Tyler bursts into the diner just off the pier with a huff. I follow suit. The bell rings above the door but I struggle to hear it over the rain slapping the concrete outside. In the short two-minute sprint from the beach, we've both turned into a sopping mess. Tyler's cheeks are flushed red, his hair dripping all over the tiles beneath our feet, and his white t-shirt is clinging to his skin, almost transparent from the rain.

I don't think I look any better.

He grabs the bottom of his shirt and scrunches as much water out as he can while we're still at the door. I peel my hair away from my face. Both our chests still rise and fall at an unsteady rate as we swallow as much air as we can.

"Probably shouldn't have left the towel at the beach," he says, still managing to grin as the droplets roll down his arms.

"I mean, I offered to put it in my bag."

"And soak all those résumés you've got in there? I think your dad would kill me," he jokes. Amusement dances in his pale blue eyes as we take a seat in one of the booths.

"One day of carrying them around was enough for me. I got a job, remember?"

He stares at a menu with a sudden somber expression. For a second, I think he's going to talk about what happened yesterday- let me apologize for everything that I said- but when his eyes meet mine again, the crease between his brow's smooths. "After all that running I think I might have to go for the large portion of pancakes, what do you think?"

A soft smile settles on my lips. Understanding grips my heart. "If they're as good as you say they are, I don't know how you couldn't."

When he goes over to the counter to order, I grab a handful of napkins and wipe them across my skin. They do the job. It isn't that busy for a Saturday night. Most of the booths are empty apart from the odd few. I have to remind myself that Seabrook Island isn't Phoenix and that there aren't going to be as many people around all the time. And although I would do anything to go back home, the quiet is a welcome change.

Everything about this place is old-fashioned, but I've noticed a lot of Seabrook Island is. The servers are wearing red dresses with white aprons wrapped around their waists. Seabrook Island Diner, Proud home of South Carolina's finest pancakes is slapped across the back of their uniform. There are red lights fixed around every window to match the red, leather stools and booths. There's one of those retro jukeboxes you can put a quarter in and pick a song over in the back corner. Right now, some old country music is filling the small space. I can't help but tap my foot to it. A swinging door that I'm assuming leads to the kitchen is wafting sweet batter and greasy burgers into the air. It's an odd combination but it works. My stomach growls lowly at the thought of food and I press my hand against it.

"I would've got you more than one pancake, you know? You don't have to be a cheap date," he says as he slides back into the booth. He hands my drink to me, and I cup my hands around the glass.

"This is a date?" I arch a brow. My lips wrap around the straw as I take a sip.

"I'm serious, Phoenix. I don't mind paying."

I shift in my seat, sitting on my hands to warm them up. "I'm not that hungry," I dismiss. "And even if I do change my mind, you'd give me one of the five you ordered, right?"

"What's that look for?" He raises his brows and I have to hold back a laugh. "Are you trying to say five's too many for me? Because if you are I think you're just going to have to sit here and watch me finish them all in record time."

"Record time, hey?" He nods. I prop my head up on my hand when some of the feeling in my fingers return and tilt my head. "And what is the record you're trying to beat exactly?"

"You haven't heard? They hold an annual pancake eating contest right here in this booth." He pats the table. Laughter threatens to spill out of my closed lips, but I try to keep a straight face. "The last contestant who tried to eat all five spewed before he could finish. They had to close the place for a week. The only other before managed to do it in three minutes flat." He holds up three fingers. This time, he's the one struggling to contain himself. "I'm betting I can do it in two."

"Two minutes?" I feign a gasp.

He hums in confirmation.

"And what was this person's name who ate all five pancakes in three minutes flat? Surely, he should have his pictures framed on the wall somewhere."

"John Smith," he says matter-of-factly.

"What a generic name. You couldn't have come up with a better one?"

"That's my dad's name," he deadpans, a look of annoyance flashing across his features. The giggle that I've been holding back finally escapes my lips, but I clamp them shut when he doesn't join me. His jaw tenses.

"You're lying," I state but I don't entirely believe it.

"Yeah, I'm lying. You should've seen your face though. If it was up to me, I'd have framed that on the wall. It would getway more attention than any John Smith photo ever could."

My hands come up to cover my face. "You asshole," I grumble.

The sound of his laughter sparks something warm in my chest. Before I know it, his hands are covering mine. He pulls them away from my face and I let him. A current hums through my hands, up my arms, and down to the pit of my stomach. My throat dries and my lungs forget how to work. He doesn't let go. He just stares at me, staring back at him. It's like I'm trapped in his eyes. Surrounded by the sea with nowhere else to go. All I can do is sink. Down and down and down. And hope that whatever lies on the sea floor can breathe oxygen back into my lungs.

"I've got a large order of chocolate chip pancakes with banana and cream and a single order of Seabrook's finest with maple syrup," the server says, seemingly unaware of what she's interrupted.

My breath hitches in my throat and I pull my hands away, nestling them in my lap. I can feel my face heat up as Tyler says something, but I don't hear what. I keep my gaze trained on the pot of extra maple syrup that's placed in front of me.

"Phoenix," he starts. Even him saying the stupid nickname he made up for me makes my heart rate spike. It's like my fight or flight is set into motion and I can't decide whether to run out the door or into his arms. "If you don't eat your pancake the maple syrup will soak into it, and it'll go all soggy."

My eyes meet his. "That's what you're thinking about right now?"

"Is there something else I should be thinking about?"

The way he's looking at me. His eyes are so soft. His lips slightly curved at the corners. His hand still resting on the table between us as if he's waiting for me to place mine in his. My fingers itch to do just that. To touch him in any way that I can. Feel that same heat I felt only moments ago.

I swallow the lump in my throat and pick up my fork, stabbing it into the pancake. "No, you're right. Soggy pancakes really are the worst."

His sigh is barely audible, but I hear it. He gives me a ghost of a smile before piercing a piece of banana off his plate. "Yeah, they are."

When we eventually leave the diner- after it inevitably took Tyler longer than two minutes to finish his pancakes- the rain has stopped. The dark clouds still linger in the sky and the concrete beneath our feet is still slick. The sun has already set beneath the sea, the streetlights casting their artificial glow across the town.

"Have you ever realized how peaceful it is at night?" Tyler asks.

I turn to look at him, gripping the straps of my bag so it doesn't fall off my shoulder. His face is stoic. He's looking out across the water, at the waves rocking back and forth, with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts.

"Yeah," I breathe. "Back home, the city never slept. There'd still be people wandering the streets at night, living their lives. It was quieter than it was during the day, but it was never silent. Even with my window closed, I could still hear laughter from a group of people who had too much to drink passing by. Cars honking when the light took longer than they wanted to turn green. Music rustling through the floors from the frat party down the street. And I loved it. God, I loved it. But it has been nice to finally get a break from it all, you know?"

"Back home. Is that Phoenix?"

I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest. A chill travels over me, sinking into my still damp clothes. "Yeah," I hum. Phoenix is home. It always has been, and it always will be.

"Why here?" He asks. My brows furrow and he elaborates. "Why not San Francisco or Los Angeles? Why would you move to a town completely different if you loved it so much?"

I take a deep breath. Breathing in the sea air. Letting it sink into my pores and intertwine with my bones. Feeling the familiar way my heart syncs with the distant sound of the waves lapping against the shore.

"I wouldn't," I say. "If I had a choice, I wouldn't have moved at all. It was my dad who made me come out here. He's the one who wanted a fresh start. And, obviously, because I'm not an adult yet he couldn't just leave me alone in Phoenix. I had no other option but to come."

He leans against the wall next to me, kicking up his foot to steady himself. Standing next to him like this makes me realize how tall he is. My eyes are level with his chest. I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. In the dark, his eyes almost look entirely white. I can't look away.

"I'm glad you came," he admits.

My lips pull up into a smile. I don't respond. I don't need to. I just let the comfortable silence wash over us. Scrub us clean of all of our worries and troubles. Until we're just two people standing next to each other. Two people brought together at that moment by pancakes and our love for the beach. A city girl and a surfer boy. An unexpected pair.

When I tell him that it's getting late and I should probably head back, he doesn't try to stop me. Let me walk you home. That's his response. Home. That house isn't my home. But I don't say that. I say that I'll be fine on my own. That I may be new to the town, but I already know my way around most parts. It doesn't take long to get accustomed to a town as small as this one. And when I get back and wrap myself up in my comforter, I think about our moment at the diner. Our hands wound together. Neither of us pulling away. And a new type of fear blossoms in my chest. A fear that I could come to crave.

A fear that I could come to love.