CALEB’S POV
The front door opens before I reach the porch steps. Tim's leaning against the doorframe in jeans and a white t-shirt, barefoot, looking completely at ease. Like he knew exactly when I'd arrive. Like he knows how helpless I am when it comes to him.
"You look all grown up," he says, eyes traveling down my body and back up with obvious appreciation. "College treating you well."
Heat floods my face. I try to play it cool, shrug like his attention doesn't make my pulse race. "Can't complain."
"No, of course, you can't." He doesn't move from the doorway, making me squeeze past him to get inside. The brush of our bodies is brief but deliberate, and I catch his small smile as I pass.
The house smells like old wood, pine, and honey, lived-in and warm. My body remembers this space like it was yesterday.
The couch where he used to pull me onto his lap, the kitchen table where he'd press me against the edge, the stairs I'd climb quietly in the dark.
"I wasn’t lying, Caleb." His voic
