#docksideromance

I’ve always been a water person. Not in the competitive swimmer sense or the “owns a boat and spends weekends on a lake” kind of way. More like…I find peace by rivers, I feel understood by rain, and I swear the ocean can tell when I’m sad. It’s a Cancer thing, I guess. We’re ruled by the moon and moods and tides. And yes, if you’re wondering, I am absolutely one of those people who reads their horoscope before getting out of bed.

Every. Single. Morning.

This morning was no different. Well, maybe a little different, because last night I dreamed about you.

Again.

It wasn’t anything particularly dramatic. We weren’t getting married on a clifftop or riding a tandem bike through Paris. You were just sitting next to me on a beach, our hands buried in the sand, watching the waves. You said something about how some people are like storms and some are like the sea. I woke up before I could ask which one you thought I was.

Anyway, back to this morning.

I reached for my phone, bleary-eyed, and opened my astrology app like it was some kind of sacred daily ritual. I scrolled to my sign, half-dreading, half-hopeful for whatever the universe had cooked up for me today.

Cancer horoscope today: Your heart has always been your guide, but today, you’ll need to listen closely. A small gesture could lead to a much bigger story. Someone around you feels what you feel — they just don’t know how to say it yet. The stars encourage you to make the first move.

I blinked. Then read it again. And maybe a third time.

I’m not saying I believe in fate with a capital F, but come on. After a dream like that? After weeks of trying to act normal around you when my heart’s basically beating Morse code messages like ‘I like you, I like you, I like you’ every time you’re near? That horoscope felt like a nudge.

Okay, more like a cosmic shove.

I texted you.

Nothing too intense. I sent you a picture of my morning coffee — a perfect heart-shaped swirl in the foam — with the caption, “The universe ships us, apparently.”

You replied faster than I expected.

“What makes you say that?”

I hesitated, thumbs hovering over my screen. Should I be honest? Should I play it cool? In true Cancer fashion, I overthought it for a solid two minutes before settling on:

“Read my Cancer-horoscope-today. It said someone around me feels the same but hasn’t said it. Thought I’d investigate.”

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then reappeared.

“Funny. My love-horoscope-daily said basically the same thing.”

I swear my heart did this somersault thing inside my chest, and I physically had to stop myself from squealing in my kitchen like a teenager in a ‘90s rom-com.

“Well then,” I texted, “should we meet at the docks? You know, let the stars have their moment?”

You agreed.

We’ve always loved the water, both of us. It’s where we first met — volunteering for that beach clean-up last summer, both of us too sunburned and exhausted to flirt properly but managing to exchange numbers anyway. Since then, we’ve become a thing. Not a thing thing. But a… whatever-it-is thing. And I’ve been falling. Slowly, steadily, in the way only Cancers know how — cautious until we’re sure, then headfirst like it’s the only way to swim.

I got dressed in my favorite soft blue sundress — the one you once said made my eyes look like the sea — and made my way down to the dock. The sky was that kind of perfect pale blue, clouds like cotton candy drifting lazily overhead. The air smelled like salt and wood and summer.

You were already there.

Leaning against the railing, looking out at the water like you belonged there. Like you’d been waiting for me your whole life. Or maybe I was just getting overly poetic. It’s a side effect of feelings, I think.

“Hey,” I called out, my voice soft but carrying over the quiet of the morning.

You turned, and when you smiled, it felt like the tide coming in.

“I brought snacks,” you said, holding up a paper bag.

I grinned. “You really know how to woo a girl.”

We settled on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the side, the water lapping gently below. You pulled out two pastries — one apple, one cinnamon — and passed me the apple without asking. You always remember my favorites.

For a while, we just sat there. Eating, laughing about how your horoscope app can never pronounce Cancer properly on the voice setting, pointing out boats and making up names for them.

And then, without looking at me, you said, “So… about those horoscopes.”

I swallowed hard, feeling my pulse race. “Yeah?”

“I think mine was right.”

I turned to face you, heart in my throat. “Yeah?”

You met my gaze, and it was all there. Everything I’d been too scared to hope for. In your eyes. In the way your lips tilted up, nervous but sure.

“I like you,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “Probably more than I should. Definitely more than a friend should.”

I laughed, a breath of relief and happiness all tangled up. “Good. Because I’ve been low-key in love with you since that stupid sandcastle contest we lost last summer.”

You grinned. “To be fair, ours was more of a sand blob than a castle.”

“I’m blaming you for that.”

We both laughed, and then your hand found mine, fingers lacing together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I think we should blame the stars,” you murmured, leaning your head against my shoulder.

I smiled at the water, at the sky, at the way the world felt a little softer, a little brighter with you next to me.

“I’m okay with that,” I whispered back.

We stayed there until the sun started to dip, painting the water in shades of peach and lavender. The kind of sunset that makes you believe in things. In fate. In love. In horoscopes that somehow know your heart better than you do.