We roam around the beach, talking to a few people as we pass by, and when Jo wanders off to take a call from her mother, I decide to walk down to the water. I smile to myself as I take in the sights around me. There are people making smores – sticky marshmallow hanging from their chin – and couples cuddled up on blankets, no doubt believing the promises they make to each other tonight will hold up in the future. Cheers and screams come from a group of teenagers playing flip-cup. The fire pops as I walk by, sending bright embers soaring into the night sky, and when the nostalgic, earthy smell of the smoke wraps around me before disappearing into the air, I close my eyes and inhale.

Waves crash against the shore, slapping against my shins, and when a loud shriek comes from behind me I quickly turn around, only to shake my head and laugh when I see a guy running towards the water with a girl over his shoulder.

New York has a lot of things going for it – Nico and Sloan. The nightlife. Opportunities. History and Culture. The fact that no matter what time of night it is you can always find a pizza place that's still serving – but it doesn't have this. I love the beach. Everything about it. The velvety feel of sand between my toes. The warm sunshine. The way my skin smells when I get out of the water. Having a beach nearby was a requirement for me when Greyson and I were planning our life together, and as I look out into the water, I wonder how I've lived so long without one.

Just as I'm saying good-bye to a girl I was friendly with in high school, Greyson steps in front of me with his hands behind his back.

"Hi."

"Hey, you," he says, tilting his head as he smiles at me. "Whatcha doin' out here all by yourself?"

"Just enjoying the scenery." I lick my lips, rolling them into my mouth and lean to the side as I try to peek around him. "What're you hiding?"

"Hiding? Me?" He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"You have that look."

"What look?"

"The look you get when you're hiding something," I say.

"You remember that look?"

"Couldn't forget it even if I tried." I reach out and grab his arm – my fingers not even close to fitting around his massive bicep – and try to turn him around, but he doesn't budge. "Grey, come on! Show me!"

"Okay, okay," he says, a deep, husky laugh falling from his lips. He hesitates for just a second before he finally gives in and releases his arms from behind his back, and when he does, I see he's holding a sparkler. How he didn't burn himself in this process is beyond me. "I brought you a sparkler. I remember how you used to run around your parents' back yard when we were kids with one of these in each hand. You used to believe they were magic and considering all you've been through the last few weeks, and the fact that you haven't had a proper Fourth of July celebration since you moved to New York, I figured you'd appreciate this. I wanted to give you a little magic."

I pull my head back in surprise and smile. "Thank you."

"Yeah, of course. Sorry I could only swipe one for you. The girl handing them out was oddly strict about one per customer. She actually slapped my hand when I tried to grab two."

I carefully take the sparkler from his fingers and look up at him. His wavy, chocolate-brown hair is curlier than usual – most likely due to the humidity and salty sea breeze coming off the water – and there's a chunk falling over his forehead. His full lips are pulled into a smile that somehow exudes an equal amount of confidence and insecurity, and his high cheekbones are tinted with a rosy hue that tells me he either spent too much time in the sun today, or he's embarrassed by his honesty. But the thing I notice the most – the thing that pulls me in and practically turns my knees to jelly – is the way the sparkler reflects in his gorgeous eyes, turning the light, mint-green color into a warm, golden, almost honey like color.

He's more beautiful than ever, and I'm utterly and completely lost in him.

"Ow!" I exclaim, as I feel a sting on my fingertips. I look down and see the sparkler has burned down all the way to the wooden handle, and I quickly drop it onto the sand, putting it out with the ball of my foot. "What the...shit."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I lift my hand, wincing as I rub my thumb over my fingertips. "I burnt myself."

"Let me see." He gently takes my hand in his and carefully examines the tips of my fingers. It's dark out here by the water and we're nowhere near the fire, so I know he can barely see my fingertips, let alone the damage the sparkler did to them, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. "Well, they're a little red, and there's a possibility they might blister, but I don't think we need to amputate."

"Ha-Ha. Very fun..." I say, trailing off as I feel cool air blowing across my skin, and when I look up, Greyson is holding my fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked on mine and his lips pursed as he attempts to soothe the burn. "Uh, th - thanks."

"Better?"

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, breathing a heavy exhale through my nose, and squeeze my thighs together in a desperate attempt to squelch the heated desire burning between them. It doesn't work and I know if I were to stick my hand into my shorts and test the theory, my very lacy, very expensive panties would be soaked.

"Yeah – yes. It's, umm...it's good. That feels good. Your lips – uh, I mean...the air coming from them...feels good." God, Delaney, just stop talking. "Thanks."

"My pleasure." A knowing smirk curls the corner of his mouth. He lowers my hand, keeping it in his, and even though it should feel weird, it doesn't. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of, course. You can ask me anything."

"What – umm..." he starts off, anxiously scratching his eyebrow with the tip of his thumb. "What were you and Ripley talking about?"

This was not the question I was expecting.

"Oh, uh..." Not much, really. She was just busy recapping all the horrible things that've happened to me recently. Oh, and she told me you two slept together, sufficiently reminding me of how good you are in bed in the process. Nothing serious. "Nothing, really. She was just being Ripley. You know how she is."

"You're not keeping anything from me for my benefit, are you? You looked upset."

"She knows about what happened in New York. Someone overheard me telling Jo when I had lunch at Maribelle's, and they ran back and told her. So, she was kindly letting me know how she felt about my situation."

"Shit. I'm sorry, Del," he says, his voice heavy with sympathy. He gently rubs the pad of his thumb across the back of my hand. "She sucks."

I wave him off. "It's okay. I'm past it."

And that's the truth – for the most part. We're adults now. We have adult lives with adult problems – God knows I do – so if Ripley wants to be the same stuck-up, petty bitch she was in high school then so be it. I'm just not going to let her get to me anymore. Or I'm going to at least try not to let her get to me.

"Simms! Play us something!" someone shouts in the distance.

Greyson gives my hand a squeeze and lets go, tucking his own behind his back. "Wanna go sit down?"

I smile and nod as I follow him toward the fire where everyone is seated, waiting for Wyatt to play us a song. There are blankets and towels scattered around the makeshift firepit, but with the amount of people still here there's barely any room. So, when Greyson sits down in the sand, leaving the last half of the only towel left open, I stand awkwardly in the middle of the crowd. I catch Jo's eye and she looks around for a spot for me, but she's sandwiched between Cash and Mitchell, barely enough room for her as it is.

"I won't bite," I hear him say, and when I look down, Greyson is holding his hand out to me with a playful smile on his face. "Sit down, Laney bug."

"Umm," I hesitate, nervously biting down on my cheek. What the hell am I so freaked out about? This is Greyson for Christ's sake. My best friend of twelve years. The boy I fell in love with when I was six years old. So, I'm going to share an old towel with him and listen to Wyatt serenade us. Big freakin' deal. What's the worst that can happen? "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

I take his hand and sit down, settling between his legs. He keeps a safe distance between us, lifting his knees and leaning back on his hands, but he's still only inches from me, and I can smell the warm, intoxicatingly familiar scent of his cologne.

"What should I play?" Wyatt asks, picking up his guitar. "How about Wagon Wheel?"

"No!" we all shout simultaneously.

"Literally anything else," Greyson says. "Please."

"Okay, okay. I won't play Wagon Wheel." A bright smile spreads across his childlike face, exposing his perfectly straight teeth and lifting his freckled cheeks. "I've actually been working on something new."

He places his guitar in his lap, adjusting the strap to fit, and after a few attempts at the melody, begins to thrum his fingers softly against the chords. I recognize the song immediately.

"I thought it'd feel different playing Wrigley," Wyatt sings, changing the lyrics and pointing at Greyson. I expect to find him glaring at Wyatt when I turn around, but he surprises me when he simply shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he laughs.

"When it was all over, I cleared out the room

Grabbed a couple beers, just me and you

Then we start talking the way that we do,"

I bring my legs to my chest and wrap my arms around them, resting my chin on my knee as I get completely lost in the music.

"Ain't it funny how the simplest things in life can make a man?

Little moments that pass us by

Oh, but I remember

The first kiss, the first night, the first song that made you cry

The first drink, red wine, on a step in Brooklyn

I can still feel the first fight, and we both made it out alive

And I can't wait to make a million more first times."

Holy shit, these lyrics. I've heard this song dozens of times, but I never actually listened to them. I never actually heard them.

I remember all of my firsts, and I'm lucky enough to say that ninety percent of them were with Greyson. He was my first crush, who then turned into my first boyfriend, followed by my first love. I remember our first fight as a couple. I had my period and Greyson came over with a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream, except it was the white kind and not the green, and I flipped out. I accused him of being a bad listener and he accused me of being ungrateful. He stormed out, leaving me in hormonal tears, only to return twenty minutes later with a bouquet of flowers he'd purchased from the grocery store and another carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream – the green kind.

He was the first person I ever got drunk with. The first person to ride in the passenger seat after I got my driver's license that wasn't my mom or dad. He was the first person I called when my grandmother suddenly passed away, and the first person I went on a weekend long trip with without parental supervision. We went to a Kings of Leon concert in Raleigh when we were seniors and instead of driving home late, our parents suggested we get a hotel room, and we decided to make a weekend of it.

He was my first kiss, the first boy to touch me in ways I only ever saw in movies or read about in books, and when we were ready, my first time. I would have been happy to give him all of my firsts.

Totally and completely happy.

As Wyatt plays – his rich, soulful voice melting me like an ice cube in a warm drink and causing me to swoon – I begin to relax, almost feeling sleepy. I can feel Greyson's muscular chest pressed against my back and without thinking, I release my legs and lean against him, the back of my head nestled between his neck and shoulder – and I immediately feel at ease.

"Ain't it funny how the simplest things in life can make a man?

Little moments that pass us by

Oh, but I remember

The first kiss, the first night, the first song that made you cry

The first look in your eyes when I said, "I love you"

I can still feel the butterflies from when we stumbled home that night

I can't wait to make a million more first times."

I sigh in contentment as I snuggle against Greyson – losing myself in the way his broad chest and long, muscular arms practically swallow me whole – and rest my elbows in the space between his thigh and hip. I turn my face so my forehead is resting against his chin and when I do, I feel his warm breath blowing across my skin. It's coming out in quick, uneven bursts, and even though he seems comfortable in our position, his heart is pounding in his chest, thumping against my back like a steel drum in a Carnival Parade.

He seems nervous. Is he remembering all of our firsts like I am? Does he feel the shift in our relationship since his apology this afternoon, and has his guard dropped too? Or has he come to the realization that we're living completely different lives and are on totally separate paths, and after today, we most likely won't ever share a moment like this again – like I have?

I press my palms against his thighs as I shift positions to get more comfortable, and as I do, he stiffens.

I sit up, looking into his mesmerizing, light green eyes. "You okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine." He looks down at me and frowns, and I hate that the charming, laidback, silly guy from earlier is seemingly gone, replaced by the brusque replica he's become. "Why?"

"I don't know. You seem annoyed, or something. If it's because I was laying on you, I'm sorry. I didn't even realize –"

He backs away from me, causing my arms to fall to my sides, and abruptly stands up. "It's late. Hercules is at my parent's house and my dad won't go to bed until I pick him up, so I have to leave now. I'll drop you off."

"Uh, okay."

I guess we're leaving then.

He reaches his hand out to help me stand, and I take it, but he doesn't make eye contact with me. He doesn't smile. He doesn't wrap his arm around my waist and walk with me the way he did when we got here. He simply helps me up, and as soon as I'm on my feet he lets go and walks away from me. I search the beach for Jo, and when I find her, she's wearing a look of utter confusion that I'm sure mirrors the expression on my own face. I mouth "I'll call you" and hold my hand up to my ear like a phone before I grab my flip-flops and chase after Greyson, who's already halfway up the beach.

"Hey, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Del. I just need to get home." He opens the passenger door for me and sweeps his hand in front of him, gesturing for me to get in. "Come on."

I climb into the car – without his help this time – and flinch as he slams the door shut.

We've been getting along all day, so what the hell just happened?

I've never denied that I still have feelings for Greyson. It's only natural considering our history, but I can no longer ignore them either. Not after today. It was easy to pretend I didn't still carry a torch for him when I got here. When he was being an insufferable ass, constantly berating me and making me feel like a stranger in my hometown, and that I'm the only one to blame for the way our relationship ended. But then he took care of me at Climax. He came to the hospital and waited – for hours – until my father finally gave him an update on my condition, and today he apologized for the way he's been acting, proving to me he's been putting on an act this whole time.

I just have to figure out why.

Greyson and I are still trying to find our footing with each other, but it also somehow feels like no time has passed at all, and we picked up right where we left off. We've both admitted we did things wrong and that makes me feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I'm no longer going to have to check my surroundings – or pull my baseball hat down low to hide my face – in fear of running into him in town. Greyson said he wants to get to know the new, grown-up version of me, and I want that too, so why does that terrify me as much as it excites me?

And why does it suddenly seem like he's changed his mind?

Thanks for reading! :)