She woke before the alarm, before the birds, before the sun had done more than bruise the horizon lavender. Her phone showed five minutes past six. A text from Johnny, sent at 5:47: Outside.
She was out of bed before she finished reading it.
The house was silent. Her mom's door still closed. Paige moved through the dark hallway in bare feet, past the wedding photo, past the living room where the television sat cold, past the smell of last night's spaghetti still faint in the kitchen air. She unlocked the front door as quietly as she could and stepped onto the porch.
He was sitting on the top step, elbows on his knees, the collar of his flannel pulled up against the morning chill. His hair was still damp. He looked like he hadn't slept.
"You're here," she said. Her voice came out small.
He turned. The worry on his face cracked into something softer. "Couldn't stay away."
She sat down next to him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. The porch boards were cold through her pajama shorts. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, suddenly aware she was still in the tank top she'd slept in, no bra, her hair a mess.
"I couldn't wait," he said. "I tried. Lay in bed until my brain felt like it was gonna short-circuit. Then I rode my bike over." He gestured toward the driveway. His bike lay on its side in the wet grass, chain glinting.
"Your mom doesn't know you're gone?"
"She's asleep. Jimmy'll cover for me if she wakes up." He paused. "I had to know. How it went."
She took a breath. The air smelled like cut grass and dew and him — that clean soap smell that lived in his collar. She let it fill her before she spoke.
"She knows."
His whole body went still.
"I told her everything. About the trip, about us. About you being sixteen." Paige kept her eyes on the street, on the paperboy's bike lying in a front yard across the way, on a cat picking its way along a fence line. "She already suspected. Said she'd seen how I looked at you."
He didn't move. Didn't breathe, as far as she could tell.
"She didn't get mad," Paige said, and the words came faster now, relief pushing them out. "She talked to me. She told me about her first boyfriend. Derek. He was older too. She said young love is real, even if it doesn't last forever. She just wants me to be honest and safe."
Johnny exhaled. A long, shaky breath she felt against her shoulder. "Jesus, Paige."
"I know." She finally looked at him. His eyes were wide, red-rimmed like he hadn't blinked in hours. "She said she trusts me. She said — " Paige's voice caught. "She said you seem like a good kid."
He made a sound. Half laugh, half something else. He rubbed his face with both hands, then dropped them. "I was so scared. All night. I kept thinking about what would happen if she said no. If she made you stay away." He shook his head. "I don't know what I would've done."
"She didn't say no."
"I know. I'm — " He laughed again, wetter this time. "I'm trying to catch up."
They sat in silence for a moment. The sun was starting to show, a thin line of gold at the edge of the rooftops. A lawn sprinkler clicked on somewhere down the block, the sound steady and rhythmic.
"She said something else," Paige said quietly.
He turned to her.
"She said she'd be watching. That if you hurt me, she'd make sure you regretted it."
Johnny's mouth twitched. "Fair."
"And she said she wants to meet you. Properly. Maybe dinner this weekend."
He blinked. "Dinner."
"Yeah."
"With your mom."
"And me. And the spaghetti she'll probably make because she thinks it's her signature dish."
He sat with that for a second, then nodded slowly. "Okay. I can do dinner." He said it like he was convincing himself. "I can do dinner with your mom."
"You'll be great."
"I'll probably say something stupid."
"You always say something stupid. That's why I like you."
He looked at her, and something in his face shifted. The worry was still there, underneath, but it was layered now with something else. Wonder, maybe. Or hope.
"She really said all that?" he asked. "She's really okay with it?"
"She said she wants me to be happy. And that you seem like you make me happy."
He swallowed. His throat moved. "I try."
"You do."
He reached for her hand. His fingers were cold, but they wrapped around hers like he was anchoring himself. "I was so scared," he said again, softer this time. "I kept thinking about losing you. About your mom finding out and pulling you away. About never getting to do this again." He squeezed her hand. "I don't know what I'd do."
"You're not gonna lose me."
"Promise?"
She looked at him, at the red hair still damp, at the freckles scattered across his nose like someone had flicked a brush at his face, at the way his eyes held hers like she was the only thing keeping him upright. "I promise."
He pulled her hand to his chest and held it there, against his heart. It was pounding. She could feel it through his flannel, fast and heavy.
"I've been lying awake all night," he said, his voice low, "thinking about what I'd say to you. Trying to figure out how to tell you that — " He stopped. Shook his head. "I don't have the words."
"Then don't use words."
She leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Morning-slow. His lips were cold from the air, but they warmed against hers fast. His hand came up to her jaw, careful, like she was something fragile. She wasn't fragile. She just wanted him to keep looking at her like that.
When she pulled back, his eyes were closed. He opened them slowly, like he was waking up.
"That helps," he said.
"Good."
He kept her hand at his chest. The sun was climbing now, light spilling across the porch, catching the dew on the grass, warming the wood beneath them. A bird started singing somewhere in the maple tree by the driveway.
"I met your mom once," he said. "At the grocery store. I held the door for her."
"She told me."
"She smiled at me. I think that was before she knew."
"She knew," Paige said. "She told me she recognized you from when you dropped me off after the trip."
He winced. "So she knew the whole time and didn't say anything?"
"She was waiting for me to tell her."
He let out a breath. "Your mom's smart."
"She's okay."
"She raised you." He looked at her, and his eyes were soft now, the worry fading. "That makes her pretty great in my book."
Paige felt heat rise to her cheeks. She ducked her head, let her hair fall forward to hide it. "You're gonna make me cry again."
"Again?"
"I cried last night. After she said she was okay with it. I cried in the kitchen."
"That's okay." He brushed her hair behind her ear. "I cried in the shower this morning."
"You did not."
"Okay, I didn't. But I thought about it."
She laughed, and it came out surprised, like it always did. He smiled at the sound.
"I love that laugh," he said.
"Shut up."
"I mean it. It's my favorite sound."
She looked at him, at the way the morning light caught the red in his hair, at the faint freckles she could count if she wanted to, at the way he was looking at her like she was the answer to every question he'd ever asked. And she realized something she hadn't let herself feel before.
He looked like he was going to stay.
Not just for the summer. Not just until someone found out and made them stop. He looked like someone who would be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. Someone who would show up at her porch at dawn because he couldn't wait. Someone who would hold the door for her mom. Someone who would meet her for dinner and probably say something stupid and then hold her hand under the table afterward.
She hadn't let herself believe it could be that simple. That she could have this. That she could keep it.
But the way he was looking at her, she was starting to.
"What?" he said, catching her expression.
"Nothing." She shook her head. "Just — " She stopped. Tried to find the words. "I think I'm starting to believe this is real."
His face did something complicated. A smile that didn't quite form, a crease between his eyebrows, a softness in his eyes. "It's real," he said. "I've never been more sure of anything."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He lifted her hand and pressed it flatter against his chest. "Feel that?"
His heart was still going, steady and strong beneath her palm.
"That's yours," he said. "It's been yours for a while now."
She didn't know what to say to that. So she kissed him again, harder this time, her hand curling into his flannel, pulling him toward her. He made a small sound against her mouth and she felt it in her chest, in her stomach, in the spaces between her ribs.
The porch was quiet. The street was still. The sun was rising behind them, throwing their shadows long across the wood.
He pulled back first, breathing hard. "You're gonna make me miss curfew."
"You don't have a curfew."
"I have a you-shaped curfew."
She laughed. "That was terrible."
"I know." He grinned. "You said I always say stupid things. I'm consistent."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. He smelled like sleep and soap and the cold morning air. His arm slid around her, pulling her closer, his hand settling on her hip.
"I should probably go," he said, but he didn't move.
"Probably."
Neither of them moved.
The sprinkler clicked off. A car started somewhere. The bird in the maple tree was still singing.
"I don't want to leave," he said quietly.
"Then don't."
"Your mom's gonna wake up and find me on the porch."
"She knows you're here."
He pulled back to look at her. "What?"
"She told me last night if you showed up, I could talk to you. Just this once. She said she'd leave the door unlocked."
His mouth fell open. "She knew I'd come?"
"She said she would've been disappointed if you didn't."
He stared at her. Then he laughed, a real laugh, surprised and warm. "I think I love your mom."
"Don't make it weird."
"Too late." He was grinning now, wide and bright. "I'm gonna bring her flowers at dinner. I'm gonna be the best dinner guest she's ever had."
"She's going to think you're trying too hard."
"I am trying too hard. That's the point."
She shook her head, but she was smiling. The sun was fully up now, catching the gold in his hair, the green in his eyes. She traced the line of his jaw with her finger, and he went still under her touch.
"I'm glad you came," she said.
"Me too." He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I'm glad you told her. I know it was hard."
"It was the right thing."
"You're brave, Paige Moretti."
"I'm not."
"You are. Braver than me."
She didn't argue. She just leaned into him, let his arm tighten around her, let the morning settle around them like a blanket. The porch steps creaked when she shifted her weight. His heartbeat was steady against her cheek.
The screen door creaked open behind them.
Paige turned. Her mom stood in the doorway, wrapped in her bathrobe, hair mussed from sleep. She looked at them — Paige in his arms, Johnny's face going pink — and her expression softened.
"Good morning," she said.
Johnny shot to his feet like he'd been electrocuted. "Mrs. Moretti. Ma'am. I'm sorry, I should've — I can leave, I was just — "
Her mom held up a hand. "Relax, Johnny." She smiled. "I made coffee. You want a cup before you go?"
He stood frozen for a second. Then he looked at Paige, eyes wide, and she saw it — the shift. The worry finally letting go.
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "That'd be great."
Her mom nodded and disappeared back inside.
Johnny turned to Paige. His face was red, his hair was a mess, his flannel was wrinkled from sleeping in it. He looked terrified and hopeful and completely, utterly happy.
"This is happening," he said.
"Yeah." She stood up and took his hand. "It is."
The light caught his freckles as she pulled him toward the door.
The light caught his freckles as she pulled him toward the door. His hand was warm in hers, a little sweaty, and she felt the slight tremor in his fingers as they crossed the threshold.
He squeezed her hand tightly and whispered, "Thank you."
She glanced back at him. His eyes were wide, his jaw set, like he was walking into a test he hadn't studied for. She squeezed back. "You'll be fine."
The kitchen smelled like coffee and the faint lemony scent of her mom's hand soap. Morning light slanted through the window above the sink, catching dust motes floating in the still air. Her mom stood at the counter, pouring three mugs, her back to them.
"Sit," her mom said without turning. "There's sugar in the bowl. Cream in the fridge."
Johnny let go of Paige's hand and pulled out a chair. The legs scraped against the linoleum, and he winced at the sound. He sat down like he wasn't sure the chair would hold him, hands landing on his thighs, back straight.
Paige sat across from him. She watched him take in the kitchen — the chipped tile counter, the dish rack with a single blue plate, the magnets holding a school photo of her from two years ago. His eyes lingered on the photo, and something in his face softened.
Her mom brought the mugs over. She set one in front of Johnny, one in front of Paige, and kept the third for herself, sliding into the seat at the head of the table. The steam curled up between them.
"So," her mom said. She wrapped her hands around the mug, not drinking yet. "You're Johnny McHale."
"Yes, ma'am." His voice cracked on the last word. He cleared his throat. "I mean — yes. I am."
"Paige tells me you're sixteen."
"Yes, ma'am." He hesitated. "I turn seventeen in April."
Her mom nodded slowly. She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving him. "And you're in high school."
"Yes, ma'am. Junior." He swallowed. "I get good grades. I'm on the bowling team. I have a job — I mow lawns for Mr. Henderson on Maple Street, and I help my dad with his landscaping business on weekends."
Paige watched him rattle off the list like he was reading from a resume. His ears were red. The tips of them, glowing like embers.
"That's good," her mom said. "Responsibility matters." She set her mug down. "Johnny, I'm going to be honest with you."
He straightened. "Yes, ma'am."
"Paige is my only daughter. She's thirteen. She's smart, she's kind, and she's still figuring out who she is." Her mom's voice was steady, not harsh, but firm. "I don't know you. I sorta know your parents. I don't know if you're going to break her heart or if you're going to be the boy she remembers fondly when she's thirty."
Johnny's hands were wrapped around his mug now, knuckles white. "I don't want to break her heart."
"I believe you don't want to. But wanting and doing are two different things."
He nodded, slow. "Yes, ma'am."
Her mom leaned back in her chair. The morning light caught the gray in her hair, the tired lines around her eyes. She looked at Johnny like she was reading something written in a language only she understood.
"I need you to understand something. She's thirteen. You're sixteen. That three years matters right now, even if it won't in ten years. You have to be careful with her. You have to be patient. And you have to be honest with me."
Johnny's voice came out low. "I will be."
"If you hurt her — intentionally, carelessly, or otherwise — I will find you. And we will have a very difficult conversation."
Paige watched him nod. His hands were steady on the mug, but his jaw was tight. "I understand."
"Good." Her mom picked up her coffee again. "Now. Tell me about yourself. Not the resume. The real stuff."
Johnny blinked. "The real stuff?"
"What do you like to do when you're not mowing lawns or bowling?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I like to draw."
Paige looked at him. She hadn't known that.
"I'm not good at it," he added quickly. "But I like it. I sit on my back porch sometimes and draw the trees. The way the light hits them." He shrugged, self-conscious. "It's stupid."
"It's not stupid," her mom said. "Show me something you've drawn."
He hesitated. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. From it, he extracted a folded piece of paper, creased and worn, and handed it across the table.
Her mom unfolded it. Paige leaned over to see.
It was a sketch of a girl. Curly hair, a hint of freckles, a smile that was half-formed, like she was about to laugh. It was Paige. It was her, drawn in pencil, rough around the edges but unmistakably her.
"I drew it last week," Johnny said quietly. "After the bowling trip. I couldn't sleep, and I kept thinking about her, so I drew it."
Her mom was silent for a long moment. She traced the edge of the paper with her finger, then looked up at Johnny. Her eyes were wet.
"You drew this from memory?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She handed it back to him. "Keep drawing."
He folded the paper carefully, tucked it back into his wallet. His hands were shaking a little.
Paige reached under the table and found his knee. He flinched, then relaxed, his hand coming down to cover hers.
"Paige tells me your mom knows too," her mom said.
"Yes, ma'am. She's not thrilled, but she's not stopping us." He paused. "My dad is okay with it. He said if I'm going to date someone, I should date someone who makes me happy."
"And Paige makes you happy?"
He looked at Paige. Really looked at her, like she was the only thing in the room. "Yes, ma'am. She does."
Her mom nodded. She finished her coffee and set the mug down with a soft clink. "Alright. I have to get ready for work. Johnny, you can stay for a little while, but I expect you gone by eight. Paige has school."
"Yes, ma'am."
Her mom stood up. She paused beside Johnny's chair, and for a second, Paige thought she was going to say something else. Instead, she reached down and squeezed his shoulder — a quick, firm pressure — then walked to the sink with her mug.
"Paige, walk him out when he's ready."
"Okay, Mom."
The screen door creaked as her mom disappeared into the hallway. The house settled into silence, the clock on the wall ticking, the refrigerator humming.
Johnny let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for three years. "That went better than I thought."
"She liked your drawing."
"She did?"
"Yeah." Paige smiled. "She's not good at saying it, but she does."
He ran a hand through his hair. "I thought I was going to throw up the whole time."
"You did good."
He looked at her. The morning light was full now, warm and golden, catching the red in his hair, the green of his eyes. He was still red-faced, still rumpled, still sitting in her kitchen like he couldn't quite believe he was there.
"Your mom called me a good kid."
"She did."
"I don't think anyone's ever called me that before."
Paige stood up and walked around the table. She stood in front of him, and he looked up at her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her gently into the space between his knees.
"You are," she said. "You're a good kid, Johnny McHale."
He pressed his forehead against her stomach. She felt his breath, warm through her shirt, and his arms tightened around her. They stayed like that for a long moment, the kitchen bright around them, the clock ticking, the world holding still.
"I should go," he said finally. "Before your mom changes her mind."
"Probably."
He didn't let go. Neither did she.
"Tonight?" he asked.
"I don't know. I'll call you."
"Okay." He pulled back and looked at her. His eyes were bright, wet at the edges. "This is real, isn't it?"
"Yeah." She brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "It's real."
He stood up, slow, his hands sliding from her waist to her hands. He held them for a second, then lifted one and kissed her knuckles.
"I'll see you later, Paige Moretti."
"See you later, Johnny McHale."
He walked to the front door, pausing at the threshold. The morning light was bright beyond the screen, the yard still wet with dew. He turned back, one hand on the doorframe, and smiled.
"Tell your mom I said thank you for the coffee."
"I will."
He pushed open the screen door and stepped out. The porch boards creaked under his feet. She watched him walk down the steps, across the yard, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders straight.
At the sidewalk, he turned and waved.
She waved back.
Then he was gone, walking down the street, the morning swallowing him up.
Paige stood in the doorway, the screen cool against her fingers. The porch steps were warm where he'd been sitting. The jasmine was still blooming, sweet and heavy in the air.
She heard her mom's footsteps behind her. "He seems like a good kid."
"He is."
Her mom stood beside her, arms crossed, looking out at the empty street. "He's going to break your heart."
Paige didn't look at her. "Maybe."
"Or you'll break his."
"Maybe."
Her mom was quiet. Then she put her arm around Paige's shoulders and pulled her close. "Either way, I'll be here."
Paige leaned into her. The morning light was warm on her face. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked. A car started. The world kept turning.
She thought about his hand squeezing hers. His whisper. His drawing folded in his wallet.
The screen door creaked as her mom pulled her back inside.