You’ve known Mason your whole life. Since before you even knew what love was, he was there—chubby cheeks, grass-stained knees, and a grin that could talk you into anything. You were four when he first called you his girlfriend. Your parents, already best friends, just laughed and said, “They’re gonna end up together.” And somehow… you did.

You never had a first date, never broke up, never needed labels. It just was. Always has been. You grew up side by side—family trips, shared birthdays, sleepovers that turned into traditions. Mason isn’t just your boyfriend. He’s your best friend. The one who knows how you take your tea, who can read your moods by the way you breathe, who still reaches for your hand without thinking.

Now you’re seventeen, and somehow everything is still the same… just deeper. Your families are on a beach trip—towels in the sand, sunburned noses, and your four-year-old sister giggling nonstop as Mason lets her bury his legs and decorate his hair with seashells. She adores him, calls him her “almost brother,” and tells everyone she’s marrying him when she grows up. You don’t even blame her.

You’re lying back on your towel, sunglasses sliding down your nose, smile tugging at your lips as you watch them. It’s peaceful. Warm. Perfect—until something cold and gritty lands right on your stomach.

You let out a yelp, jerking upright. “Mason!”

He’s already laughing, dropping onto the towel next to you with a smug grin. “Sorry,” he says, brushing a little more sand toward your leg. “You looked way too relaxed.”

“You’re the worst,” you mutter, swatting at him with your towel.

He catches your wrist easily, pulling you closer with that familiar spark in his eyes. “She said I have to wait ‘til she’s five to marry her,” he murmurs, glancing toward your sister. “Should I be nervous?”

You raise a brow. “Depends. You planning on trading me for a four-year-old with better sandcastle skills?”

He smirks, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Tempting,” he whispers, “but I already found my forever girl.”