The boardwalk lights were just flickering on as Milo pulled the old station wagon into the narrow driveway behind Cal’s family house. The place hadn’t changed: weathered gray shingles, a wraparound porch sagging slightly under years of salt air, the faint smell of pine and low tide drifting in through the open windows. Cal’s Jeep was already parked crooked, surfboard strapped to the roof like always.
The same ols salty tang in the air that hit the back of his throat made Milo feel home. Every June it smelled exactly like this—like pine sap warmed by the sun, mixed with sunscreen and the faint diesel whiff of fishing boats coming in late. At eighteen now (two weeks and four days, to be exact), he still felt like the kid who used to count down the miles on the highway signposts, notebook open on his lap, annotating every roadside stand they passed. This year the notebook stayed home. College applications were done. Acceptance letters were stacked on his desk back in the city.
Milo killed the engine and sat for a second, keys dangling. His phone buzzed once—Cal’s text from two weeks ago still pinned at the top: June 10th. Crash at mine. Parents barely here. Surf, dirt bikes, and zero bullshit. Don’t flake. He’d replied I’m in the same night his mom and dad announced the split over takeout Thai. No screaming fights, just quiet paperwork and separate leases. This summer, no rented cottage two streets over. No parents pretending everything was fine. Just him, and Cal’s mostly-empty house.
He grabbed his duffel—books, a couple changes of clothes, a couple nice button-downs —and headed up the back steps. Cal met him at the screen door, barefoot, salt-crusted board shorts, grin wide enough to show the chipped front tooth from last year’s wipeout.
“About time, book boy.” Cal pulled him into a rough hug, smelling like sunscreen and motor oil. “Figured you’d get lost in some podcast about wave physics again.”
“Close. Tidal resonance.” Milo shrugged, already feeling the familiar ease settle in. “You still caddying at the club?”
“Till the end of July. Then college. Surf scholarship fell through, so it’s community college and whatever dirt-bike money I can scrape. Lifeguard shifts start next week.”
Cal jerked his thumb toward the kitchen.
“Beer’s cold. Party tonight—new kid’s place down on Dune Crest. Parents are in Europe or something. He’s twenty, home from some fancy school, throwing cash around like it’s confetti. Met him on the course last month. Said bring whoever.”
Milo raised an eyebrow. “We know him?”
“Nope. But free booze and a beachfront deck? I’m not asking for his life story.”
They killed time on the porch—Cal strumming an out-of-tune guitar, Milo reading half a chapter of The Waves before giving up and watching the sun sink into the ocean instead. By nine, the sky was deep indigo, and Cal was already buzzing.
“Shower. Shirt. Let’s go.”
The house on Dune Crest was impossible to miss: big modern thing with too many windows, all lit up gold against the dark dunes. Cars lined the sandy road—Jeeps, convertibles, a couple flashy SUVs that screamed weekend money. Music thumped from open doors, bass vibrating the planks underfoot. String lights looped across the wide deck overlooking the beach, and a bonfire already crackled down on the sand below.
Inside, it was crowded—college kids home for break, locals in flip-flops, red cups everywhere. The host—tall, tan, expensive watch—clapped Cal on the back like they were old friends. “Dude! You made it. And you brought…?”
“Milo,” Cal supplied. “My summer brother.”
“Nice. Drinks in the kitchen. Pool’s open if you’re brave.” The guy vanished back into the crowd.
Cal handed Milo a beer. “See? Easy.”
They drifted through the house—Cal chatting up everyone, Milo nodding along, content to watch. Then they stepped out onto the deck, and there she was.
Lena stood near the railing in a pale sundress that caught the breeze off the water, hair loose and glowing under the lights. She held a drink loosely, laughing at something a girl beside her said—head tipped back, easy and bright. Not sloppy drunk, just loose enough that her movements had a liquid grace. Gold bangles slid on her wrist when she gestured; a thin chain necklace disappeared into the neckline. She looked like she belonged here, like the party had been waiting for her to arrive.
Cal noticed her at the same instant. “Holy shit. Who’s that?”
Before Milo could answer, a gust off the ocean kicked up sand from the steps. Someone bumped him hard from behind—drunk laughter—and his beer sloshed forward, splashing cold across the front of Lena’s dress.
She gasped, more surprised than angry. Milo froze, mortified. “Shit—I’m so sorry—”
Lena looked down at the wet patch on her chest, then up at him. Her eyes were hazel, sharp and amused. Instead of snapping or walking away, she laughed—clear, warm, like it was the funniest thing that had happened all night.
“Oh my god, you’re fine.” She plucked at the fabric, fanning it. “It’s just beer. I’ve had worse.” She stepped closer, close enough that he caught coconut and something floral. “You okay? You look like you just committed a felony.”
Milo’s face burned. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” She tilted her head, studying him. Not mocking. Interested. “You’re not the type who spills drinks on purpose, are you?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Good. I hate predictable.” She glanced at Cal, who was grinning like he’d won the lottery, then back to Milo. “I’m Lena. Visiting my gran up the coast. You two?”
“Cal,” Cal jumped in, extending a hand. “This is Milo. He’s the smart one. I’m the fun one.”
Lena shook Cal’s hand, but her gaze stayed on Milo a beat longer. “I can tell.” She smiled—small, private, like a secret just for him. “Smart ones are rare at these things. Usually it’s all noise.”
Cal laughed. “We’ve got both. Come meet the bonfire crew downstairs. Better view, less elbows.”
She hesitated only a second, then nodded. “Lead the way.”
They ended up on the beach, away from the deck lights. The bonfire snapped and popped, casting orange flickers across the sand. Someone had dragged driftwood logs into a loose circle. Lena sat between them without hesitation—Cal on her left, arm casually along the back of the log; Milo on her right, knees pulled up, careful.
She smelled like summer. Her bare shoulder brushed Milo’s once, then stayed. Cal started telling a story about a wipeout last week, gesturing wildly. Lena laughed with her whole body, but every so often her eyes slid to Milo—quiet, curious, like she was trying to read the pages he kept closed.
“You don’t talk much,” she said softly during a lull, while Cal was distracted grabbing another round.
Milo shrugged. “Not much to say sometimes.”
“I like that.” She leaned in a fraction. “Most guys here talk to fill the silence. You don’t. It’s… refreshing.”
He met her eyes then—really looked. She wasn’t just pretty. She was alive in a way that made the night feel bigger.
The fire popped. Waves rolled in steady. Lena swayed a little to the distant music from the house, dress fluttering against her thighs.
“Stick around this summer?” she asked, voice low enough that only he heard.
“Yeah,” Milo said. “All of it.”
Her smile was slow, promising. “Good.”
Cal returned, beers in hand. “To new friends,” he toasted, clinking bottles.
Lena raised hers. “To summers worth remembering.”
Their eyes met over the flames—Milo’s steady, hers bright—and for the first time that night, the quiet one didn’t feel out of place.