Back for Summer

You took the last turn like you always did, sharp and a little too wide, just so you could see the whole stretch of the road at once.

The cove opened up in front of you. Same uneven gravel, same line of crooked mailboxes, same sliver of sea flashing between houses like it was winking. You rolled the window down with your wrist and let the air in. Salt, hot tar, somebody’s laundry detergent. It smelled like every summer you’d had before you learned words like “internship” and “career path.”

The Yoo house sat where it always sat, a little back from the road, paint faded to a soft blue-gray. Porch wrapped around the front like an arm. Three steps, a railing that dipped slightly on the left from years of leaning. There was still a stain on the front step where Minjeong had spilled blue paint when you were fourteen. You noticed it first, before the new potted plants or the repaired screen door.

Mrs. Yoo stood on the porch in a faded yellow cardigan and jean shorts. She had a mug in both hands and her hair pulled back with a scarf. She waved as you pulled up, a small lift of the wrist instead of a big arm swing.

“Jason,” she called over the engine, like she wasn’t completely sure you were real until she said your name.

You killed the engine and everything went quiet except for the waves and some kids yelling farther down the beach. You climbed out, stretched your back, and your knees popped louder than you wanted them to.

“Hey, Mrs. Yoo.” You tried for casual, but your throat felt thick. You were more tired than you’d admitted on the phone.

She came down the three steps and hugged you quick, one arm around your shoulders, one hand still holding the mug.

“You got taller,” she said automatically.

“I stopped in eleventh grade,” you said. “You just got shorter.”

She snorted. “Mm. Mouth still works.” She leaned back and looked you over properly. “You look good, Jay. Tired, but good.”

You shrugged one shoulder. “They still make coffee here?”

“Stronger than that swill in the city,” she said. “Come in. We’ll feed you.”

You popped the trunk and grabbed your duffel. The fabric scraped your palm the same way it had last summer, and the summer before that. The weight felt about right for a summer’s worth of clothes and unresolved decisions.

On your way up the path, you glanced past the house toward the dock.

Karina was there.

Barefoot, like always, toes gripping the warped planks. She had on an oversized black T-shirt with a band logo half rubbed off and a pair of cutoffs. Her hair was up in a messy knot, strands sticking out in every direction like she’d done it in a hurry or hadn’t bothered. There was a cigarette behind her ear and a plastic lighter in her hand that she flicked without actually lighting anything.

She saw you. Her mouth pulled into a crooked, knowing smile.

“Took you long enough,” she called, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to be a show.

“Traffic,” you called back.

She snorted so hard you heard it. “Yeah? Did the cows form a union?”

You smiled despite yourself. The cows on the side road always wandered close to the fence; she’d gotten you to moo at them once when you were twelve.

The screen door creaked when you pushed it open. Inside, the house smelled exactly like it should: lemon oil on old wood, dish soap, something baking. Your fingers found the little notch on the banister where the wood had split and been sanded smooth, a notch you’d rubbed every summer without thinking.

Minjeong stepped out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her hair was down, straight and shiny, tucked behind one ear. She wore a tank top and soft-looking sweat shorts, and there was flour dusted across her left hip.

“You’re late,” she said, but her mouth slid into a smile halfway through.

“I’m right on time,” you said. “You moved the clocks, remember?”

She rolled her eyes. “We did that once.”

“Twice,” you said. “The summer we hid all the spoons.”

Her mouth twitched. “Okay, twice.”

She closed the distance between you in three quick steps and hugged you. Minjeong hugged differently than her mother—longer, both arms, chin against your shoulder for a second before she let go.

“You look… older,” she said, leaning back to squint at you. “In a good way. Less baby face. More… tired uncle.”

“Wow,” you said. “So flattering.”

She laughed properly at that. “Take your stuff up,” she said, turning back toward the kitchen. “Then come eat. I made bread. Mom made too much jam.”

“There’s no such thing,” you said.

“Tell that to our pantry,” she tossed over her shoulder.

You lugged the duffel up the stairs. They creaked in the same spots. Second step, fifth step. You could’ve done it blindfolded. Your room was at the end of the hall, still with the same scratched doorknob and the same slightly crooked frame.

Inside, almost nothing had changed. The twin bed with the faded blue quilt. The small dresser with the top drawer that stuck halfway. The narrow bookshelf with three paperbacks you’d left last summer still stacked sideways. The old fan on the ceiling ticked when you flipped the switch on.

You dropped the duffel at the foot of the bed and sat down. The mattress dipped under your weight like it remembered you. You took the air in through your nose—salt, dust, laundry detergent—and let it out slow.

You were here. Whatever you were supposed to figure out this summer—job, future, feelings you weren’t ready to name—could wait. For the first time in months, you had nowhere else to rush to.

“Jay!” Minjeong yelled from downstairs. “Food!”

You washed your hands in the tiny bathroom, watching the familiar rusty ring of the sink. The mirror still had that patch of silver missing in the corner. You’d once stuck a sticker there; the mark was still faint.

Back in the kitchen, the table was set with mismatched plates. A loaf of bread sat on a cutting board, still steaming at the ends. Three jars of jam in different shades of red and purple lined up like soldiers. Mrs. Yoo poured tea into mugs from a pot cozy that looked older than all of you.

Karina had wandered in. She leaned against the counter, hip cocked, cigarette now gone. Up close, she looked both exactly the same and not at all. Her eyeliner was smudged, like she’d put it on hours ago and hadn’t cared what happened after. There was a small hoop in her left ear you didn’t remember. Her eyes—dark, sharp—tracked you as you pulled out a chair.

She made a face. “Ugh, he’s really here.”

“Hi, Rina,” you said.

“Don’t call me that,” she shot back automatically.

“You called me Jay,” you said.

“Yeah, but it’s cute on you,” she said. “On me it sounds like a midlife crisis.”

Mrs. Yoo tsked. “Eat,” she said. “You two can insult each other after.”

You reached for the bread. Minjeong slapped your hand lightly with the knife.

“Plate first,” she said. “You’re not a raccoon.”

“Debatable,” Karina muttered.

You caught her eye and she almost smiled again.

“So,” Mrs. Yoo said, sitting down with a small sigh. “Tell me about this job.”

You spread jam on a slice of bread just to have something to do with your hands. “Night ops at the pier,” you said. “Check rides, watch the lines, make sure nobody falls off anything or gets stuck on anything.”

“‘Night ops,’” Karina repeated. “That sounds very… Mission: Impossible of you.”

“Jason accepted a responsibility,” Minjeong said around a sip of tea. “You should try it sometime.”

Karina flicked a crumb at her. “I have responsibilities,” she said. “Lots. I’m very important.”

“Name one,” Minjeong said.

“Looking hot is work,” Karina said, lifting her chin. “And I keep morale up.”

Mrs. Yoo gave her a look over the top of her mug. “You keep the liquor stores in business.”

“That too,” Karina said cheerfully.

You watched the exchange, the familiar rhythm of their bickering. Except it was off by a beat now. Minjeong sounded older. Karina sounded like she was pushing the jokes harder.

“So what exactly do you do?” Mrs. Yoo asked you again, one eyebrow raised. She was good at knowing when you were skimming.

You scraped the jam into the corner of your bread. “Walk the pier,” you said. “Check bolts. Listen for weird noises. Radio if anything’s wrong. Tell drunk guys to get down. And, uh, hang around the control booth for the big rides, just in case.”

“They pay you to tell drunk guys no?” Karina said. “Dream job.”

“You should try holding a clipboard,” you said. “It’s intoxicating.”

She laughed, short and sharp. “You with a clipboard. Oh my god. I’m going to die.”

“Please don’t,” Mrs. Yoo said. “I’ve just had the porch repainted.”

Minjeong reached for another slice of bread, spreading jam with practiced strokes. “You can walk him down there later, Karina,” she said. “Show him where everything is. He’ll get lost.”

“I’ve been here every summer,” you said. “I know where the pier is.”

“Not the pier,” Minjeong said. “The new stuff. New owners on some of the stalls. New shortcuts. New places people like to sneak cigarettes.”

Karina pointed to herself with a thumb. “Tour guide,” she said. “For a fee.”

“You can’t charge Jason,” Mrs. Yoo said. “You’ll take him. And you’ll behave. Right?”

Karina made a face but nodded. “Yes, omma.”

After lunch—more bread, too much jam, three cups of tea—you followed Karina down the path to the beach.

The sand felt the same under your shoes, soft-packed at the top, finer near the water. The air was warmer here, less breeze. Kids screamed as they chased each other with plastic shovels.

Karina walked a little ahead, her hands stuffed into her back pockets. She didn’t look back to see if you were following; she knew you were. You watched the set of her shoulders. There was tension there, but it was buried under the easy slouch.

“You really took it, huh?” she said after a minute, kicking a shell out of her way.

“The job?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

“Needed money,” you said. “Needed a reason to be here that wasn’t just ‘eat Mrs. Yoo’s bread.’”

“That is a good reason,” she said. “Top five, for sure.”

You smiled. “She kind of guilt-tripped me.”

Karina snorted. “You mean she said, ‘I’d feel better if you were around,’ and you folded.”

“That’s not folding,” you said. “That’s…”

“Being a sucker,” she said.

You bent down and picked up a piece of driftwood, rolling it between your fingers. “She did ask me to keep an eye on you,” you said lightly.

Karina stopped walking. You felt it more than saw it. She planted her feet in the sand and turned to stare at you.

“She what?”

You shrugged. “Just… you know. Moms. She worries.”

Karina’s jaw clenched for a second and then relaxed. Her eyes went sharp. “Let me guess. ‘Jason, be a good boy and watch my wild child.’”

“She didn’t say that,” you said. “Exactly.”

“What did she say exactly?” she demanded.

You thought back to the phone call. To Mrs. Yoo’s voice, tired and hopeful. You could hear it clearly. It would make me feel better if you came. The girls… Karina’s been… You’d filled in the rest.

“She said she’d feel better if I was around,” you said simply. “That’s it.”

Karina made a face like she’d bitten into something sour. “Of course she did,” she said. “She thinks you’re a saint.”

You laughed. “She thinks I can carry ladders without dropping them. That’s not the same thing.”

She huffed and kept walking. The pier came into view properly as you rounded the rocks.

It always looked bigger from this angle. The main walkway stretched out over the water, supporting the bulk of the rides. The Ferris wheel, off to the right, turned slowly, the cars empty in the middle of the day. Neon signs were dark, waiting for evening. Stalls lined the entrance: cotton candy, fried everything, games with stuffed animals hanging from the top. Farther down, the arcade’s glass front reflected the sky.

“Wow,” you said. “They cleaned it.”

Karina followed your gaze. “Yeah,” she said. “Committee went crazy last year. Safety codes, new paint, all that. Don’t worry, it still falls apart if you kick it hard enough.”

You laughed.

She led you up the ramp and onto the main boards. Your boots thudded on the wood. There were fewer people now, just workers and a few early tourists. A guy in a booth was trying to get a fan to work, hitting it on the side. A woman was wiping down a row of stuffed sharks.

“That’s Rafi,” Karina said, nodding toward a tall guy in a faded staff T-shirt adjusting the height bar on a ride. “You’ll be glued to him your first week. He’ll show you where they hide the good coffee.”

Rafi glanced over as you approached and broke into a wide grin.

“Yo,” he said. “You must be the new night guy. Jason?”

“Yeah,” you said, holding out a hand.

He shook it with a grip just shy of crushing. “Rafi,” he said. “Welcome to chaos. You working tonight?”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “Figured I’d check it out first.”

“Smart,” he said. “Lemme know if you want the grand tour. I’ll show you which rides are drama queens.”

“I was gonna show him,” Karina said.

Rafi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he needs to survive the tour, not die of secondhand embarrassment.”

Karina flipped him off lazily. “He likes me better.”

“That true, newbie?” Rafi asked you.

You raised your hands. “I plead the fifth.”

Rafi laughed, shook his head, and went back to adjusting the bar. Karina tugged your sleeve.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll show you your kingdom.”

She led you along the pier, pointing out things as you went. The tiny office where they kept radios and batteries. The locked cage under the main walkway where spare parts lived. The maintenance shack near the Ferris wheel, a squat building with peeling paint that smelled faintly of oil and old coffee.

“This is where you brood,” she said, pushing open the door.

Inside, it was dim and cluttered. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with labeled bins: BOLTS, FUSES, MISC. A workbench covered in tools and a stained rag. Two mismatched chairs. A small fridge with magnets holding up a faded “Safety First” poster.

You walked around, fingers trailing along the edge of the bench. There was a worn patch where someone always set their hand.

“You ever thought about doing something else?” you asked, glancing at her. “You know—job-wise?”

She hopped up on the bench and swung her legs. “Sure,” she said. “All the time. Professional napper. Professional beach-lay-er. Taste-tester for ice cream companies.”

You raised an eyebrow.

She sighed. “I don’t know,” she said, and the word came out more honest than the joke had been. “Everything I think of either wants me to sit at a desk forever or go back to school. I barely made it through the first time.”

“You could do something here,” you said. “Events, maybe. Or social media. There’s a lot of people.”

She made a face. “What, take pictures of toddlers and funnel cakes for a living?”

“You already take pictures of your drinks,” you said. “You’re halfway there.”

She smirked and nudged your knee with her toe. “You always like telling people what they could be,” she said.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s… you,” she said, like that explained everything.

You left it there. Some conversations didn’t need nails hammered into them yet.

On your way back from the pier, Scout appeared like he’d been summoned. Fourteen now, taller, hair longer. He rode his board along the walkway, shoes half untied, T-shirt with a cartoon shark on it.

“Jason!” he shouted, jumping off the board and grabbing it in one smooth motion. “No way. You’re back?”

You grinned. “Hey, menace.”

He plowed into you with a hug anyway. “Oh my god, you look so old,” he said, stepping back to squint at you. “Like, in a cool way. Like you know taxes.”

“Don’t say things like that,” you said. “I’m fragile.”

Karina snorted. “He knows nothing about taxes. He barely knows how to pay rent.”

“I know how to pay rent,” you said. “I just hate it.”

Scout looked between you, eyes bright. “You working here?” he asked.

“Night ops,” you said.

Scout’s jaw dropped. “You get to go up there? At night?” He pointed at the Ferris wheel like it was a spaceship.

“Sometimes,” you said.

“Bro,” he said reverently. “That’s so cool.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Karina said. “He’s already insufferable.”

You spent the rest of the afternoon half-listening to Scout’s stories—about the time he wiped out near the rocks, the new kid at school who thought he was better at skating than he was, the rumor about Avery Cole buying up property near the boardwalk.

When you asked casually, “Who’s Avery?” Scout rolled his eyes like you’d missed a major plot point.

“The developer dude,” he said. “The one with the weird car and the stupid hair.”

“Scout,” Karina warned.

“What?” he said. “His hair is stupid.”

“You’re not wrong,” she muttered.

“Anyway,” Scout went on, “he’s trying to, like, buy the pier or something. People are mad. Minjeong’s in justice mode. It’s kind of sick.”

“You’ll see,” Karina said. “Whole town’s about to flip out in a polite way.”

You filed that away. Developer. Justice mode. Polite flip-out. It sounded like trouble, but the kind that wouldn’t be solved in a day. The kind that would spread into all the corners of the summer.

Your first shift started the next night.

You got there early, because being early felt like the least you could do when you were about to be responsible for metal and gravity. The sky was still light, sun hanging low over the water. The rides hadn’t fully lit up yet, but you could see the bulbs waiting.

Rafi met you by the maintenance shack, a clipboard under one arm and a thermos in his hand.

“Look at you,” he said, eyeing your staff T-shirt. “You clean up almost decent.”

“I aim for mediocre,” you said.

He held out the thermos. “Here. Pier coffee. It’s terrible but it keeps you awake.”

You took a sip. It tasted like burned battery acid. “Wow,” you coughed. “You undersold it.”

“Grows on you,” he said. “Like mold.”

He handed you the clipboard. On it, a printed checklist with neat boxes next to items.

“This is your bible,” he said. “You touch the rides, you tick the boxes. You hear something weird, you write it down. You smell something weird, you find where it’s coming from. Got it?”

“Got it,” you said.

He ran you through the routine. Start at the small rides: kiddie train, carousel. Check the bolts on the track, the bars on the seats. Listen. Feel. Work your way up to the big wheel. The click of the ratchet. The hum of the motor. The way the cars swung.

You followed him, watching how his hands moved. There was an economy there, but no laziness. Every touch was deliberate.

“Why the second bolt?” you asked at one point, when he tapped it and tightened.

“Always the second,” he said. “Takes more vibration. First one holds steady. Second one sulks.”

You nodded. You liked knowing things like that. Rules that weren’t in manuals.

By the time the sun dropped, the pier had changed. Lights blinked on, chasing each other down the rails and around the signs. Music bled out of speakers, different songs overlapping until they found some sort of rhythm. People flowed in from the parking lot, carrying bags, holding hands, laughing.

Your job changed too. Clipboard tucked against your chest, radio clipped to your belt, flashlight banging lightly against your thigh. You walked, eyes scanning. You listened. You said “hey, stairs only” when a kid tried to climb a railing. You smiled at parents. You scanned bolts again, just to be sure.

Karina appeared around nine with a group of friends, all loud and gleaming with sweat and highlighter. She had changed into a cropped top and a denim jacket, her hair half-down, lipstick a dark berry.

“Oh my god,” she said, making a face at your shirt. “Staff. You’re official.”

“Bow to me,” you said solemnly. “I wield great power.”

“Do you now?” she said, stepping closer. “What powers exactly?”

“I can get you kicked out,” you said. “For one thing.”

She laughed. “As if,” she said. “You love me.”

Her friends oohed in unison. You felt your ears heat, but you rolled your eyes. “Go win a goldfish,” you said. “Stay off the bathroom roof.”

She smirked. “No promises.”

They disappeared into the crowd. You let your eyes follow her for a second longer than necessary, then brought them back to the checklist.

The night slipped by in small pieces. A kid dropped his ice cream and cried until his dad bought him another. A couple made out behind the prize booth until Rafi cleared his throat loudly nearby. Someone thought it was funny to rock the Ferris car, and you fixed them with a look until they stopped.

You liked the work more than you’d expected. You liked how tangible it was. Bolt loose? Tighten it. Light out? Replace it. Problem? Radio it in. People appreciated you in immediate ways: a nod, a quick “thanks,” a parent’s grateful look when you stopped their kid from squeezing through the railing.

Around two, the crowd thinned. The music shifted to older songs, the kind the staff liked. Rafi took a break, leaving you near the Ferris wheel controls.

You were jotting down a note about a squeaky joint when you felt someone bump your hip lightly.

Karina.

Up here, away from most of the lights, you could see the tiredness under her eyeliner. Her jacket hung open, T-shirt damp at the neckline.

“You look very professional,” she said, nodding at the clipboard.

“You’re drunk,” you said.

She tilted her head. “Tipsy,” she corrected. “Buzzed.”

“You smell like you lost an argument with a bar,” you said.

She grinned. “You should see the other guy.”

You suppressed a smile. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” she said. “Why? Worried about me?” She leaned against the rail, close enough that her shoulder brushed yours.

“That’s literally the job,” you said. “I worry about everyone not falling off the pier.”

She watched your profile for a second. You could feel it, like a warmth on your cheek.

“Do you ever get bored?” she asked suddenly.

“Of what?” you said.

“This,” she said, gesturing with her hand. “Walking. Checking. Telling people to stop doing dumb things.”

You thought about it. “No,” you said. “Not really. Feels good to do something useful.”

She made a face. “Useful,” she repeated. “Such a dad word.”

“Okay, then it feels… solid,” you tried.

“That’s no better,” she said, but she was smiling. “You really like it?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I like knowing that if I don’t check something, somebody could get hurt. Makes it matter.”

She hummed. “You always were a Boy Scout,” she said. “Even when we were kids.”

“You set a trash can on fire when we were kids,” you said. “Someone had to be.”

“That was one time,” she said. “And it was very small.”

“It melted,” you said.

She laughed, a real laugh this time. “You’re never going to let that go.”

“Never,” you said.

She nudged your arm with hers. “Good,” she said, and for a second, there was no joke in it. Just something softer, almost grateful.

You didn’t push. The night was calm; the wheel turned slow. You showed her some of the controls just to give your hands something to do. The emergency stop. The intercom. The way you could pause the ride to let someone nervous off.

“Can you sneak me a free ride?” she asked.

“Absolutely not,” you said.

“Wow,” she said. “Zero corruption. I’m disappointed.”

“You want corruption, go talk to Rafi,” you said.

“He already owes me two cotton candies,” she said. “I’m working on him.”

She stayed there longer than she needed to, leaning on the rail, making small comments about people walking past. You listened, chimed in every now and again. The kiss didn’t happen then. It hovered, unspoken, somewhere between her jokes and the way she’d glance up at your face.

When your shift finally ended, the sky at the horizon had paled from navy to dark gray. You walked back to the house with your shoes hanging from two fingers and your socks damp from the sand.

The house was dark except for the light over the sink. A note sat on the table in Minjeong’s handwriting.

Left you some stew. Don’t eat it cold. — M.

You heated it up, ate standing at the counter, watching your reflection in the black kitchen window. Your face looked older in this light. You weren’t sure how you felt about that.

Upstairs, your room smelled like salt and laundry powder. You crashed onto the bed fully clothed and let sleep take you.

The next week blurred into routine.

Wake up late, dragged out of bed by the smell of coffee and Mrs. Yoo’s call up the stairs. Help Minjeong with whatever the house needed—fixing a loose hinge, hauling bags of potting soil to the back, carrying chairs out for someone’s visit. Listen to her talk about the arts fair she was planning, the grant application she was working on for the community center.

“You’re doing a grant?” you asked one morning as she sat at the table with her laptop open, brows knitted.

“Trying,” she said. “They make you answer the same question three times with different words. It’s annoying.”

“What’s it for?”

“Supplies,” she said. “Rent. Keeping the lights on at the center. The kids’ art program is working, but the budget is…” She made a flatline gesture.

“You want me to read it?” you offered.

She hesitated, then slid the laptop over. “Tell me if I sound like a robot.”

You read it. She sounded like herself, just… polite. You pointed at a sentence. “This part,” you said. “You can be more specific. Say what you’ve actually done, not just ‘impact.’”

She snorted. “You and your English degree,” she said, but she changed the line.

Karina drifted in and out of those mornings. Some days she’d be up early, hair wet from a swim, yawning into her coffee. Other days she’d roll out closer to noon, sunglasses on, muttering something about “never mixing vodka and anything ever again.”

She and Minjeong still bickered, but differently now. Minjeong’s scolding had more weight behind it. Karina’s defiance felt less playful and more defensive.

“You’re going out again?” Minjeong asked one night, leaning against the doorway as Karina rummaged through the hall closet for a jacket.

Karina pulled out a leather jacket and shrugged into it. “Yep.”

“You went out last night,” Minjeong said.

“And?” Karina said. “Is there a quota?”

Minjeong crossed her arms. “Mom’s worried.”

“Mom worries about everything,” Karina said. “That’s her thing.”

“Rina,” Minjeong said quietly.

Karina sighed, head tipping back. “I’ll text you when I’m home,” she said. “Happy?”

“No,” Minjeong said. “But it’s something.”

You watched all this from the stairs, halfway between floors, feeling like a voyeur in a life you’d been part of and then not part of. You wanted to say something. You didn’t know what.

Down at the pier, you kept walking, listening, tightening. The more shifts you did, the more you understood how the place functioned.

People started to recognize you. Parents nodded. Teenagers rolled their eyes but listened when you said, “Not that way.” A little kid with a crooked bowl cut saluted you every time he walked past, like you were part of the entertainment.

The developer talk heated up gradually. Flyers appeared around town with the name Cole Properties at the bottom. Public meeting dates. Phrases like “revitalization” and “increased tourism” and “job opportunities.” Somebody had drawn a frown face next to one of the posters.

At home, you heard Mrs. Yoo and Minjeong talking in the kitchen late one night. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the window was open and the voices carried.

“…don’t like it,” Mrs. Yoo was saying. “Once they buy, they own. It stops being ours.”

“They’re saying they’ll keep the character,” Minjeong said. “Whatever that means.”

“You can’t keep character in a spreadsheet,” Mrs. Yoo said. “You girls grew up on that pier. That house paid for half your braces.”

“It also needs repairs,” Minjeong said. “Real ones. The town doesn’t have that kind of money.”

Silence. A spoon clinked against a mug.

“Karina?” Mrs. Yoo asked after a moment.

“She wants to throw a party for them,” Minjeong said, exasperation in every word. “Of course.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Yoo echoed.

You lay back on your bed and stared at the ceiling. The fan ticked. The summer felt suddenly less like a long stretch of free time and more like a fuse.

And through all of this, Karina kept orbiting you.

On good days, she made you laugh until your stomach hurt. She’d drag you into dumb games—spot the tourist, guess the flavor of a mystery snow cone—and then bail halfway through to chase some new distraction. On bad days, she’d go quiet and sharp, her jokes turning meaner, aimed mostly at herself. She’d drink too fast, talk too loud, then disappear before the end of your shift.

You kept half an eye on her even when you were focused on bolts. Mrs. Yoo hadn’t had to ask. You would have anyway.

You weren’t sure when exactly the air between you changed.

Maybe it was the night she showed up at the maintenance shack with a bandage on her elbow, pretending nothing was wrong.

“Trip,” she said when you glanced at it. “Totally fine.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I swear,” she said. “Wasn’t even that good a story. I slipped on some stairs. Boring.”

“You should clean it,” you said. “Come here.”

“There he goes,” she said under her breath. “Captain First Aid.”

You ignored the jab, found the little first-aid kit under the workbench, and sat her down on the stool. You peeled the bandage back carefully. The skin underneath was scraped, not deep, but raw-looking.

“Does this hurt?” you asked, pressing lightly around it.

“No,” she said, then winced. “Okay, yes, a little. Don’t be such a nurse.”

You cleaned the scrape with an antiseptic wipe. She hissed.

“Ow, ow,” she said. “Be nice to me.”

“You set trash cans on fire,” you said. “You can handle this.”

“You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Never,” you said again.

You blew on the wound to dry it. Her skin shivered under your breath. You felt her watching your face.

“You’re good at this,” she said quietly.

“It’s literally just a band-aid,” you said.

“Yeah, but,” she said, shrugging. “You know. You care.”

You slapped a new bandage on and taped it down. “There,” you said. “Don’t do parkour on wet stairs.”

“Can’t promise,” she said, but she smiled. It looked… tired. Real.

Then there was the night Rafi caught you staring at her across the crowd.

“You like her,” he said, not a question.

You almost choked on your coffee. “What?”

“Come on,” he said. “You’re not subtle. She’s not either.”

“She’s Karina,” you said, as if that explained everything.

“Yeah,” he said. “Exactly.”

You didn’t answer. Your heart thudded a little too noticeable under your shirt.

That’s how it built. Small things, not big ones. A shared cigarette stubbed out on the same post. A joke only she would get. The way her hand would sometimes brush yours when she took something from you, fingers lingering half a second longer than they needed to.

So when that night came—the night of the bigger party, the platform, the kiss—you were not, if you were honest with yourself, surprised.

You just weren’t ready for how much you would want it.

It started like a lot of nights.

Music, lights, people. The developer’s “pre-launch event” had brought in more bodies than usual. There were banners with the Cole Properties logo, free drink vouchers floating around, a DJ who played songs with more bass than melody. Avery himself walked the pier in a crisp shirt and boat shoes, shaking hands like he deserved something for it.

Minjeong spent most of the night at the edge of things, talking to neighbors, watching, collecting little bits of information like a magpie. You caught her eye once and she shook her head minutely at something Avery just said, then rolled her eyes when he turned away.

Karina flitted in and out of the developer’s orbit. She laughed at his jokes, took pictures, stirred the crowd around the sponsored drinks table. You hated how good she was at it. You hated how he looked at her like she was part of the show.

You, meanwhile, walked, checked, listened. You told three different groups not to lean on a railing. You stopped a drunk guy from climbing onto the ride platform for a selfie. You fixed a loose screw on a game booth and wrote down a note about a flickering sign.

By the time the official part of the event wound down, it was after midnight. Avery and his team retreated, promising follow-up meetings and “next steps.” The crowd thinned, but didn’t disappear. Locals stayed. Staff relaxed a little.

You stood on the maintenance platform behind the Ferris wheel, watching the last few cars go around, when you heard the familiar scuff of sneakers on metal.

Karina climbed up, one hand on the rail, the other holding two plastic cups.

“Peace offering,” she said, holding one out.

You hesitated, then took it. It was soda, not beer. You relaxed a hair.

“Didn’t expect you to be drinking on the job,” she said. “Very scandalous.”

“It’s Sprite,” you said. “Calm down.”

She laughed and took a sip of her own. “So,” she said after a moment, staring out at the water. “How’s it feel? Being safety police for the enemy’s party?”

“They’re not the enemy,” you said automatically, then grimaced. “I mean, I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

She snorted. “Everything’s complicated. You don’t have to defend them.”

“I’m not,” you said. “I’m defending my paycheck.”

She glanced at you. “You could do something else, you know,” she said, echoing your own question from the other day. “You’re good with people. And bolts. It’s weird, but it’s a thing.”

“Yeah, well,” you said. “Right now this is the thing.”

She watched you for a moment, her face serious in a way it rarely was when she wasn’t hungover. The lights from the pier threw patterns across her cheekbones.

“But you like it,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” you said. “I do.”

She took that in, then nodded like she was filing it away under Jason facts.

Karina set her empty cup down on the platform. She shifted her weight closer, her shoulder brushing your arm. You smelled smoke on her hair, sugar on her breath, that same faint perfume she’d worn the other night.

“You know,” she said slowly, “you’re kind of an idiot.”

“Thanks,” you said. “Good talk.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean it like… you’re here. You’re… you.” She waved a hand at you vaguely. “And you have no idea.”

“No idea about what?” you asked, genuinely confused.

She looked up at you. Really looked. For once there was no joke in her eyes, no dare, no heat hiding behind something else. Just… nerves, if you were reading it right.

“About what you do to people,” she said.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. “What I… what?”

She huffed, annoyed. “Exactly that,” she said. “Look at yourself. You show up, fix things, make breakfast with my sister, keep the pier from collapsing, and act like you’re just… passing through.”

“I mean, I am passing through,” you said weakly. “It’s just the summer.”

“Yeah,” she said. “And then what? You go back to your real life and pretend this is a postcard?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you said, because admitting it to her felt like admitting it to yourself. “About going back. About anything.”

She went very quiet. You could hear the clack of the Ferris wheel teeth. The distant squeal of one last ride. The sea slapping quietly at the posts.

“You ever think,” she said eventually, “about staying?”

You glanced at her. “Here?”

“Here,” she confirmed. “Not forever. Just… longer. Long enough that it stops feeling like a vacation and starts feeling like…” She groped for the word. “A thing. Your thing.”

“Like yours?” you asked.

She laughed once, no humor in it. “Like mine if mine wasn’t such a mess.”

You didn’t like how that sounded. “You’re not a mess,” you said.

She gave you a look.

“Okay, you make messy choices,” you amended. “But you’re not a mess.”

She scoffed. “You sound like Minjeong.”

“Maybe she has a point,” you said.

“Maybe you should shut up sometimes,” she said, but there was no sting in it.

Silence fell again, comfortably this time. You drank the last of your soda and set the cup down. The wind tugged at Karina’s hair, pulling a strand loose. She pushed it back behind her ear and your eyes followed the movement without your permission.

“Jason,” she said quietly.

“Yeah?”

She turned fully to you, one hand half lifting like she wanted to touch your chest and then thought better of it. Her eyes flicked down to your mouth, then up to your eyes, then down again.

“I’m going to do something,” she said. “And you can stop me if you want.”

Your heart stuttered. “Okay,” you heard yourself say.

She stepped in, closing the space between you in one simple motion. Her fingers found the back of your neck, cool against your skin. You felt a tremor run through you.

She hesitated for half a second, giving you room. You didn’t move away.

Then she kissed you.

Your hands tightened on the railing without you telling them to. The world narrowed to the warmth of her lips, the taste of soda and smoke, the faint salt of her skin. The noises of the pier blurred.

You forgot, for a long second, that you were standing on a platform that technically counted as part of your job. You forgot about checklists and bolts and developers and meetings. All you could think was Karina, here, finally, and how the shape of her fit so perfectly against the shape of your memory of her and the new person she’d become.

She pulled back just enough to look at you. Her eyes were darker now, pupils blown wide.

“You still awake?” she asked, breathless.

“Yeah,” you said. “I think so.”

“Good,” she said, and then she leaned in again.

Her second kiss was rougher, more sure. Her fingers curled into the collar of your T-shirt. Your hand left the railing to find her waist, the fabric of her jacket under your palm. She made a small sound in the back of her throat that went straight through you.

The clipboard shifted under your foot. You half-laughed into her mouth, half-stumbled, and she grabbed your arm to steady you.

“Don’t kill us,” she said, eyes bright. “You’re the safety guy, remember?”

“Right,” you said, dizzy. “No falling.”

You shuffled back until your shoulders hit the control box. She followed, closing the gap, her body fitting against yours like they had been made for each other. The wheel turned overhead with a soft, steady click, like it was counting off seconds for you.

Karina’s hands came up to your chest, sliding over your shirt, fingers flexing. The heat under your skin spiked.

“Jason,” she murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want—”

Her mouth found yours again before she finished the sentence, and the question hung there, clear enough even unspoken.

You knew the answer. You’d known it for weeks, maybe years.

You let your free hand slide, carefully, up her back, feeling the line of her spine through fabric, the tension there, the way she relaxed a fraction under your touch.

The platform, the night, the two of you pressed between metal and air—that was where you were when everything tipped.

And that was exactly where you were when you stopped yourself long enough to remember that whatever happened next, you wanted to be awake for it. Really awake. Not just driven by adrenaline and flickering lights.

Karina’s lips brushed your jaw. Her breath was hot against your neck.

“Tell me no if you want,” she whispered.

You didn’t say no.

You also didn’t say yes, not with words.

You shifted, cupped her face gently in both hands, and kissed her back like you meant it, slow and deliberate, giving her all the answer she needed.

Karina leaned into you on the maintenance platform. The night lit with leftover music and the dull glow of pier lights. She looked like summer incarnate— berry-stained lips, messy hair, shirt clinging in the humidity.

Your pulse hammered under your skin, heavy in your throat, your chest. You could feel the heat of her body through denim and cotton, the hard line of her thigh hooked around your hip, and she was looking at you like she had just about ran out of patience.

You stepped in again and kissed her slower this time. Lips dragging. Tongue deliberate. Not a question anymore, not a tease — just heat, and familiarity, and the feeling of oh, finally.

Karina moaned into your mouth. Not loud. Not performative. Just a low, guttural sound that went straight to your spine. Her hands slipped under your shirt, palms hot on your stomach, trailing up your ribs until you shuddered.

“You want me to stop,” she murmured, “you better say it now. Otherwise…”

Otherwise.

You didn’t answer.

You just slid your hand up the back of her thigh and under her shorts, fingers grazing bare skin until you found the curve of her ass and pulled her into you, grinding your bodies together, slow and rough.

Karina gasped, her nails digging into your back.

“Jesus,” she breathed, and you felt her hips roll, chasing the pressure. “You’re hard.”

“You’re not exactly subtle either,” you said, pressing against the damp heat you could already feel soaking through her underwear.

“Yeah?” she said, cocky smile flickering on her lips. “Then stop pretending we have time.”

She pushed your shirt up, fast now, and you yanked it over your head and tossed it behind you, no idea where it landed. Her hands were on you instantly — chest, shoulders, stomach — fingers mapping you like she needed to memorize every line.

“You filled out,” she said, almost admiring. “I remember you skinny. Now look at you.”

You caught her mouth in another kiss before she could say something that’d make you laugh. This was already balancing on a knife’s edge between hot and hysterical. You didn’t want to lose it.

She let you kiss her hard. Open. Deep. Her body twisted under you, arching against the control panel. You tugged her shorts down, inch by inch, over her thighs, then her knees. You hit the deck with a dull thump, and she kicked one leg free while the other stayed hooked around your waist.

Her underwear was black and lacy and soaked.

You didn’t even think. You dropped to your knees on the platform — didn’t care how it felt on bare skin — and pressed your mouth to the inside of her thigh, kissing slow up to the edge of the fabric.

Karina’s breath hitched.

“Holy shit. You’re—oh my god, you’re not playing, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You just dragged her panties to the side, watched her slick folds glisten in the ambient glow, and buried your face between her legs.

She cursed like you’d punched the air out of her lungs.

One long lick from base to clit. Then another, slow and precise, flattening your tongue against her until her hips jerked and she slapped a hand against the control panel behind her for balance.

“Fuck—wait—”

But she didn’t stop you. She just panted and squirmed as you sucked her clit into your mouth and swirled your tongue, rhythm building, fingers digging into her thighs to hold her still.

You loved this. Loved the way her legs started to tremble. Loved the breathless sounds she made when you dipped lower, fucked her gently with your tongue, then came back up and sucked her again.

“You’re gonna make me come. Fuck—fuck—don’t stop—”

You didn’t. You wanted her to fall apart on your mouth.

When she did — her whole body tensing, thighs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry before the sound finally tore free — you held her through it, tongue still working her, until she tugged hard on your hair.

“Okay—Okay—fuck—you’re gonna kill me.”

You pulled back, licking your lips, looking up at her with a smug tilt of your mouth.

“Been thinking about doing that since junior year,” you said.

Karina blinked down at you, dazed and flushed, and then burst out laughing. “You are such a bastard,” she said, breath still short.

She grabbed your hair again and pulled you up, fast. Her mouth was on yours before you could speak — desperate, sloppy, tasting herself on your tongue.

When she broke the kiss, her eyes were dark fire.

“Pants,” she said. “Now.”

You fumbled with your fly, hands shaking. Your cock was throbbing, rock hard, leaking already, and it practically sprang free when you shoved your boxers down. Karina stared at it for one long beat, then looked up at you like she’d just won a bet.

“Oh,” she said. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

You hissed when her hand wrapped around you, her grip firm and slow, thumb teasing the head as she stroked you once, twice. Your hips jerked forward, chasing her.

“Condom?” she asked, eyes meeting yours.

“Back pocket,” you said.

She reached around, fished it out, ripped it open with her teeth. Rolled it on with that same maddening, practiced ease.

And then she leaned back, legs spread, panties still pushed aside, her body open and ready for you.

“You gonna fuck me now, safety guy,” she groaned, “or do I have to beg?”

You groaned.

Then you pushed into her — slow, deep, deliberate. She was hot, wet, and tight around you — so tight you nearly lost your damn mind the second you sank all the way in.

Karina’s head tipped back against the control panel, lips parted, eyes fluttering. Her breath caught on a sharp inhale when your hips met hers, deep and full, her thighs spread wide over the steel platform and wrapped around your waist like she wanted to keep you there forever.

“Fuck. Fuck, Jason.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just held still, buried to the hilt, forehead resting against hers while your body screamed to move.

Every part of her felt familiar and new at the same time, like you could’ve mapped her out years ago but this version of her — this sharp-tongued, loud-laughed, still-sore-from-his-mouth version — was something you just discovered.

You kissed her once. Slow. A thank-you. A warning. A don’t move yet or I’ll embarrass myself.

Karina cupped the back of your neck, nails dragging lightly, and then rolled her hips just enough to make you groan deep in your throat.

“Fuck,” she said, that voice, that voice — “fuck me. Don’t be sweet. Just do it.”

Something in you snapped.

You pulled out halfway and slammed back in, hard enough that her breath stuttered and her fingers clenched around your shoulders. Again. Again. A rhythm building fast, full of teeth and want, the sound of your bodies smacking together swallowed by the hum of the pier and the distant music still thudding through the air.

Karina moaned. Loud now. Real. No more jokes. Just the sound of her taking it, her head thrown back, sweat starting to bead along her collarbone as she rode every thrust with an eager tilt of her hips.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” you muttered against her ear. “Been thinking about this—you—so long.”

She pulled you in by the shirt, lips brushing your jaw. “Yeah?” she panted. “When?”

You bit her shoulder, not hard — enough. “You wore that red bikini the summer you turned eighteen. That day on the float? You climbed out of the water, and I had to jump in to hide my hard-on.”

Karina laughed, body clenching around you. “You’re such a loser. God. Did you jerk off to me back then?”

You growled and slammed into her harder, and she cried out, not caring if anyone could hear you anymore.

“That’s a yes,” she said, grinning, then lost the smile again as you shifted the angle, drove in deeper, your hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

Her body rocked with the force of it now, the platform’s edge giving you leverage. You slid one hand between you and found her clit with your thumb, circling tight and fast, watching her fall apart under it.

“Fuck—Jay—don’t stop—don’t—”

You didn’t.

She came like a wave breaking — hips jerking, eyes squeezed shut, thighs tightening around your waist so hard it pushed you in deeper. Her orgasm hit sharp and fast, pulling a desperate sound from her throat as she shook around you.

You barely held on.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed, wrecked. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

You kissed her hard and lifted her off the panel in one motion — just scooped her up, still buried inside her, her legs locked tight around your waist as you staggered back against the rail.

Her hands flew to your shoulders. “What the hell are you—”

“Want you like this,” you said, face buried against her neck. “Wanna fuck you standing. Wanna see your tits bounce while I do it.”

Her moan was the only answer you needed.

She gripped the rail behind her, steadying herself, and you slammed into her again, her whole body jolting against yours. Her head fell back with a choked-off cry, her hair wild, sweat-slicked skin glowing under the flicker of the lights behind you.

This angle—god, this angle.

You could feel everything. The way she clenched around you when you hit just right. The drag of her thighs against your hips. Her breath in your ear.

Karina had never been quiet, and she wasn’t now. She moaned with every thrust, broken little gasps that turned filthy when she caught her breath.

“Harder. Come on, I can take it.”

You gave it to her. Brutal. Fast. Deep.

“Shit—fuck—yes—” Her fingernails raked down your back. “Right there—don’t—Jason—”

You felt her tighten again, her walls fluttering, her body pulling you deeper with every pulse. You weren’t going to last. Not with the way she was moving. Not with the way she sounded. Not with the way her mouth found yours again, messy and hot and all tongue.

“Come for me,” she said into your mouth. “Do it. Fucking fill me up.”

You groaned, teeth clenched, hips stuttering. Her words—fuck.

You buried your face in her neck and drove in hard, one, two, three more thrusts — and then you were gone.

Your orgasm ripped through you, so hard it left you shaking. You groaned into her skin, fingers locked in your hair, her thighs still squeezing around your hips as you spilled inside the condom, every muscle drawn tight, your whole body thrumming with it.

You stayed like that, tangled and panting, pressed against the rail like the whole world had narrowed to this one edge of the pier.

Karina kissed your temple, gentle now. “Still alive?”

You huffed a laugh into her neck. “Barely.”

She pulled back enough to look at you, hair wild, mascara smudged, lips swollen. She looked like she’d just lived through a storm.

And she looked perfect.

“Good,” she said. “’Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

Karina didn’t let you pull away.

Her arms were still locked around your neck, skin flushed, lips red, pupils blown wide in that post-orgasm daze. But she wasn’t done. Not even close.

You were still inside her, cock softening slowly, still twitching with the last echoes of release. Her legs eased their grip around your waist, but only barely. She kissed you again — soft, sweet — and then bit your bottom lip, tugging gently before pulling back.

“I meant it,” she said, breath hot against your cheek. “I’m not done with you.”

You exhaled a laugh, still catching your breath. “You’re insatiable.”

Karina dragged her nails along the back of your neck. “You’ve known that since I was eighteen,” she murmured, licking the edge of your jaw. “Now you just get to feel it.”

You growled low in your throat. You wanted to be smug, to make some smartass remark, but your brain was still short-circuiting from how tight she’d been. How perfect.

Still — you kissed her once more, then stepped back slowly, letting your softening cock slip from her with a wet sound that made you both shiver.

The condom was warm and full. You tied it off, slipped it into a napkin someone had left near the control box — barely registered it — and turned back to her. She was still leaning on the railing, panties askew, shirt clinging to her like a second skin, a glint in her eyes that said we’re not close to finished.

Karina reached down between her legs and touched herself, slow and filthy, spreading her own slick across her folds like she was testing how sensitive she was.

Your mouth went dry.

“You’re killing me,” you muttered.

She just smiled. “So do something about it.”

And you did.

You dropped to your knees again — knees scraped now, but you didn’t give a shit — and pressed your mouth to her cunt, tongue flat and slow. She cried out, louder this time, no pretense left. Just hunger.

You licked her like she was the only thing keeping you alive. Long, greedy strokes. You moaned into her, sucking her clit between your lips, then sliding two fingers into her, curling them just right, the way she’d clenched around you before. Her whole body arched.

“Fuck—Jay—fuckfuckfuck—don’t stop—”

She gripped the railing hard, knuckles white, and rolled her hips against your face, riding you through a second orgasm that was messier, louder, her legs nearly giving out as she shook and came with a loud moan.

You held her through it, didn’t stop until she begged.

“Jesus Christ,” she panted, sinking to her knees on the deck. “You’re… dangerous.”

You smirked. “You started it.”

She shoved your chest, then grabbed your face and kissed you again, open-mouthed, dirty, tasting herself on your tongue without hesitation. Her hands moved fast, too fast, fumbling with your cock, already half-hard again, coaxing you back to life.

“You’re still hard,” she whispered, grinning. “God, that’s hot.”

You didn’t even bother replying. You shoved her shirt up and off, peeled her bra down, mouth finding her nipple as her back hit the metal floor of the platform.

She gasped. “Shit—cold—”

“Too late,” you said.

Her laugh turned into a moan as your mouth closed over her, tongue circling, sucking. Her nipples peaked instantly under your tongue, her body arching into you, back bowing.

And then you were inside her again.

No foreplay. No hesitation. No question. Just a second condom, rolled on with frantic hands, and you driving back in, her legs wrapped tight around your waist once more, both of you chasing it now like they were starving.

Karina dug her nails into your back. “Harder. Come on. Don’t hold back.”

You didn’t.

You fucked her like she was yours — rough, deep, desperate. The metal under her clanged in time with your rhythm, the whole pier echoing with the wet slap of skin on skin, her gasps, your groans, the sound of your bodies crashing together again and again.

It was sweat and heat and history. It was a decade of sideways glances, of teasing insults, of almosts and never-quites. It was her, finally open to you, underneath you, around you, with you — and it was perfect.

“Karina—” you said.

“Come in me,” she gripped your arms, legs locking tighter. “I want it—Jason, come in me.”

You swore, deep in your chest, and slammed into her harder, faster, chasing the edge.

She came again, and this time she screamed. No restraint, no filter, just pure release, her entire body locking up as her orgasm hit like lightning. Her pussy fluttered around you, milking you, dragging you down with her.

You exploded.

You grunted, hips jerking hard as you came deep inside her, cock pulsing, body shaking from the intensity of it. Her name tore from your throat as you thrust once, twice more, riding it out until you collapsed over her, both of you soaked in sweat.

For a long minute, you just lay there, tangled and half-naked on a maintenance platform behind the Ferris wheel, the world spinning quietly above you.

Karina reached up and dragged her fingers through your hair. “Well,” she said. “That was a long time coming.”

You let out a rough laugh against her collarbone. “You think?”

“You gonna make me breakfast after this?” she asked.

You lifted your head just enough to kiss her again. “I’ll make you whatever the hell you want.”

Karina smiled: slow, a little sleepy. “You know this wasn’t just sex, right?”

You looked at her. Really looked. The girl you grew up with. The woman you just made come three times on a steel platform under blinking lights. The chaos and the calm, both.

“Yeah,” you said. “I know.”

She nodded. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I,” you said.

And you meant it.