Chapter 1
-- INTRO
“I remember everything,” he said. “The way you tap your fingers in a rhythmic pattern when you’re thinking. How you never ever finish your mango juice. How you reread the same damn book like it’s going to give you a different ending if you love it hard enough.” My throat tightened. The rain kept falling.
-- CHAPTER ONE
The ferry rocked gently beneath my Converse as I stepped onto the dock, sea breeze tugging strands of my hair into my lip gloss. The island smelled like sunscreen, coconuts, and nostalgia. Somewhere deeper, under the summer-laced perfume of it all, was something tugging at my memory. A feeling. A shadow of something—or—something—left behind.
“Addy, can you not look like you just stepped off the streets? It’s a farm,” Shawn muttered beside me, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder.
“I’ll stop dressing amazing when you stop dressing like a middle school SoundCloud rapper,” I shot back, squinting at his hoodie. In June.
He grinned. “You’re just mad because I can rock a hoodie in this heat.”
Behind us, my older sister Eliana was already barefoot on the dock, laughing as she waved at the ferry captain, Harry, like they were old pals, which they probably were. Eliana fits here. Her sun-bleached hair was twisted in a bun, a vintage Tom’s Diner tee, and seashell necklaces adorning her neck. “Come on, Littles,” she called, her voice half-lost to the wind. “Grandma made mango ice cream!”
That did it. Shawn bolted ahead. I took my time, dragging my suitcase along the wooden planks as the sea whispered beside me. Our grandparents’ farm sat on a hill overlooking the bay, ringed with mango trees and stubborn patches of sunflowers. Beyond that, the island buzzed with tourists chasing waves and tans. But here, it was quiet. Familiar. Timeless.
“Same weird cow statue on the porch,” Shawn observed as we reached the house.
“Same terrifying gnome,” I added.
“Same Grandma,” said Mom, coming up behind them with a tired smile and salt-stained sunglasses. She looked out at the farm like it had been waiting just for her. By evening, the sun was dipping low, setting the sea on fire. Eliana had disappeared again—likely off to Tom’s or FaceTiming Harry from her rocking chair. Shawn was sprawled on the hammock out back, earbuds in, probably listening to Drake, and I... I had wandered.
I followed a dirt path past the mango grove and through the tall grass that bordered their neighbors’ land. The sun was slanting hard when I found myself on the edge of the strawberry field. That’s when I heard them—two boys laughing, voices laced with that kind of effortless charm that usually spelled trouble. I ducked behind a fencepost just as they came into view, like that would work.
One had hair like honey and skin like he lived in the sun. He wore a white, crisp open button-down, board shorts, and a too-perfect smirk. The other... the other had something quieter about him. Brown curls kissed by salt, eyes like sea glass, and a conch necklace slung around his somehow pale neck in this smoldering sun. He looked up suddenly, eyes flicking toward where I crouched. For a moment, they just stared.
“Wes,” the curly-haired boy murmured, elbowing Blondie’s arm. “I think someone’s spying,” he smiled.
Blondie turned. “Well, well. You hiding, city girl?”
I stood up slowly, brushing dust from my Levi jeans — painstakingly wishing I wore something else, forcing my voice into a cool drawl. “Just trying to see if this field came with a warning sign for overinflated egos.”
Blondie smirked. “Cute and mouthy. I like that.”
“Don’t,” I replied, spinning on my heel. But my heart was pounding.
As I walked away, the curly-haired boy called after me softly, but it carried. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
I paused. “Should I?”
A smile ghosted across his face. “Maybe.”
I didn’t ask what he meant. I just kept walking. But as I slipped back through the grove toward the house, I felt something shift. This summer, I realized, might be more than just late nights. It might be the beginning of something I wasn’t ready for.
