interference he’s been throwing up all summer.
Because every time I thought maybe Nate and I could be alone for a few minutes, Leo would materialize. Like when Nate offered to help me carry towels back to the house. Or when he lingered by the outdoor shower, waiting while I rinsed sand from my feet. Leo’s voice would slice between us with “Can I help,” or “Dinner’s ready.” It’s been that way all summer—every time the space between us might narrow, Leo would slide in between. Not cruel. Not obvious. Just…relentless.
And now, across the dinner table, with laughter buzzing around us, my brother pretends to eat while his eyes cycle from me to Nate and back. His jealousy over sharing his best friend mixed with overprotective big brother instincts creates a wall I can’t break through.
The message in his rigid shoulders is unmistakable:Don’t try. Don’t even think about it.
Ryan lifts a forkful of okra, all theatrics. “So, Eden, what’s the plan for the next two weeks without your best buddy?” He jerks his chin at Nate. “Your shadow’s ditching you for camp.”
My cheeks burn. The strawberry gloss on my lips feels loud under my brother’s jab. I fuss with my fork. “I’ll manage.”
Nate’s hand pauses halfway to his water glass. His fingers tap once, twice against his chest, where a folded note mightrest. He catches himself, lifts the glass, and takes a long, easy sip.
I see it.
When he sets the water down, his eyes find mine. Not a flicker, not an accident. He looks. This time, I’m not imagining it. His eyes warm, a small spark I don’t have a name for, and at the edges, I see the goodbye coming.
My pulse leaps, heat climbing my cheeks. He read it. He knows.
Leo doesn’t laugh.He stabs at a potato hard enough to make the fork screech. “She’ll be fine,” he cuts in, tone too sharp. “She’s got Cassie. She doesn’t need anyone else trailing after her.”
The tension spikes. Even Ryan glances away, swallowing his amusement.
Nate doesn’t answer directly, but his jaw tightens. His fork slows, circling kale with too much focus. When he finally responds, his voice is measured. “Eden’s not a little kid anymore. She doesn’t need protecting from friends.”
The words detonate at the center of dinner. Leo’s head snaps up, his whole body going rigid. But before he can fire back, Nate looks at me again, and this time there’s a question in his expression. Or a promise.
My stomach flips.
“Now don’t you boys start.” Janice’s Southern drawl is firm as she smooths over the tension. “It’s too nice a night to waste on bickering.” She pats Nate’s shoulder, her gold bangles chiming. “Tell them, baby. About camp.”
The conversation moves on, but I can barely follow it. Because twice more during dinner, I catch Nate looking at me when he thinks no one else will notice. And once, whenLeo gets up to help clear plates, Nate mouths a single word across the table, “Later.”
By dessert, my hands are shaking so hard I can barely hold my spoon. The ice cream melts while I swirl it aimlessly, my mind racing. He found the note. He wants to see me too.
When the adults drift into louder stories and Leo disappears inside to grab another drink, I slip away.
As I headtoward the dunes, the boardwalk creaks beneath my sandals. My body thrums with anticipation. The night air is warm, thick with salt and possibility, the sand glistening in silver streaks under the moonlight. The waves roll steady, crashing soft against the shore.
I settle near the waterline, hugging my knees. My dress feels too short, my lips too sticky, my breathing too quick. But it doesn’t matter. Because any second now, he’ll appear.
I imagine it: Nate walking down the path, hands shoved in his pockets, giving me that crooked smile. He’ll sit beside me, maybe touch my hand. Maybe kiss me, the way he did last summer in that stupid game of Spin the Bottle. Except this time, it will mean something.
Any second now.
Minutes drag. The stars blaze brighter. The tide creeps closer, foaming at the sand.
Maybe he’s late. Maybe Leo cornered him. Maybe he’s sneaking out carefully so no one suspects.
I keep watching the dunes, every rustle of wind making my chest jump.
But the path stays empty.
Half an hour.
My stomach clenches. My sticky coating is gone, chewed off.
An hour.
