She protests at first, laughing, squirming in my grip. “Let me enjoy the storm!”
“You can enjoy it without hypothermia.”
I pull her into the lifeguard station, slamming the creaking door shut behind us. Inside, it’s barely better—cold, damp, leaking in one corner—but at least it’s shelter.
We collapse onto the bench. She’s soaked through, shivering. I dig into my bag and hand her my flannel. She pulls it on over her wet dress, flashing me a grateful grin.
The storm rages outside, the sea roaring in the dark. We sit shoulder to shoulder, sharing breath and memory.
She points at the wall behind us. “That still here?”
I turn. A carving in the old wood:
J + A
‘til death
I smile crookedly. “You remember that night?”
“Of course,” she says softly. “We camped out here. You drew it with your pocketknife and then you gave me thenecklace and told me I’d be in all your books someday.” She fingers the gold locket at her neck.
“You are,” I say. “You always are.”
The silence between us thickens. She looks at me, rain-bright and moonlit, and I don’t think—I just move.
I kiss her.
It’s desperate, bruising, full of all the words I haven’t said in years. Her lips part under mine. Her fingers dig into my shirt. She kisses me back like she means it, like she remembers too.
For a moment, the storm inside is louder than the one outside.
Then she pulls away, resting her forehead against mine. Her breath trembles.
“Don’t,” she whispers.
I pull back, searching her face. “You and Calum. Are you officially…?”
She exhales. “What does official even mean, Jonathan? Labels don’t change anything.”
I laugh bitterly. “That sounds like something someone says when they want to keep two people dangling.”
She winces. “It’s not like that.”
“No?” I ask. “Because it sure as hell feels like it.”
The silence stretches.
Then we hear it—his voice. Distant, desperate, calling her name.
“Annabel!”
She stiffens. Stands. Looks toward the sound like she’s being summoned by a tether.
“Shit,” she mutters. “He must’ve come looking when I didn’t come back.”
I stay seated, jaw locked. “He has a way of ruining the moment, doesn’t he?”
She pauses at the door, hair soaked, lips still red from my kiss. She turns. “There is no moment, Jonathan.”
