Claire opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a smile.
“You didn’t ask. I’m offering. Let me take you back. If the keys show up, I’ll pick you up in the morning and bring you back. Now—” he opened the passenger door—“hop in.”
Claire blinked. “I’m sorry you have to do this, but thank you.”
Jaxon shrugged, grin still in place. “More time with you? Doesn’t sound like a bad deal.”
The ride back to Caswell was quiet, save for the occasional whisper, snort, or drunken giggle from the backseat.
As they passed the Welcome to Caswell Beach sign, Claire leaned over and gave him directions. When they pulled into the driveway, Jaxon parked and glanced at the house.
“Nice place.”
“Thank you,” Claire said with a smile. “My grandfather built it just before retiring. It’s been in our family ever since.”
She turned to the backseat. “Alright, girls. Out.”
There were no words. Just a symphony of grunts, thuds, and what might’ve been a burp from Sara as the girls spilled out and shuffled toward the porch.
Claire went to grab the door handle—but paused. With her other hand, she reached over and took Jaxon’s hand, still resting on the console.
He looked at her, eyes soft.
“Thank you, Jaxon. Really. You didn’t have to do all this. I’m sorry our night got hijacked by chaos, but… can I see you again tomorrow?”
His thumb brushed across the back of her hand.
“You kind of have to,” he whispered. “How else are you gonna get back to the SUV?”
Claire laughed and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of the truck. As she reached the steps, his voice called out one more time—
“By the way… you can call me Jax.”
She turned, smiling like her heart had been caught midair. “Goodnight, Jax.”
An hour later, Claire lay in bed, the house finally quiet—save for the occasional drunken snore from the guest room.
The night replayed behind her eyes like a movie reel.
That dock.
That kiss on the cheek.
That story about the truck.
That moment… where he described the kind of love he wanted.
She repeated it over and over in her head like her favorite line in a song—each syllable more dangerous than the last.
A love like the tide and the sand.
Ever-changing. Always returning.
A love that stripped away what didn’t belong and left behind everything beautiful.
Claire pulled the blanket tighter around her, staring at the ceiling like it held some kind of answer.
“I can’t believe this man… this man I just met… is making me feel like I’m a teenager all over again.”
