The room was soft and warm—walls painted a calming silver-gray, furniture in honey-stained oak, floors rich with natural grain and charm. Every inch of it felt like peace. Like something built to come home to.
They moved into the master bath, greeted by sleek white tile and clean lines. A soaker tub sat like a sculpture beneath a frosted window, and a glass-encased shower stood nearby, waterfall fixture gleaming.
“This is straight out of a Pinterest board,” Macie whispered.
“I’d live in here,” Taylor added.
“I’d never leave the tub,” Sara announced as she stepped inside—clothed—and pretended to hold an imaginary glass of wine. “Sis, this man is one of a kind. You better lock it down before someone else does.”
Claire laughed, brushing off the comment with a wave.
But inside?
She wasn’t brushing it off.
Because all the way down the stairs—her hand trailing the banister, the sounds of her friends ahead of her—she couldn’t stop seeing it.
That bed.
That view.
That bath.
And Jaxon… walking up behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist. Whispering good morning. Touching her like she was his beginning and end.
How the hell is this happening?
They had only known each other a few days.
But her heart?
It was already acting like it knew the ending.
And just before they turned into the kitchen, Macie’s voice cut through her daydream.
“I still can’t believe we have to leave in a few days.”
Claire didn’t respond.
Because for the first time… she wasn’t so sure she wanted to.
16
Crossed Wires
Thesmellofburgerson the grill drifted across the yard, riding the breeze like a memory. It carried through the laughter at the outdoor table, wrapped around the porch railings, and floated down toward the sound—smoke curling like soft fingers toward the marsh.
Claire stood back from the crowd, her eyes scanning the scene like she was trying to memorize it.
The sounds, the scents, the effortless connection—every laugh and shout tangled with something else in the air. Something warmer than charcoal, more intoxicating than beer.
It was belonging.
She looked around, watching the way everyone gravitated toward Jax. The way they smiled when he spoke, the way he tossed jokes back and never missed a beat. And it wasn’t just charisma. It was respect. It was love.
He’s built this, she thought. Not just the house. Not just the dock. But this life.
And the thought that struck next—quiet but jarring—was one she couldn’t ignore:
