My name.
“Sophie?”
It didn’t belong here. Not in Charleston. Not on a dock glowing with string lights and tourists and salt air. It belonged to dusty summers and scraped knees and a Texas town so small it felt like a secret.
I turned slowly, my heart already racing ahead of my thoughts.
And there he was.
Wyatt Dane.
For a split second, my brain refused to reconcile the man standing in front of me with the boy I carried in memory. The last version of him I’d seen was lean and sunburned, all elbows and restless energy, a half-smile that never quite went away.
This version was … finished. Solid. Broad shoulders filling out a dark shirt, long legs planted confidently on the dock, posture easy but alert.
He had grown into the kind of man people stopped to look at without quite knowing why. The boyish edges were gone, replaced by something steadier. His hair was shorter, touched by the sun, his jaw stronger, traced with faint stubble that made me suddenly, unhelpfully aware of my hands.
He was tall. Taller than I remembered. A man instead of a boy.
And his eyes—God, his eyes—were still the same warm brown, searching my face like he was afraid I might disappear again if he blinked.
“Wyatt,” I breathed.
The sound of his name in my mouth did something dangerous to my chest.
For a moment, neither of us moved. We just stared, the space between us vibrating with everything we hadn’t said in over a decade.
Then Beth made a small, incredulous noise beside me.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured. “Is this one of those rom-com moments where the universe just body-slams you with your past?”
Natasha’s eyes flicked between us, sharp and curious. “You know him.”
I nodded slowly, still not looking away from Wyatt. “I … yeah. I do.”
He smiled then—full, unguarded—and it hit me right in the ribs. The same smile that used to make teachers forgive himfor talking too much. The same smile that made summers feel endless.
“Soph,” he said softly, like he was testing whether he was allowed to say it.
My throat tightened. “Hi.”
He laughed under his breath, a low sound that felt intimate. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
I found my voice by sheer force of will. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
For a second, we just stood there, hovering in that awkward space between memory and now—between who we’d been and whatever we were suddenly standing on the edge of. Then he stepped forward, slow enough that I could’ve stopped it. I didn’t.
His arms wrapped around me, solid and warm, and the contact sent a quiet shock through my body. He felt different—broader through the shoulders, harder where he’d once been all angles and motion. His chest was solid under my cheek, his hand settling at my back like it knew exactly where to go.
I hugged him back before I could overthink it, my arms fitting around him in a way that felt dangerously right. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once. When we pulled apart, my pulse was racing, my awareness sharpened in a way that had nothing to do with nostalgia.
He met my eyes, something unreadable flickering there, like he’d felt it, too—and that scared me a little more than it should have.
Beth cleared her throat pointedly. “Not to interrupt what is clearly a cosmic reunion, but introductions?”
“Sorry,” I said quickly, blinking myself back into the present. “Beth. Natasha. This is Wyatt. He was … my very best friend growing up.”
Wyatt nodded politely, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
