The smell of grilled food hits me the second we step into Noah's backyard. It's the kind of smell that immediately makes your stomach rumble, even if you're not that hungry. The sun's still high, warming the air with that perfect balance of summer heat and salty breeze rolling in from the ocean.

My dad carries a tray of marinated meat to the grill, where Noah's dad—Mr. Evans—stands, already flipping burgers with a practiced ease. They exchange a few jokes, laughing like old friends, even though I'm pretty sure they've only met a handful of times.

It feels... cozy. Natural, almost. Like our families were meant to blend like this.

Lily waves me over from the corner of the yard, where she's lounging by the deck. Jake's standing next to her, messing with a bluetooth speaker, trying to get it to connect. Sophie, my little sister, is running around with Jake's younger sister, their giggles echoing across the yard as they chase each other through the grass.

"You made it," Lily grins as I flop down beside her on the sun-warmed wood of the deck.

"Wouldn't miss it."

Jake's speaker crackles to life, and soon, music fills the air—some easy, summer playlist that blends into the background without being too loud.

I catch sight of Noah near the grill, holding a plate of skewers while his dad talks to him, gesturing towards the food like he's explaining some secret barbecue technique. Noah listens, nodding occasionally, but there's this subtle lightness to him. A quiet kind of contentment I don't see often.

He's smiling.

Not the cocky smirk he throws around at parties. A real, soft smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth like he doesn't even realize it's there.

It makes something in my chest flutter.

"Hello? Earth to Emma?" Lily waves a hand in front of my face, pulling me out of whatever daze I'd fallen into.

I blink, shaking my head. "What?"

She follows my gaze, and her eyes narrow knowingly. "You're staring."

"I am not."

"You so are."

I shove her lightly with my shoulder, but she just laughs.

The afternoon drifts by in warm, golden snapshots.

The sizzle of meat on the grill. The clinking of glasses. The soft murmur of conversations blending with bursts of laughter from Jake and my dad, who seem to be competing over who can tell the worst dad joke.

Sophie and Jake's little sister, Mia, have fully taken over the yard with some made-up game involving water balloons and chalk.

And somewhere in the middle of all that noise, I find myself next to Noah, leaning against the railing that overlooks the beach stretching out beyond their backyard.

"Your dad's a barbecue pro," I say, watching as Mr. Evans effortlessly flips another burger with one hand while chatting with my mom.

Noah chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. "He takes it way too seriously. Thinks he's running some five-star grill or something."

"Well, he's good at it."

"Yeah. He is." Noah's voice softens just a little, and for a second, there's this quiet pause that settles between us.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He's relaxed—more than I've seen him in weeks. His gaze flickers to his dad, watching him with something that almost looks like admiration.

"You guys are close," I say quietly.

Noah shifts, uncrossing his arms. "Yeah... we've had to be. After Mom, you know... it's just been us and Lily."

I nod, letting his words sink in.

I remember the way he looked at the ocean that night—how he told me about his mom and why he always found himself drawn to the sea. There's a weight in his voice when he talks about her, but it's not as heavy today.

"Your dad's cool," I say, nudging him lightly. "I like him."

"He likes you too." Noah grins. "Kept asking about you after that bonfire. Thought you were a 'good influence.'"

I roll my eyes. "I didn't even do anything."

"Exactly."

Later, after the sun starts to dip behind the horizon, we all gather around the firepit in their backyard.

Jake's telling some exaggerated story about getting chased by seagulls at the beach last summer, complete with dramatic hand gestures and sound effects. Lily's practically crying from laughter, and even Mr. Evans wipes away a tear at one point.

Noah sits next to me, close enough that our arms brush occasionally.

His fingers toy absentmindedly with a loose thread on his jeans, and for a while, neither of us say much.

But I don't mind the quiet.

There's something about the way the firelight flickers across his face—the way the tension that usually clings to him seems to fade away out here, surrounded by his family, his friends.

And maybe... by me too.

By the time the barbecue winds down, the stars are already dotting the sky.

As I gather my things, Noah walks me to the front porch, lingering just a little longer than necessary.

"Hey," he says suddenly, scratching the back of his neck. "There's this... thing next weekend. By the pier. Some kind of festival or whatever. You should come."

I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Is this your way of asking me out?"

His lips twitch into a smirk. "Maybe."

I pretend to think it over, even though the answer's already obvious. "I'll think about it."

He leans in a little, just close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne.

"You do that."