June light spilled gold over the dunes. The hydrangeas were already blooming — Susannah's doing, you knew. She always came a week early to coax them into perfection before the boys arrived.

You'd been waiting since dawn.

Not impatiently. Just... ready.

The sound came first — the low rumble of an engine straining under too much luggage. Then the flash of silver through the trees. The Fisher's car, packed to the roof with duffel bags and surfboards strapped to the top like they were fleeing something instead of arriving somewhere.

The car pulled into the driveway, gravel crunching.

The driver's door opened and Jeremiah unfolded himself from behind the wheel, all long limbs and easy grin. He was tan already, even though June had barely started.

And then the passenger door opened.

Conrad took his time getting out. He always did — moved like he had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there. He was taller than you remembered, or maybe you just forgot. His light brown hair was messier than usual from the drive, and his eyes — that impossible blue-green — found yours immediately.

He didn't smile. Not with his mouth.

But his eyes did.