“So, Y/N,” she says, smirking. “What’s it like being the secret girlfriend?”

You blink. “What?”

Belly speaks next, “Well, you know. Conrad didn’t tell any of us about you for, like, two years?”

Conrad shifts beside you. “Belly—”

“She’s not wrong,” Taylor shrugs. “It’s kinda weird, right?”

Steven frowns. “Guys, what the hell?”

But Belly is still looking at you. “I mean, you’re nice. But you’ve been dating for how long? And he never even mentioned you?”

Your stomach twists.

“I didn’t know I was a secret,” you say, quietly.

“You weren’t,” Conrad snaps, glaring at her. “Belly, shut up.”

Something in you snapped; you slam your cards down, glaring at Belly. “Do you ever stop?”

The table goes silent.

Belly blinks. “What?”

“Dropping all these little reminders. Acting like I don’t belong here. Like you’re trying to prove something.”

Her cheeks flush pink. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Your voice wavers, but you push on. “Every time I try to spend time with Conrad, you’re right there. Every time I try to feel like I fit in, you make sure I know I don’t. What do you want from me, Belly?”

She leans back in her chair. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”

The table goes quiet.

You stare at her.

“Excuse me?”

Belly shrugs. “You didn’t have to insert yourself into this. Into here. It’s always been… us four. And now everything’s different.”

Conrad stands up, leaning over the table. “Belly. Don’t.”

“No,” you say, voice shaking. “Let her talk.”

Belly looks at you. “You just showed up. And suddenly Conrad’s all distracted. Different. This was supposed to be our summer.”

You feel like someone’s poured cold water down your back.

“I’m not trying to take anything away,” you say, stunned. “I just wanted to be here. With him.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe some places aren’t yours to be.”

That does it.

You stand up, heart pounding so loud you can barely hear over it. “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t belong here.” 

You are halfway across the porch before Conrad catches up to you.

 “Stop!” He grabs your hand, but you pull away. “Y/N.”

You lock eyes with Conrad. “Just leave me alone! Please,” Your voice shook.

You look at everyone.

Jeremiah is silent. Steven looks guilty now. Taylor seems surprised. Belly’s staring at the table.

You don’t belong here.

You storm off the porch, a soft I’m sorry falling from your lips, through the house, and up the stairs. You don’t stop until you reach the guest room, closing the door behind you. 

You sit in the window seat, hugging your knees, trying not to cry.

The tears come anyway. The sun had already gone down, and the sounds of yelling and screaming from downstairs had stopped ages ago. 

Somewhere, an awful thought bubbled up inside of you.

Should I even be here?

As much as you had tried to pretend you fit in between the deep bonds and childhood memories, you’d always known, deep down, that Belly was right.

You weren’t part of this place.

You weren’t her.

You weren’t from here.

And maybe, worst of all, some part of you believed that maybe Conrad really loved her, even if he was with you now.

Your tears had finally dried, and a dull ache had settled over your head.

Your hand shook as you shoved a sweatshirt into your bag. It was his. Of course it was. Everything in your life lately felt like it had Conrad Fisher written all over it. 

You didn’t know what hurt more: what Belly had said, or that it confirmed every quiet fear you’d tried to bury over the past couple of weeks. 

Someone knocked hesitantly on the door. Then a voice, broken and quiet. “Y/N…”

You don’t turn around. “Go away.” 

It opened anyway. Conrad stepped in, his hoodie unzipped over a worn T-shirt, eyes dark with something unreadable. He closed the door behind him.

You wiped your face fast, voice sharp. “Please don’t. I just want to leave.”

He steps closer, “Don’t say that.”

“I can’t do this, Con. She hates me.”

“Y/n, come on—”

“Don’t,” you said, not looking at him. “It’s fine. She was right.”

He blinked. “What?”

“She’s right,” you repeated, louder now. “I don’t belong here. I never did. You grew up with her. With all of this. I’m just—some girl you go to school with.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not true.”

You laughed bitterly, zipping the suitcase. “Really, Conrad. You didn’t even tell them I existed until this summer.”

“We’ve talked about that. It was a mistake.”

You stood up, eyes wet and tired. “You’re right. It was, and it hurt.”

He flinched like you’d slapped him.

For a moment, neither of you said anything—just the sound of your breathing and the wind pushing gently against the window.

“I didn’t tell them because I didn’t want to share you,” Conrad says.

You still don’t move.

“I know that’s messed up,” he continues, sitting on the bed in front of you. “But you were this… this thing that was mine. This good, perfect thing I didn’t want touched by all the stuff here.”

You say nothing.

“I messed up,” he says. “I should’ve told them. I should’ve brought you here last summer. I should’ve never let anyone make you feel like you weren’t enough.”

You whisper, “I feel stupid.”

“Don’t.”

There was no use in trying to stop the tears running down your face. It had been a long night, heck, a long couple of weeks. Conrad reached out for you, pulling at your arms and tucking you into his chest like you were something fragile. 

You finally looked at him, Conrad’s eyes lined with red. He had been crying, and his hands were shaking as they reached up to cradle your cheeks.

“Do you think I don’t love you?” he asked, voice low.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“I love you more than anything,” he said, and his voice broke. “I didn’t tell them about you because I didn’t know how Belly was going to react to it. I didn’t want to watch her stupid crush ruin everything.”

You looked at him, “Well, it did. Because she hates me, and maybe she has a reason to.”

He tugged on your arm. You let him pull you onto the bed next to him. 

"No. No, she doesn’t. I should’ve protected you better,” he whispered. “From her. From this. I should have never kept you a secret, and I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough.”

You swallowed hard, tears burning again. “I should have said something earlier, but I didn’t know how. She’s in love with you. And it’s not about being enough. It’s about never feeling like I was really part of your life.”

“You are, I promise,” he said immediately.  “And I should have talked to you more, made sure Belly wasn’t a problem.” 

He pulled you back into him, not in the usual careful way—this was tight, desperate.

He leans back and pulls something out of his hoodie pocket. Your necklace, the locket with a C engraved on the back that he had given you for Christmas. You’d taken it off before swimming and forgotten.

“I don’t care if she’s weird about us or if she is in love with me,” he says, clasping it around your neck. “I care about you. I’m in love with you.”

Your breath catches.

“I love you,” he said again. 

You look at him, lips trembling, your arm wraps around his neck, pulling him into you. The kiss is messy, tear-streaked, desperate. His hands find their way to your waist, holding you tightly. 

You broke the kiss, pressing your face into his shoulder, and taking a shaky breath. He pressed you against him, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. 

“Please,” Conrad begged. “Please stay. Don’t go home.” 

You were silent for a moment before sighing, “Okay.”

He pulled back just enough to see your face. “Okay?”

“I’ll stay,” you said, quieter this time. “But you have to talk to Belly.”

“I will.” His thumb brushed under your eye, gently catching the last tear. “I’ll talk to her.”

You leaned into his hand.

“You scared me,” Conrad admitted. “I thought I had run you off.”

You gave him a tiny, tired smile. “Nah, I think you’re stuck with me, Fisher.”

He grinned, kissing your forehead. “Good.”

And just like that, the storm passed.

You unpacked. Conrad stayed and helped you while you did. 

He snuck back into your room later that night. His hair was damp and messy, and his pants were low on his hips. He clumsily shut the door behind him, failing to muffle the sound of it closing. 

“Real smooth, Connie,” You teased.  It had been a while since things had been like this between you – laid back, soft, endearing, easy. Giggles fell from your lips.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The bed flopped as he landed beside you and pulled you into his chest. 

“Jere and Steven will have a field day if they know you're in here. Remember last time?” 

His hands played with the ends of your hair, eyes raking over your face like he was trying to memorize it. His eyes darkened as they landed on your lips. 

He closes the distance between you, leaning away at the last second to smirk at you, “Then you better be quiet, Sweetheart.” 

His lips attach to yours, deepening the kiss as he pulls you into his lap. You stay that way for a while, before Cornad rolls you over his hands on either side of your head. 

“You're so beautiful,” he says, trailing kisses all over your neck and shoulders.

 When you had finally settled into sleep that night—his arms around you, wearing his shirt—you finally felt truly at peace.

You woke up to the sound of Conrad’s steady breathing and the smell of pancakes.

For a minute, you didn’t move. Just lay there, blinking at the soft morning light seeping in through the curtains, golden haze covering the room.

Conrad was still asleep beside you, one arm slung across your waist, his face buried against your shoulder. His breath warmed the side of your neck. His hair was a mess.

You smiled into the pillow.

He was still here, and so were you. You tried to savor the feeling of him against you, knowing summer would end all too quickly and Conrad would be off to Brown.

You slipped out carefully, trying not to wake him. The wooden floors were cold beneath your feet as you padded down the stairs, one of Conrad’s sweatshirts falling past your shorts, your hands tucked into the sleeves. 

Belly and Steven were in the kitchen. 

“Hey,” She glanced up as you came in, blinking over he cereal. 

“Hey.”

You opened the fridge. “Want me to make coffee?”

There was a beat of hesitation, and she shrugged, “Sure.”

Steven gave you a small smile. “Pancakes?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Steven flipped one onto a plate with an unnecessary amount of flair. “We’ve got chocolate chip, banana, and apology pancakes.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and Belly.

She gave him a look. “Steven.”

He shrugged. “Just saying. Feels like an apology pancake kind of morning.”

Belly sighed. Then she turned to you.

“I’m sorry,” she said. No fluff. No drama. Just honesty.

You blinked. 

Then, soft and kind of surprising, “He looks at you like you hung the stars.”

“I was hurt,” she went on, “but that didn’t give me the right to take it out on you. You didn’t deserve it.”

You looked at her with an understanding smile on your lips.

Belly kept her eyes on her cereal. “It just… caught me off guard. That’s all.”

“I didn’t mean to come in and—”

“I know,” she cut in. “It’s not your fault.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “And… I get it.”

Belly smiled, soft and a little sad. “Yeah.”

And somehow, just like that, it felt okay again.

You exhaled. “Friends?”

Belly finally looked at you, and after a pause, “I’d like that.”

You took your pancakes out to the porch. The sun hung over the water, warm and lazy, glittering over its surface.

Conrad joined you a few minutes later, hair sticking up, wearing the same pants from the night before and a new t-shirt. 

He plopped beside you on the porch swing and rested his head on your shoulder.

“Good Morning,” he mumbled, still half-asleep.

“Morning.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then to your cheek, then your forehead, like it was a pattern he’d memorized.

“Are we good?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. We’re good.”

He pulled your legs over his lap and stole a piece of your pancake.

You let him, handing him your cup of coffee also. 

He took a sip before scrunching his nose, “Too sweet.”

Conrad handed you the mug back before kissing your temple again and leaning back, his arms around you, and nowhere else to be.

Everything felt still. Everything felt right.

a/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS SERIES!!! This has been so much fun to write! I was really scared to post the first fic I have ever written all the way through, and it means the world to me that you have enjoyed this series! Love you all!

Your suitcase thumps against the wood of the front porch as you stand in front of the door, knocking. Your heart is pounding harder than it should be. You try not to feel nervous, but you can already see silhouettes through the screen. 

You had just finished texting Conrad when Belly opened the door. “Hey,” you said, smiling, suitcase in hand. “I’m Y/N.”

Belly blinked at you. She was in cutoffs, and her hair was damp like she had just come back from swimming. She was beautiful.  

Your smile widened in an effort to break whatever tension seemed to suddenly spark between you, but Belly just stood there, one hand on the door, frozen—a sour look all over her face. 

You shifted. “Um… Conrad invited me? I’m staying here for a few weeks.” There was another beat of awkward silence before you heard Conrad’s mom coming from somewhere in the house.

“Hi, honey!” Susannah says, pushing past Belly, pulling you straight into a hug. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

Warmth floods through you. Susannah smells like sunscreen and hydrangeas, and she squeezes your hand before leading you inside.

The summer house feels like something out of a magazine. Worn floors, wide windows, and the scent of lemons, hydrangeas, and coconut sunscreen in the air. There’s laughter from the kitchen and the faint sound of a movie playing nearby.

You meet Laurel next; she’s quieter, reserved, but welcoming in a way that puts you at ease. 

Steven bounds down the stairs, grinning like he’s been waiting all day. “Ohhh, so you’re the girl Conrad’s been hiding,” he teases, and you can’t help your cheeks from warming. 

You laughed awkwardly. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Jeremiah stood at the edge of the living room next to Belly and popped a grape into his mouth, grinning. He cracked a sarcastic joke about the chaos of “another girl in the house,” and you laughed again.

Belly’s mouth opened slightly, like she wanted to say something, but Conrad jogged down the stairs and wrapped an arm around your waist like it was the most normal thing in the world. He was barefoot and sun-kissed, wearing a faded blue T-shirt and shorts.

“Hey,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You made it.”

And then, to the group, “I see you’ve met my girlfriend, Y/n.”

Your stomach flipped. He rarely had to say the word “girlfriend” back in Boston. Everyone knew you two were inseparable. You had forgotten how much that one simple word made you melt.

Belly looked like she’d swallowed sand.

“Hi,” she says, giving you a tight smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You smile back. “You too. I’ve heard so much about you.”

She tilts her head. “Funny. I didn’t know you existed.”

There’s a pause. Not long enough for anyone else to catch it, but long enough for your stomach to flip.

Conrad clears his throat. “Y/N’s been my girlfriend for almost two years.”

“Yeah,” Belly says, smile tight. “Guess we missed that memo.”

The rest of the day is a blur of swimsuits and beach towels, lemonade on the porch, sunburned shoulders, and melting popsicles. Conrad doesn’t leave your side. Every time your fingers brush, he links them together like a reflex. Every time you laugh, he watches you like he’s memorizing the sound. 

He’s different here, lighter, softer around the edges, more than willing to guide you along as you get to know the others. Steven is funny and loud, and he makes a joke about you staying out of Conrad’s room before you've even finished unpacking – No funny business, kids. I mean it.

Jeremiah is charming as ever. He teamed up with Steven, calling you “Connie’s girl” every chance they got just to see you blush and Conrad roll his eyes.

And yet… something buzzes beneath the surface.

Belly is never unkind. Just… distant. Distracted. More withdrawn than the others. Whenever Conrad kisses your cheek or holds your waist, you see her flinch—not enough to be obvious, but enough to make you wonder.

That night, the five of you sit on the beach with a bonfire crackling, marshmallows skewered and glowing. Jeremiah passes you a beer. Steven throws a stick at him for burning his s’more. And Conrad wraps a blanket around your legs when the breeze picks up. You finally understood why he loved this place so much, why he had kept it private. 

Conrad’s hand is lazily drawing circles up and down your back. You’re wearing his sweatshirt over your bikini, and your legs are thrown over his. He occasionally lays a kiss on your cheek and temple, hands squeezing your thighs as he does so. Everyone’s laughing at something Jeremiah said, but Belly keeps stealing glances at you. Her smile always disappearing when her eyes land on your face.

You’ve tucked yourself even further against his side (if that was even possible), laughing at something dumb, when Belly gets up suddenly.

I’m going inside,” she says, brushing sand off her shorts.

“You okay?” Steven asks, his brows furrowing. 

She nods. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But when she walks away, she doesn’t look back.

You watch her walk away, your stomach sinking. Something in your gut is telling you that something about her behavior is off. 

Conrad must notice. “You okay?” 

You nod, even though worry is settling over you.

He leans into your ear. “She’s… she’s just dramatic sometimes. Don’t worry about it.”

The first night here was… fine.

Steven was easy, cracking jokes and asking about football, and making you promise to be on his team during board game night later this week. 

Laurel was warm, motherly, giving you a hug and calling you “sweetheart” by hour two.

Belly was polite. Distant. Quiet.

You tried. You asked about her summer plans. Told her you liked her nail polish. Offered her your hoodie when it got chilly on the deck.

She smiled. Thanked you. Then changed the subject.

You had overheard her talking to Steven as you were walking past the kitchen, “I just didn’t know she existed.”

You slipped out to the porch before you could hear the rest.

Conrad found you lying on the Hammock. 

“You okay? It's pretty late.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t. A million different thoughts were running through your head. 

“Yeah. Just… still getting used to everything here.”

He nods, accepting that answer, sitting down beside you, and resting an arm around your shoulders. 

You’re silent for a few moments before you sigh, “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She kind of does. She won’t even look me in the eyes.”

He didn’t argue then.

You sighed. “Did you really never tell them about me?”

Conrad tenses slightly beside you. “Not on purpose. I just… wanted to keep you to myself. I never knew how to explain you.”

“Explain me?”

“You’re not part of this life,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the house. “Here, what happens at home doesn’t matter, it’s like Boston doesn’t exist.. It’s only ever been the four of us at the summer house, and you’re mine. I just wanted to keep you to myself. You were always just mine at home; everyone just knows what we are. I never had to explain it. I guess I just thought Cousins would be the same.”

Your chest ached.

“That’s not romantic, Con,” you whispered. 

“I know.” He looked at you, eyes heavy. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded.

“I just wanted it to stay perfect,” he added quietly. 

You reached for his chest, tucking yourself into his side. “Too late for that.”

Things don’t get better.

Belly avoids you like it’s a sport.

Every time you offer to help in the kitchen or invite her to join a card game, she shrugs you off with a vague smile or a fake excuse. When you bring it up to Conrad, he just says, “She takes a while to warm up to people.”

You want to believe him.

But it’s hard to believe when Belly is all laughter and sunshine with Jeremiah, teasing Steven, hugging Susannah, yet she freezes you out like you’re a freak snowstorm in the middle of June that ruined her perfect summer.

Eventually, the days fall into a rhythm. Mornings on the beach, afternoons by the pool, sprawled out on lounge chairs, the sun warming your skin. Evenings are spent bickering over who gets to pick the movie or play board games. It feels easy, as if you're starting to become part of the group.  

Almost.

Because Belly doesn’t let you forget you’re new.

She’s polite enough when everyone else is around, but there are little things. The way she cuts her eyes toward you when Conrad does something thoughtful — carrying your bag, opening the door anytime you go somewhere. The way she slides herself between you two when you’re all walking back from the beach. But the comments were the worst.

They seem harmless on the surface, just memories, but every single one feels like a reminder: I was here first. I know him better than you do.

It starts off subtle. The way she laughs a little too loudly at his dry jokes. She asks him questions that sound like code only they understand: remember the time… don’t you always… And Conrad, being Conrad, answers in that calm, easy way, not noticing how her eyes flick toward you.

You try to brush it off. Of course, they’re close. They grew up together. It’s natural. But still, something twists in your chest when Belly slides into the seat next to Conrad on movie night, her knee brushing his, leaning her head against his shoulder, and he doesn’t move away.

She doesn’t even glance at you as she leans in, whispering something that makes him chuckle quietly.

It shouldn’t bother you. But jealousy coils hot in your stomach.

When the credits roll and everyone drifts off to bed, you linger in the kitchen rinsing glasses. Belly comes in behind you, humming.

“Fun night,” she says casually, grabbing a water. Then, without looking at you, “Conrad always stays up with me after movies. Sometimes we talk for hours.”

Something in you snaps. “Belly, why are you telling me this?”

She blinks, all wide-eyed innocence. “I’m just saying. You don’t know him like I do. Not really.”

The second week at the summer house started perfectly: with tangled sheets and Conrad’s arm draped across your waist.

You’d snuck into his room the night before after another movie marathon with the others, both of you too sun-drunk and sleepy to say goodnight. He’d kissed you soft and slow, and you’d fallen asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

Now, light spilled through the windows, golden and warm, and he stirred beside you with a groan.

"You're staring," he murmured, eyes still closed.

"You're pretty," you whispered back.

He cracked one eye open and smiled. "Not as pretty as you are."

You kissed the corner of his mouth and rolled onto your back. "Don’t be cheesy, Fisher."

"Can't help it," He says, pulling you in for another kiss.

You were in the kitchen an hour later when things started to shift for the worse.

Belly walked in, wearing one of Conrad’s old crewnecks. It was faded and familiar. It’s the navy one he used to wear after football games. The one he once gave to you when you spilled a Slurpee on yourself after a game in your sophomore year. Your stomach dropped.

"Morning," you offered, trying to sound neutral.

She nodded, brushing past you to the fridge. "Is there any orange juice left?"

"Should be," you said, stepping aside.

She poured a glass and leaned against the counter, watching you.

"So remind me," she started, voice light but laced with something sharper, "how long have you and Conrad been... whatever you are?"

You blinked. "Almost two years."

She sipped. "And before that?"

You hesitated. "We were friends. Since I moved to Boston."

"Right," she said. "Funny how he never mentioned you."

You understood it then, the sting under the surface, the crack in her smile.

You tried to keep your tone light. "I guess he wanted to keep me to himself."

"Or maybe he didn’t want me to know," she muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

You stared. "What?"

But she was already walking away.

One afternoon, everyone was headed to the beach. You spread out towels and pulled off your cover-up, trying to ignore the knot forming in your chest.

Belly laid hers a few feet away from you. Not beside you. Not near Conrad either.

You caught her watching you when she thought you weren’t looking.

"Hey y/n, catch!" You turned around to see Steven yelling at you, football flying through the air. 

You laughed and caught it with ease. Conrad grinned at you, the hours of throwing the football back and forth in his backyard paying off.

"I told you she’s good," he called.

"She’s way better than you," Steven countered.

You turned to Conrad, laughing. "You gonna let him talk to you like that?"

He jogged over and pressed a kiss to your temple. "I let him have his little moments."

You smiled, but when you glanced at Belly, her gaze dropped to her towel.

That night, the bonfire crackled low. You sat next to Conrad, a blanket over your shoulders, his arm hanging loosely around your legs, which were resting in his lap.

Belly sat on the other side, eyes fixed on the flames. She kept glancing at you and Conrad every couple of minutes. You had made eye contact a couple of times, but every time, she quickly looked off like she had been caught doing something.

She stood abruptly. "I'm going in."

Steven looked up. "You sure? You love s’mores."

She didn’t answer. For the second time that summer, Belly just stomped her way up the porch and into the house.

You turned to Conrad. "Did something happen?"

He frowned. "No idea."

But in your gut, you knew.

The next morning, you walked into the kitchen and stopped short. Belly and Laurel were whispering at the table.

Laurel looked up and smiled. "Morning, Y/N. Sleep well?"

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

You liked Laurel. She had a witty, dry sense of humor and walked around like she could read everyone like a book, whether they liked it or not. She had become a very welcoming figure in the summer house, and you now understood why Susannah talked about her so much. 

Laurel nodded at Belly, like she knew there was a conversation that the two of you needed to have. One that Belly wasn’t going to initiate.

You hesitated. "Belly, can we talk?"

She stood abruptly. "Sorry, I have to go put sunscreen on."

You followed her out onto the deck. You weren’t going to let her brush you off that easily. "Please. Just a second."

She turned, waiting for the porch door to finish closing behind her before snapping, "What?"

"Did I do something wrong?"

She crossed her arms. "No, you didn’t do anything."

You waited. Hoping she would continue, start yelling at you, anything to help you understand why she didn’t like you. But when Belly only stared at you before scoffing and walking away, the truth settled into you. 

You stopped at the bottom of your steps. Rocking back and forth on your heels. 

“So…” you said, turning to him. “I had fun.”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Me too.”

The way he was looking at you made your breath catch. It was the look he always gave you when he had something to say, but didn't want everyone to hear, like he only ever cared what you thought.

Your voice softened, teasing him. “You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing you do when you have something to say, but you only want me to hear. You do it all the time in English class.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes dropping for a second before finding yours again. “Am I that obvious?” 

“A little.”

He reached up, one hand brushing your cheek, the other finding your waist like muscle memory.

And then, he kissed you.

Warm. Steady. With his thumb brushing your cheek and his body leaning in, closing the gap between you. You melted into him, trying to memorize every little detail.  

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you exhaled into him.

When Conrad pulled back, he pressed his forehead into yours, whispering, “I could get used to that.”

You nodded, eyes still closed, chest heaving slightly. “Yeah. Definitely.”

The first time he stayed over, it wasn’t planned.

Conrad had shown up at your house in his navy Cousins Beach sweatshirt that you loved and a takeout bag from your favorite wing place. 

“I figured we’d just eat here,” he said, holding up the bag as you opened the door.

You grinned. “I thought we were supposed to be studying for our test this week.” 

“We are,” He countered. “We can’t study on an empty stomach.”

You ate cross-legged on the couch, food and books spread all over the coffee table. 

Hours later, the two of you were sprawled out side-by-side, talking about everything but the notes that sat haphazardly around you. He told you about how he used to collect stamps and spent a whole summer obsessing over them. You told him about the time you broke your arm falling out of a tree trying to impress your friends.   

With your test forgotten, you turned on a movie, making popcorn before settling into Conrad’s side. 

After a couple of movies, his arm had found its way around your shoulders, loosely keeping you in place next to him. His heartbeat was slow and steady under your ear, his eyes struggling to stay open. 

“I should probably go,” Conrad mumbled, already halfway asleep.

“You could stay.”

He went quiet, shifting just enough to shoot you a teasing look.

“Not like—stay stay.” You added quickly. “Just… fall asleep here. It’s fine.”

He looked at you carefully. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. 

You turned off the lamp, and the room softened, the only light coming from the hallway bathroom. Conrad tucked you into the space between the back of the couch and his chest, pulling you halfway on top of him before wrapping his arm around your waist. You both lay in the dark, hearts steadying, warmth between you, his thumb drawing soothing circles across your back and hip.

“This okay?” he whispered.

You nodded against his chest.

A few minutes later, he whispered again, even softer this time.

“I’m glad it’s you.”

You blinked into the dark, fighting the urge to smile, finally letting sleep overcome you. 

It was raining. Again. One of those relentless fall rains right before winter takes over, and everything turns to snow. 

Conrad had forgotten his jacket. You had slipped yours off, shoving it at him. He complained that it was supposed to be him giving you the jacket, not the other way around. You just smiled and told him that you didn’t mind.

He pulled it on anyway. The jacket was too small, the sleeves were too short, riding up to his wrists.

You were tucked under the back stairwell, it was hidden enough to steal a moment without curious eyes, and it kept both of you out of the rain. You kissed him, and when you pulled away laughing, it slipped out of Conrad’s mouth. 

“I love you.”

Just like that. 

No lead-up. No warning. No big gesture.

Your breath hitched.

He froze, and his eyes widened like he wished he could shove the words back into his mouth.

 “I didn’t mean to say that—”

“Yes, you did,” you whispered.

Conrad blinked.

You stepped closer. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

You smiled, something huge and warm blooming behind your ribs.

“I love you too.”

He kissed you again—deeper this time, like the two of you finally fully understood each other. 

Conrad doesn’t like tuxes. It was the first thing he said when you showed him the black one you picked out with Sussannah at the mall a week before prom. 

“They remind me of the deb ball from last summer,” he mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. “You like football pads, but draw the line at a fitted jacket?”

He mumbles something about the tie, but the truth is—he looks good in it. He always does.

And when he sees you? It’s the only time all night he’s speechless.

You step out of your house in your dress, hair done just right, a nervous smile tugging at your lip. He’s standing at the bottom of the steps, fiddling with his tie, when he looks up.

You swear he forgets how to breathe.

“Wow,” he says finally. Quiet, like he can’t get enough of what he is seeing.

You smile. “Yeah?”

He steps forward, fingers brushing the side of your waist where the dress dips low. “Yeah. You’re… something else. You look beautiful.”

The rest of the night is chaotic. The limo ride is loud. Pictures are chaotic. The dance is sweaty, and the music is bad, but none of it matters.

Conrad’s hand finds yours during a slow song. He spun you around, your shy laughs mingling together. 

He spins you once again and kisses you under a plastic chandelier in the school gym.

He invites you to Gabe’s lake house for spring break with the rest of your friends. 

It's quiet, hidden deep in the woods. It rains half the time, which means long afternoons curled up under one blanket, playing cards, watching movies, hanging out with everyone. You steal his sweatshirts. He steals your snacks. You fight over whether pancakes or waffles are superior (you win).

On one of the clear nights, you sneak out to the dock barefoot, wrapped in towels, skin still warm from the hot tub—the lake was black and still under the starry sky. 

You sit side by side, legs dangling off the edge. 

You turn to him, and Conrad is already looking at you.

“What?” you whisper.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just thinking how lucky I am to get to be here. With you.”

You bump his shoulder. “You make it sound like you don’t deserve it.”

“Sometimes I’m scared I don’t.”

You pause. Then lean in, pressing your lips to his, slow and sure. 

Your shirt slips off slowly. Conrad’s hands trail your waist with quiet reverence. Everything is soft. Breathless. Honest.

You laugh when your elbow knocks the dock light over.

He presses his forehead to yours and laughs.

You spotted him across the chaos of caps and gowns and families with cameras.

Cap crooked, gown half-zipped, cheeks flushed.

Your face hurts from smiling. Your mascara’s starting to smudge. Things were going to be different next year.

He wraps his arms around you without a word.

You hold on tight.

“You did it,” You say into his shoulder.

You pull back just enough to look at him.

His eyes are soft. Full of something that aches.

Your throat feels a little too tight. You’ll be a senior in the fall, and Conrad is off to Brown. You’ll live in different cities. Life is coming—loud, fast, and relentless.

But right now, his hand is still in yours.

And when he leans down and kisses you, the world hushes again.

The crowd starts to thin, people peeling off for photos or dinner reservations. Someone shouts Conrad’s name from across the lawn, but he doesn’t look away from you.

“I’ve got a question,” he says, thumb brushing the edge of your dress. His voice is quiet, like he’s working up the courage to ask you something.

You tilt your head, furrowing your brows. 

Conrad tries to smile, but it falls short, not quite reaching his eyes. 

“We only have a couple of months before…” He glances down, searching for the words, and you already know what he means—before Brown, before long-distance, before everything changes. 

“Come to Cousins with me. For the whole summer.”

Your heart stutters. “Cousins? The whole summer?”

He nods, hair falling into his eyes, and for a second, he looks like the boy you met on your first day. Like the boy who would walk you to class and steal your french fries at lunch. 

“I don’t want to just… leave. Spend our summer without—” He stops, then shakes his head like the words don’t matter if you understand the feeling behind them.

Your chest feels full in a way that’s almost painful. 

His hand squeezes yours. “I just… I want you there. With me.”

You should probably think about it, but you don’t. You just nod, and Conrad’s shoulders drop like he’s been holding his breath all afternoon.

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes lighting up in a way that makes the whole world feel like golden hour.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling so hard your cheeks ache. “One last summer.”