Willow Creek always smelled like sun-warmed grass in the summer, mixed with the sweetness of honeysuckle that climbed the fences along Main Street. It was the kind of town where time seemed to move slower, where everyone knew each other's names, and where summers stretched wide and endless, like promises that might never break.
Clara Morgan had lived in Willow Creek her whole life, in her grandmother's creaky old white house at the edge of town. She loved the wraparound porch, the way it caught the breeze in the evenings, and the sound of crickets that filled the quiet nights. But what she loved most about summers wasn't the porch, or the long golden sunsets. It was Ethan Hayes.
At seventeen, Ethan was as much a part of her world as the oak tree that stood in front of her house—steady, stubborn, always there. He lived next door with his mother and little brother, and Clara could hardly remember a single summer that didn't have Ethan tangled up in it somehow—racing bikes down the dusty back roads, sneaking out to the lake for midnight swims, daring her into mischief she pretended not to enjoy.
That afternoon, Clara sat cross-legged on the porch swing, a book open in her lap but unread. The pages blurred in the late sunlight because, in truth, she wasn't reading. She was waiting.
The buzz of bicycle tires on gravel reached her ears, and her chest tightened the way it always did before she even saw him. Then there he was, coasting down the lane, dark hair wind-tossed, sun catching the curve of his smile. Ethan dropped his bike at the gate, letting it clatter in a way that made Clara's grandmother sigh every time, and bounded up the steps like he owned the place.
"You're hiding again," he teased, leaning against the porch rail. His voice carried the lazy drawl of Willow Creek, words unhurried and warm.
"I'm reading," Clara replied, though her finger had slipped from the page she hadn't turned in fifteen minutes. Ethan tilted his head, his grin tugging wider. "You spend half your life buried in books. This is our last summer before everything changes, and you're wasting it on paper and ink."
Clara lifted her chin, pretending his words didn't sting. "Books don't waste my time. And what do you mean, 'before everything changes'?"
He shrugged, but his eyes flickered away, out toward the horizon beyond the cornfields. "Just saying… You're going off to college in the fall. Nothing's gonna be the same."
The words hung between them, heavier than the July heat. Clara had thought about it too, lying awake at night when the house was quiet, her chest aching with a strange mix of excitement and dread. She wanted college—wanted more than what Willow Creek could give her—but she also couldn't imagine leaving behind the boy in front of her, the boy who had been her whole world without either of them ever naming it.
"Then maybe," Clara said softly, "we should make this summer worth remembering."
When Ethan looked back at her, something unspoken passed in his gaze. His teasing grin faltered into something deeper, something that made her heart stutter. For a breath, the cicadas seemed to hush, the world narrowing down to just the two of them on that porch.
Then Ethan cleared his throat and kicked at the step. "Come on. Lake's waiting. Bet you can't beat me there."
Clara rolled her eyes, clutching her book to her chest as if it might steady her racing pulse. "You always cheat."
"Then keep up this time." He was already darting down the steps, grabbing his bike, laughter trailing behind him like sparks.
Clara's smile came without permission. She tucked the book under the swing cushion, pulled her braid tighter, and chased after him.
The lake shimmered at the edge of town, framed by tall pines and the echo of cicadas. It was their place, as much a part of their story as the porch or the oak tree. By the time Clara arrived, Ethan had already kicked off his sneakers and was peeling his shirt over his head. She tried not to look, though her cheeks betrayed her.
"You're late," he called, grinning.
"You're impossible," she shot back, kicking off her sandals.
Without warning, Ethan ran and dove into the lake, the splash echoing across the still water. Clara followed with a laugh, plunging into the cool depths, her body colliding with the freedom of it all. When she surfaced, Ethan was floating on his back, arms spread wide as if he could hold the whole sky. Clara swam closer, the water rippling between them. "Do you ever think about it?" she asked quietly. He turned his head toward her. "About what?" "Leaving. What comes next. If we'll still…" Her voice trailed off, tangled in the words she couldn't quite say. Ethan's expression softened, but he didn't answer right away. He let the silence stretch, filled only by the hum of insects and the lapping of water. Then he said, almost too quietly, "I think about it all the time." Clara's throat tightened. She wanted to ask him what he meant, if he thought of her when he pictured leaving, if he feared losing her the way she feared losing him. But instead, she only floated beside him, both of them staring up at the endless sky, holding tight to a summer they both knew couldn't last forever.
By the time they trudged back to their houses, hair dripping, clothes clinging damp against their skin, the first stars had appeared. Ethan walked her to the porch, his hand brushing hers once, fleeting, like an accident. "Goodnight, Clara," he said, voice rougher than usual. "Goodnight," she whispered, though she watched him all the way until he disappeared into his yard.
That night, Clara lay awake long after the house grew still, replaying the sound of his laughter, the touch of his hand, the weight of words unspoken. It was only the first day of summer, but in her heart, she already knew—it would be a summer she'd never forget.