chapter two, poncho punch

The first few mornings of May in Forks arrived slowly, like the sun was still shy about showing its face. Contrary to popular belief, summers in Washington do come-and when they do, the clouds finally pull back and the sun becomes a welcomed guest after months of gray.

Today is one of those quietly golden days. You wake to soft light filtering through your window blinds and the gentle tap of birds on the roof. Rolling onto your back, your eyes trace the knotty wood ceiling above you. It smelled faintly of old books and damp earth from the rain earlier in the week-and part of you liked that the house hasn't tried to be anything other than what it was. Forks never changed much.

But Jacob did. And you still haven't quite figured that out.

You see him most days now, which you don't mind-actually, you kind of like it. You never had that many friends in Forks to begin with, and the few you did have moved away, just like you had. Jake would show up with that lopsided grin and some excuse to get you out of the house-down to First Beach, out by Sol Duc, or just cruising around in his rebuilt Rabbit, pointing out every small thing that has changed since you were last here. He makes it feel easy, like old times, but there's always something unsaid in the air between you. Like every sentence hangs with an ellipsis.

This afternoon, he came by again. You're both on the porch swing, spending one of those perfect slow afternoons doing absolutely nothing. Your parents are out for the day-visiting friends, maybe, but you didn't ask. You're busy...with Jake. Your knees are hugged to your chest, one earbud in, and Jake's got the other. He's nodding along to the playlist you made-Beyoncé, Nelly Furtado, and his now not-so-secret favorite: Avril Lavigne.

"It's getting kinda hot," he says suddenly, tugging the earbud out. "Otter Pop?"

You grin. "Yes, please. Can you get me-"

"Poncho Punch. Yeah, I know." He's already standing, smirking. "Be right back."

You laugh as he jogs inside like it's a mission. A few minutes later, he returns with two hilariously oversized Otter Pops. The kind your parents bought in bulk just because they were cheaper than the regular ones.

He tosses you the orange one, keeping the red one for himself.

"You still eat the red ones first, huh?"

"This one's got a bite," he says, tearing the plastic with his teeth. "Kinda like me. Fiery. Intense. Unapologetically cool."

You snort. "Please stop psychoanalyzing your artificially dyed sugar water, weirdo."

He grumbles but sits down beside you anyway, unwrapping his pop fiercely. You do the same. The earbuds go back in, and you both fall into that easy rhythm again-breeze in the trees, tires on gravel in the distance, his arm warm where it brushes yours.

For a while, it's like no time passed at all. But you still can't quite believe the shift in him. The height. The new muscles. The serious way he carries himself sometimes, like he's older than he should be. When you asked, he'd just muttered something about a growth spurt, but you didn't buy it. You didn't change that much, not really. But Jake always insisted you had.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he tenses slightly as he pulls it out. One glance and his jaw tightens.

"Everything okay?" you ask, still eating your popsicle.

"Yeah," he says too fast, shoving the phone back into his jeans. "Just Sam."

You tilt your head, eyebrows furrowed. "Sam Uley?"

"Mhm." He hesitates, then shrugs like it's no big deal, "The guys are hanging out tonight. You should come."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. Bonfire at the beach. Everyone'll be there."

Everyone. You bite your lip. You'd been looking forward to a quiet night settling in, but the idea of seeing Embry and Quil again makes your chest lift a little. You alway loved tagging along with the three of them, even if they were total chaos. Quil and Embry never treated you like you couldn't keep up-and Jake never loved that. He was always protective over you for some reason.

"Okay," you say after a moment. "Yeah, I'll go." Then you pause. "But I thought you didn't like Sam?"

Jake rolls his eyes slightly, like he expected this question.

"Things change," he pauses. "I got over it. We're... cool now."

You give him a look. "That's it?"

He shrugs again, but his smile is a little crooked. "I dunno. Sometimes you realize you were wrong about people."

You decide not to press. Not today, at least.

Your Otter Pop drips a bright orange line down your wrist and you fumble for the hem of your shirt-but Jake's faster. Without a word, he leans in, catching the melting trail with his thumb, wiping it gently from your skin. His touch lingers, warm and a little too careful. You glance up and for a second-just one second-he's looking at you like he's seeing something new. Like he's remembering something old.

The moment passes. He leans back with a grin that's too casual and shoves his finished Otter Pop wrapping into his other pocket.

"I'll pick you up at eight."

And just like that, he stands, heading down the porch steps like nothing happened-like his fingers didn't just leave a burning line on your skin.

--

You spend the next few hours cleaning up, texting your parents (who are, predictably, still out), and trying not to overthink the way Jacob had looked at you earlier.

Because it had been different than anything you were used to.

You'd known Jacob Black since you were kids and had seen every version of him-from the scrawny eight-year old who challenged you to races on the beach (and won every time) to the sulky fourteen-year-old who pretended not to care when you told him you were moving. You don't remember the exact moment when you met Jacob. He was just there-holding your hand when you jumped off the jungle gym, pushing you on the swing, playing tag. Somewhere along the way, he just stuck.

But the way he'd stared at you today-like he was seeing you for the first time-that was new. You shake your head. You're probably just imagining things.

At exactly 8:00 PM, the roar of Jacob's motorcycle cuts through the quiet of the evening. You grab your jacket and head outside where he's waiting, helmet in hand.

"You sure you're okay on this thing?" you question, eyeing the bike.

He smirks. "Scared?"

"No," you lie.

He laughs and tosses you the helmet. "Relax. I've got you."

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach flip, but you climb on behind him anyway, gripping the sides of his jacket as the engine rumbles to life beneath you.

"Hold on tighter than that," he says over his shoulder. "Unless you wanna eat pavement for dinner."

You roll your eyes but slide your arms around his waist, pressing closer. His breath hitches, barely, before he revs the engine and takes off. The wind rushes past as you speed down the road, the trees blurring into one long streak. Jacob's warmth seeps into you, even as the cool air nips at your cheeks, his back solid against your chest and despite your earlier nerves, you find yourself relaxing.

Because this is Jacob-with him, you've always been safe.

First Beach is just as you remember it. Smoke and salt in the air, the crash of waves blending with the snap of logs in the bonfire. The group's already gathered-Embry, Quil, Sam, and a few others you barely recognize. You remember their faces from around La Push, though you'd never known them well. The ones you can't quite recall the name of sit slightly apart from the rest, arms crossed but with a faint smile when they catch your eye.

You didn't expect to be greeted like someone returning home, but Embry jumps up first, nearly tackling you with a hug.

"No way it's you!"

Quil follows right behind him, shaking his head. "City life didn't ruin you after all."

"Shut up," you retort, hugging him too. "Barely a city, even."

Sam offers a polite nod and a small smile. "Good to see you."

"You too," you reply tight-lipped, still taking it all in.

Jacob stays close to your side as you find a spot around the fire. You catch Quil nudging Embry and whispering something that sounds like, "She's basically part of the-" before Sam shoots them both a look that shuts them up. You raise an eyebrow but don't question it.

Despite the unfamiliar faces, the night settles into a rhythm. The heat of the fire, the low rumble of conversation, the occasional laugh from Paul that always seems louder than it needs to be. You talk with Leah for a while, glad for the presence of another girl. She's blunt, dryly funny, and easy to talk to once she warms up. It's nice-not being the only one. Someone mentions the old Quileute stories, and a few of the guys start joking about them, but you catch the shift in their expressions. Something passes between them.

You smile faintly. "I remember Billy used to tell us those stories," you say quietly. "You never believed any of them, Jake."

Jacob doesn't laugh. Instead, he looks at the fire, then at you. "Maybe I was wrong."

There's a silence there, brief but thick.

It's only your second full day back, but you've caught Jacob staring more than once-longer than before, longer than friends should. You catch him doing it again now, the firelight reflected in his eyes, something unreadable behind them. He looks away when you meet his gaze. Eventually, the others begin to drift off, pairing up or heading home. Quil tosses another log into the fire with a lazy salute before he disappears with Embry into the dark.

"Bonfires aren't the same without your terrible ghost stories," you say.

Jacob smirks. "You were always the one who got scared, not me."

You both laugh softly.

When it's just the two of you left, the sounds of the ocean fills the quiet, waves crashing in rhythm with your pulse. Jacob stands and offers you a hand. You take it, letting him pull you to your feet-but when you go to let go, his fingers linger, just a second longer than they need to.

The ride back is quieter. The wind bites a little more than before, but Jacob's presence keeps you grounded. When he pulls up in front of your house, he doesn't cut the engine right away. The night hangs suspended between you, thick with something unspoken.

"Thanks for tonight," you murmur, voice nearly swallowed by the hum of the bike.

Jacob finally turns to look at you, his dark, brown eyes reflecting off the porch light. "Anytime," he says, low and earnest, like he means it in every possible way.

You hand him his helmet, and your fingers brush against his, sending a jolt up your arm.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?" he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant, like a kid waiting for reassurance.

You smile and nod. "Obviously."

On the porch as you fumble for the keys, your heart still thuds from the ride-or maybe from the way his hands lingered or the way his voice dipped when he said "anytime." All these little moments of extra long touches and the loaded glances are building up, and as you close the door behind you, something settles heavy in your chest: something is changing. You don't have a name for it yet, but it's there, undeniable as the tide.