Her laugh echoes again, louder this time, and the scent of jasmine floods the room.
I don’t remember leaving the studio. I find myself on the beach, the sand cold and damp beneath my feet. The waves crash against the shore, their sound a relentless drumbeat in my ears.
“Annabel!” I shout, my voice raw. The wind tears the name from my lips, carrying it out to sea.
There’s no answer. Of course, there isn’t.
The walk back to the house is slow, my legs heavy with exhaustion. The windows of Holiday House glow faintly in the darkness, a beacon against the encroaching night. But the sight of it fills me with dread.
Inside, the air is still, the scent of jasmine gone. I climb the stairs to the bedroom, my body aching with fatigue. Her side of the bed is untouched, the pillow still faintly indented from where her head once rested.
I lie down, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sleep doesn’t come easily. When it does, it’s filled with dreams of her—her face, her voice, her laugh. And always, the shadows, closing in.
The next morning, I find the canvas from the night before propped up on the easel, though I don’t remember putting it there. Her face stares out at me, her expression frozen in fear.
I burn it.
The flames consume the painting quickly, the colors distorting and blackening until there’s nothing left but ash. But even as the fire dies down, I can still see her face, etched into my mind, haunting and inescapable.
I know she won’t let me go. Not now. Not ever.
Chapter Nine
Calum—past
Her laugh cuts through the wind, careless and bright.
Waves slam against the shore with a ferocity I feel in my chest, each crash like a heartbeat turned inside out. The wind’s picking up, wild and constant, whistling through the dunes like it’s warning us. A Nor’easter’s due by morning—they’re calling it the worst swell in a decade—but Annabel walks ahead of us like the sky’s not folding in on itself.
Jonathan keeps pace beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. He looks like he belongs here—salt-worn, wind-cut, familiar. I trail behind them both like a ghost.
I’ve only known them for a few weeks. A few late nights sketching at the cafe. A few shared bottles of wine. A few scattered moments that already feel carved into me like grooves in wood.
But now, out here, under the heavy press of sky and sea, I feel like a stranger with sand in my teeth and someone else’s heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Annabel stops near the edge of the water, her bare feetsinking into the wet sand. She spreads her arms wide, tilts her head back, and closes her eyes. The moonlight paints her gold and silver—like a statue, or a dream I haven’t earned.
Then she peels off her clothes.
Slow at first. The sweater, the tank top. The curve of her back exposed, followed by the pale slope of her waist. She steps out of her jeans, then her underwear, and stands there—naked, unashamed—on the cusp of the dark Atlantic, the storm-lit sky behind her.
“Annabel!” Jonathan laughs, surprised. “You’re insane!”
She looks back over her shoulder, hair whipping in the wind, her eyes gleaming. “You coming or not?”
And then she runs into the sea.
The waves swallow her legs first, then her torso. She dives forward, disappearing beneath the white churn. A moment later, she surfaces, tossing her hair like a mermaid risen from the deep.
Jonathan doesn't hesitate. He strips off his shirt, then fumbles with his belt, laughing as he kicks off his boots and jeans and sprints after her in his boxers.
They splash into the surf, limbs flailing, voices carrying across the wind. Annabel shrieks as Jonathan sends a wave crashing over her shoulder. She retaliates, leaping onto his back, dunking him under. They move like children, like lovers, like people who’ve forgotten how close the storm really is.
I stand there, frozen, my hands stuffed in the pockets of my coat. Watching.
It’s not just that she’s beautiful—though she is, in that dizzying way that makes my throat go dry—it’s the life in her. The way she pulls laughter out of thin air. The way she doesn’t shrink from anything. She’s pure nerve and instinct and wild light.
And I want it. That light. That recklessness. That closeness.
