Sunburns and secrets

Chapter 1 - The Beach House Again

The first thing Freya Skye felt when the car turned onto the familiar coastal road was the same thing she always felt every summer.

Like she was coming home to a place that wasn't hers... but somehow always would be.

The trees got thinner the closer they got to the shore, and then suddenly the ocean appeared—wide, endless, glittering under the late afternoon sun. Freya pressed her forehead lightly against the window, watching it come into view like she hadn't seen it a hundred times before.

The beach house sat exactly where it always did.

White paint slightly weathered by salt air. Blue shutters. The porch swing that creaked in the wind. The same old steps leading up like they were waiting for her.

Sarah Skye smiled from the front seat. "We're here."

Freya was already unbuckling her seatbelt before the car fully stopped.

Felicia Barton laughed softly. "She's going to run again."

"She always does," Sarah replied, like it was a tradition more than a habit.

Freya barely heard them.

Her feet hit the gravel driveway, and then she was moving.

The suitcase was forgotten behind her, rolling to a stop as she sprinted up the familiar wooden steps. The porch creaked under her weight, the sound instantly flooding her with memories—barefoot summers, late-night talks, saltwater hair, laughter that echoed into the night.

And then she saw him.

Malachi Barton was already there.

Leaning against the porch railing like he had been waiting for her the entire time. Sunlight caught in his hair, and for a second, he didn't move—just watched her come closer, like he already knew what she was going to do.

Freya didn't stop.

She ran straight into him.

"Mal!" she gasped, and then her arms were around him before she could even think.

He caught her instantly, like he always did. Like it was instinct. One arm wrapping around her waist, the other steadying her back as she practically collided into his chest.

"You're late," he said softly, but there was no real complaint in his voice.

"I'm not late," Freya mumbled into his hoodie. "You're just early."

A small laugh escaped him. "That makes no sense."

"It does in Frizzy logic."

That earned a quiet huff of amusement from him, his hand briefly tightening around her like he hadn't seen her in years instead of months.

Freya didn't let go right away.

She never did at first.

Not when it came to him.

Behind them, suitcases were being pulled from cars. Voices drifted across the driveway—Sarah and Felicia already talking over each other, Mike Skye greeting Loren Barton with a clap on the shoulder, like no time had passed at all.

But Freya barely noticed.

Because Malachi smelled like the ocean and something familiar she couldn't name. And his hoodie was softer than she remembered. And his heartbeat—steady under her ear—felt annoyingly grounding.

"You're squeezing me," he said quietly.

Freya blinked, still not moving. "Am I?"

"Yes."

"...Sorry."

She didn't let go.

He didn't make her.

Instead, he shifted slightly, adjusting his grip so it wasn't awkward, like he had decided he could stand there like this for a while too.

"You got taller," Freya said suddenly, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

Malachi raised a brow. "I didn't."

"You did."

"I didn't."

She narrowed her eyes. "KaiKai, I think I would know."

That made something flicker in his expression—something small, almost like nostalgia. He looked away for half a second before meeting her eyes again.

"Still shorter than me," he said.

Freya gasped. "Rude."

"Accurate."

Before she could argue, voices interrupted them.

"Well, look at that," Loren Barton called from the driveway. "Reunion already in progress."

Freya turned slightly, still half pressed against Malachi's side.

Sarah Skye smiled knowingly. Felicia Barton had that look she always got when she thought something was funny but didn't want to say it out loud. Mike and Loren just looked entertained.

Freya frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," Sarah said too quickly.

"Nothing at all," Felicia echoed.

Malachi sighed faintly, like he'd heard this exact tone before.

Freya finally stepped back, though her fingers lingered on the sleeve of his hoodie for half a second too long before dropping away.

The wind shifted off the ocean, carrying salt and warmth and the sound of waves breaking somewhere just beyond the house.

Everything looked the same.

But somehow, standing there beside Malachi Barton again, Freya couldn't shake the feeling that this summer was already starting differently.

And she didn't know why.

Yet.