I watched her go, a dozen things clawing at my throat, but I swallowed them down and followed. The beach was empty, the kind of quiet that only existed in the earliest hours of the morning.

The ocean spread out in front of us like it was waiting.

The sky was just beginning to change—inky black giving way to the faintest traces of deep blue.

Beverly stopped near the shoreline, her sneakers sinking slightly into the damp sand. After a beat, she said. “Déjà vu.”

“You remember what happened last time we were here?”

“I remember you wouldn’t kiss me.”

I huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well, I was actually talking about the part where you ended up with pneumonia.” A lie. A blatant one.

Because how could I forget the first night I almost kissed her—and chickened out?

We kicked off our shoes without a word.

She looked at me. I looked at her.

And then we ran straight into the ocean.

The water was shockingly cold at first. Beverly let out a sharp breath, swearing under her breath, but she kept going. I followed her until the water was around our waists, lapping at our ribs.

The same place where she’d looked at me four and a half years ago, silently begging for a kiss. I knew it now. I hadn’t back then—but I knew it now. That look. That longing.

And here we were again. Full circle.

She turned to face me, her lips parted slightly as she caught her breath. I couldn’t stop staring at her. A million thoughts tangled in my head, each one fighting for space. A thousand different ways I wanted to fix it all. Rewrite history with my own hands, stitch together a version where I had stayed. Give her everything. Anything. Whatever she asked.

A version where I never walked away and gave her everything she ever needed before she even had to ask.

I would’ve bought her every studio in the city, every dress she ever looked twice at, every goddamn shade of nail polish she ever smiled at in a drugstore. I would’ve dropped to my knees in the sand and begged her name until my mouth bled with it.

But what did any of that change?

I was still the boy who left.

Beverly stared out at the ocean, her expression unreadable. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

She turned her gaze back to me then, studying me. “Did you…see anyone? While I was gone?”

I blinked. Stunned. “Did I, what?”

“Sleep with someone,” she clarified, her gaze unwavering, as if she was daring me to be honest. “Date. Hook up. Whatever.”

Jesus Christ. “Beverl⁠—”

“I just want to know,” she said quickly—too quickly, like she was bracing herself, like she had already convinced herself of the answer and was just waiting for confirmation.