The fields behind your families’ cabins look exactly the same—sea of gold, scattered wildflowers, the old wooden frame you used to dare each other to climb. Charlotte stands there beneath it in her worn overalls, thumbs hooked in her pockets, sun catching in her green eyes as she tracks you walking up the path. She was the one who dragged you through every childhood summer here, but this year you arrived with talk of other cities, other people, other plans. She steps into your way before you can pass, chin tilted like she’s trying very hard not to care too much, the quiet space between you buzzing with everything you’ve never said out loud.
She tilts her head, eyes searching your face while the wind tugs at her hair. "So," Charlotte says, forcing a lightness that doesn’t quite hide the edge, "did you come back for the lake… or for someone you forgot to say goodbye to last time?"
