It was last summer, during that big family reunion at our grandparents’ old lake house. Everyone was there: aunts, uncles, kids running around, barbecues every day. I’m 24 now, and my cousin Ryan is 26. We’d always been close growing up, more like best friends than cousins, sharing secrets, sneaking beers when we were teens. But something shifted in the last few years. The way he looked at me changed. Longer glances, playful touches that lingered, comments about how I’d grown up that made my cheeks burn.