The ocean breeze tangles softly in my hair as I step out onto the sand, squinting against the late afternoon sun. I'm not sure what I was expecting when Noah texted me to meet him here—no details, just "I've got something planned. Wear something comfortable."

Comfortable, for me, means denim shorts and a black tank top that clings a little more than I'd like to admit. I tug at the hem as I walk along the shoreline, eyes scanning for him.

And then I see it.

Further down the beach, tucked behind the rocks near the cliffs, there's a blanket spread out on the sand. A soft, faded quilt that looks like it's been through a hundred summer nights. Next to it sits Noah, leaning back on his hands, eyes trained on the waves.

My steps slow.

I didn't expect this. Not the soft glow of lanterns he's somehow strung around the edges of the blanket. Not the small basket sitting nearby, probably packed with food. And definitely not the way my chest tightens at the sight of him sitting there, waiting for me.

He glances up and catches me staring.

A slow smile tugs at his lips. "You planning on standing there all day or are you gonna come sit down?"

I shake off whatever weird spell I'm under and make my way toward him, toes sinking into the cool sand.

"What is all this?" I ask as I drop down onto the blanket beside him, folding my legs under me.

"Date night," he says casually, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I raise an eyebrow, but there's no teasing glint in his eyes. He's serious.

A warmth spreads through me, soft and unexpected.

"I didn't know we were doing dates now."

He shrugs, eyes flickering to the waves. "Felt like the right time."

The right time.

For a while, we just sit there.

Noah opens the basket, pulling out sandwiches wrapped in brown paper and two bottles of soda. It's nothing fancy, but it feels like more than enough.

I take a bite of my sandwich, letting the sound of the ocean fill the space between us.

"So," he says, stretching his legs out in front of him, "you're only here for the summer, right?"

I nod, brushing a crumb from my shorts. "Yeah. My family's got that beach house a couple blocks from yours. We come here every year, but only for about two months. Then it's back home."

His gaze lingers on me for a second too long. "Where's home?"

"Couple hours inland. Not as exciting as here."

He leans back on his elbows, tilting his head toward me. "So what you're saying is, I've got—what—another month before you disappear?"

The way he says it makes my heart tug uncomfortably. I knew this was temporary. I guess I just didn't expect to care this much.

"Pretty much," I say, trying to keep my voice light.

He doesn't say anything right away. Instead, he plucks a small rock from the sand and tosses it toward the water, watching it sink beneath the waves.

"That sucks," he murmurs finally.

I bite the inside of my cheek. "Yeah. It does."

The sky fades into soft oranges and purples as the sun dips lower, and somehow we end up lying on the blanket, shoulders brushing lightly as we stare up at the sky.

There's something about being here—wrapped in the quiet of the beach, just the two of us—that makes everything feel easier. Like the weight I didn't even realize I'd been carrying suddenly feels a little lighter.

Noah's voice breaks the silence. "You ever think about staying?"

I glance over at him, catching the side of his face in the fading light. His eyes stay fixed on the sky, but there's a quiet kind of curiosity in his voice.

"In the town?" I ask.

"Yeah. I don't know. You seem like you belong here."

A small laugh escapes me. "I think you're just saying that because I spend too much time at the beach."

He turns his head toward me, his eyes catching mine. "I'm serious."

The look in his eyes makes my breath hitch.

"I like it here," I admit quietly. "It's... different. Feels like I can breathe."

Noah's gaze softens. "Yeah. I get that."

We stay like that for a long time, talking about nothing and everything.

He tells me about how he and Jake once tried to build a raft out of driftwood when they were kids, convinced they could sail to some far-off island. They made it about fifteen feet before it fell apart.

I tell him about the time I got caught sneaking out of my house to meet Lily at midnight, and how my mom grounded me for two weeks even though I technically didn't leave the property.

It's easy. Effortless.

But then, somewhere in the middle of all the laughter, Noah's voice lowers.

"My mom used to bring us here," he says softly, his eyes drifting to the waves. "This exact spot. She said the cliffs made it feel like a secret."

I watch him carefully, noticing the way his fingers press into the sand.

"She used to sit right where you are," he adds quietly. "Lily and I would run around, and she'd just sit there watching us."

I don't say anything. I just let him talk.

"I think that's why I like coming here," he continues. "Feels like she's still... here somehow."

The ache in his voice settles in my chest.

Without thinking, I reach over and slide my fingers through his, squeezing gently.

"I'm glad you brought me here," I whisper.

His hand tightens around mine.

And in that moment, I know—this is going to hurt when summer ends.