I smirk back. “Yes, Mr. Hayes, I’m ready.”
He grins, staring at me with this twinkle in his eye. “Knew you couldn’t resist the title.”
Before I can roll my eyes again, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close. The ocean roars in the background, gulls crying overhead.
We stop walking, and he leans down, caressing my jaw with a featherlight touch that sends goosebumps across my skin. His mouth finds mine as his thumb brushes the corner of my jaw, and his other hand rests on my hip.
The kiss unfolds slowly, gently, filled with that quiet, confident heat he always carries in everything he does. His lips press against mine at a relaxed pace, tasting me and allowing the moment to linger until I feel myself melting into him.
Still, somewhere deep in my chest, that familiar splinter twists. The part of me that’s always waiting for the too-good-to-be-true to fall apart. That whisper that says all men are the same—narcissists, liars, manipulators in prettier packaging.
He pulls back just enough to smile against my lips. “You’re blushing,” he teases softly.
“Shut up,” I murmur, but I’m smiling too.
Right now, he’s looking at me like I’m the only thingthat matters in the world. And for this moment, I want to believe that’s enough.
We continue walking along the curve of the cove, the waves kissing at our ankles.
Our hands brush once, twice, then his fingers slip between mine. He doesn’t look at me when he does it, keeping his gaze on the horizon, his thumb idly sweeping over my knuckles.
“You’re quiet,” he says after a stretch of listening to nothing but surf and seabirds.
“Maybe I’m enjoying the view.”
He glances down at me, all faux modesty. “Of me or the ocean?”
I bump my shoulder into his. “The ocean.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t push it. “You ever think about life? What you want it actually to feel like?”
I slow my pace, the question sinking heavier than the wet sand under my feet. “Yeah. All the time.”
“And?”
I shrug, my eyes on the spot where sea foam disappears back into glassy blue. “I’d want my life to always feel at peace. I want to always be happy in what I do, and if it doesn’t serve a purpose for me anymore, then I’ll find something else.”
He’s quiet for a beat, his grip on my hand tightening. “What if you can’t find something else other than tattooing?”
“Then, I’d find something else that brings me happiness; it wouldn’t be the end of the world,” I answer back.
We keep walking, his hand stays intertwined with mine.
“I think about it too,” he admits finally. His voice is lower now, stripped of that easy confidence. “Sometimes I wonder who I’d be if I weren’t this guy everyone expects. IfI weren’t Maverick Hayes, quarterback. If I could just… be a man with his girl, walking on a beach.”
“You can be,” I say softly, surprised by how badly I want that for him.
He glances at me then, his blue eyes swimming with certainty. “Maybe I already am.”
The tide rushes in again, curling around our calves before sliding away. He pulls me to a stop, the brim of his cap shadowing his face as he looks down at me. “You know, if I could bottle up this exact moment, I would. Keep it for when everything feels too loud.”
My chest tightens as I ask, “Why?”
“Because this—” he gestures between us, the stretch of beach, the whole damn day “—feels real. No cameras, no headlines. Just… you.”
I don’t know what to say, so I squeeze his hand instead. He takes it as a response because his thumb keeps moving over the back of my hand.
We settle into the sand, Maverick kicking his legs out. I dig through my tote, searching for the bottle of sunscreen I know I threw in there this morning.
