“Wow, deep analysis. You talk about fruit like it’s philosophy.”
“Maybe it is.” He looks at me, half-grin, half-serious. “People show who they are in what they like.”
I tilt my head. “And what does that say about you?”
“That I like things that last.”
My breath catches a little, and I look down, pretending to inspect the raspberries. “And me?”
He pretends to think, eyes glinting. “Raspberries, huh? That tracks.”
“How?”
“They look delicate, but they hold their shape. Sweet when you least expect it.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I don’t. The silence stretches, soft and weightless. The market sounds fade into a blur—voices, footsteps, the buzz of summer.
Finally, I mumble, “You’re kind of poetic for a guy arguing about fruit.”
He laughs quietly. “Don’t tell anyone.”
I can’t help not smiling. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
He glances toward the street. “You heading home?”
“Eventually.”
“You should come to the shore first. It’s quiet down there. You can see the sunset from the rocks.”
I hesitate. My brothers’ voices flicker in the back of my mind—warnings, rules, the usual protective noise. But Cole doesn’t feel dangerous. He feels steady. Curious. Real.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ve never been.”
He nods, like he expected that. “Then let’s fix it.”
He takes a step toward the road, and I follow, the sound of the market fading behind us. His hand brushes mine once—not enough to mean anything, but enough that my heart skips anyway.
The paper bag rustles between us, the faint scent of fruit rising in the warm air.
Raspberries. Strawberries. Summer.
It feels like the beginning of something, though I don’t have a name for it yet
The road to the shore curves behind the market, a narrow path lined with wild grass and Queen Anne’s lace. The sun’s slipping lower, that golden-hour kind of light where everything feels softer—like the world’s been holding its breath just for you.
Cole walks a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, kicking at pebbles. Every so often he glances back, just to make sure I’m still there.
“So,” he says, “how come I’ve never seen you down here before?”
I shrug, adjusting the paper bag in my arms. “My brothers think the shore’s too dangerous.”
He smirks. “What, they think I’m hiding down there waiting to cause trouble?”
“Maybe,” I tease. “You do have a bit of a reputation.”
“Yeah?” His voice dips low with a laugh. “What kind?”
“The kind that makes small-town moms whisper your name like it’s a warning.”
