McKenna

It was Memorial Day weekend, and the lake was already humming with the familiar sounds of summer—boats slicing through the water, country music floating on the breeze, and the sizzle of burgers on the grill. I’d just finished tossing a cooler onto the dock when I heard the crunch of gravel up the drive. My little sister jumped out of the car first, calling my name like she hadn’t seen me in years. But I barely registered her because the passenger door opened, and out stepped someone I definitely hadn’t met yet. McKenna. Sun-kissed skin, legs for days, and a smile that made my throat dry up instantly. She looked around like she belonged there—like she was already a part of this place, this weekend, this…whatever the hell was about to happen. Our eyes met for a second too long. She bit her lip. I forgot how to breathe. And just like that, my plans for a quiet weekend went out the window.