Chapter 1 – Home Again. {When summer ends}

The sun dipped low behind the hills, painting the sky in streaks of pink, orange, and soft purple. Maya Jensen rested her forehead against the cool glass of the car window, watching her hometown roll by like a living photograph. Maplewood hadn't changed, not really. The houses still sat nestled along the winding streets like pages from a storybook. The oak trees still arched over the road like a leafy tunnel of memory. And that crooked "Welcome to Maplewood" sign, with its faded paint and ivy curling around the wooden posts, still stood stubbornly at the edge of town like it always had.

She sighed and tugged at the drawstring of her hoodie, heart caught somewhere between homesickness and dread. Two years away at college had opened her eyes to so much—new people, bigger dreams, louder places. Coming back to Maplewood for the summer felt like slipping on an old sweater: familiar, a little too snug, and not quite hers anymore.

"Still hate this place?" her mom asked from the driver's seat, her voice warm and teasing.

Maya offered a weak smile. "I don't hate it. I just... forgot how small it is."

Her mom chuckled, but the smile faded quickly as she turned the car onto Oakview Drive. "It missed you, you know. I missed you."

That part hit Maya a little deeper. Her mom had been alone since her dad left—another thing Maplewood had refused to forget. Small towns loved their stories, and the Jensens' slow unraveling had been one of the juiciest. Maya had done her best to put distance between herself and the whispers, but coming home meant facing them again. Not directly, maybe, but always just around the corner, in someone's glance or lowered voice.

The car rolled to a stop in front of their pale blue house. It looked exactly the same as it did when she left: white shutters, gardenias in the front bed, and a porch swing that creaked in the wind like it held a thousand conversations. The tire swing still hung from the big oak in the yard, even though no one used it anymore.

Maya climbed out slowly, stretching her stiff legs and gazing up at the house like it might swallow her whole.

"Still cozy," her mom said cheerfully, already pulling bags from the trunk.

"Still stuck in 2005," Maya muttered, hoisting her duffel over her shoulder.

Inside, the scent of lemon cleaner and cinnamon sugar wrapped around her like a memory. Her mom had made cinnamon rolls. Of course she had. Comfort food was her love language.

They ate in mostly comfortable silence. Her mom told her about the new neighbor who'd turned the Miller house into a yoga studio, and how the bakery now offered vegan muffins that "actually taste like muffins." Maya nodded along, replying in half-smiles and one-word answers, her eyes drifting now and then to the window, to the shadows deepening outside.

Later that night, Maya sat alone on the porch swing, a glass of iced tea in her hand, the sky now a deep blue velvet littered with stars. Fireflies blinked lazily across the yard. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked once and then fell silent.

Her phone buzzed.

Text from Riley (Roommate):

Survived Day 1 back home?

Maya:

Barely. Mom made cinnamon rolls. Then asked if I was dating anyone. So, like, classic mom.

Riley:

Lmao. Tell her I said hello and yes, you're still single but thriving.

Maya:

Debatable.

Riley:

You'll be fine. It's only a few weeks. Make the most of it. Fall in love with the barista or something.

Maya laughed under her breath, typing back a sarcastic reply, but her fingers froze mid-sentence. Movement caught her eye across the street.

Someone was standing in front of the old Carter house. She narrowed her eyes, setting her glass down and leaning forward.

The porch light flickered on, revealing a tall figure. His back was to her at first, but when he turned, the air left her lungs.

No way.

It wasn't possible.

But it was.

He stepped into the light, and her heart slammed against her ribs.

Tall, broad-shouldered. A little leaner than she remembered. His dark hair was longer now, curling slightly around his ears, and even in the half-light, she could see it—those unmistakable blue-gray eyes.

Liam Carter.

Back in Maplewood.

Back from wherever he'd disappeared to four years ago.

Her childhood best friend. The boy who knew every one of her secrets. The boy who used to pick her up for school in his dad's truck. The boy who disappeared right after senior year without saying goodbye.

He stood there, looking at the house like it held ghosts, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Then he turned, and their eyes met.

Maya froze.

There was a beat of silence, a breath caught in time.

Liam raised a hand slowly, like he wasn't sure she'd even acknowledge it. His face was unreadable—no smile, no frown. Just cautious recognition.

And Maya did what she had been doing for the past four years when it came to Liam Carter.

She turned away.

She got up from the swing, her tea forgotten on the porch rail, and walked back inside, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.