“That was supposed to be private.”
“This is Coral Bell Cove,” he says. “Privacy is a myth, like cold sweet tea or functional family boundaries.”
I groan, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m just…trying to be careful.”
“Careful,” he repeats. “That what we’re calling falling in love now?”
“I’m not—”
He holds up a hand. “Don’t say it unless you mean it. But maybe stop pretending it’s not happening. We all see it. I mean, you could have stayed in Nashville for rehab, my man. Why else would you have chosen to rehab at home?”
I look away, out toward the pecan trees. The light filters through the branches, dappling gold over the pasture. “Yeah,” I say quietly.
By sunset, I’m standing at the lighthouse again.
I tell myself it’s because I forgot my thermos from the other night, which is true. Mostly.
Bailey’s outside on the steps, barefoot, hair down, wearing an oversized sweater that looks like something you could live in. She’s holding a mug, watching the horizon turn pink and copper. The sight punches a hole clean through my chest.
She looks over when I step up the path. “You’re stalking me,” she says.
“You make it sound weird.”
“Itisweird.”
“I forgot my thermos.”
“You mean this?” She holds it up with a smirk.
“That’s evidence.”
“Of what?”
“That you’re a thief.”
She laughs, low and warm, and I swear the sound changes the air.
I sit on the step beside her, leaving a respectful six inches of space. It feels like both too much and not nearly enough.
She glances sideways. “You know, if you keep showing up here, people are going to think you like me.”
“I do like you.”
Her mug pauses halfway to her mouth. “You’re supposed to deny it.”
“I’m bad at lying,” I say. “Ask anyone.”
Her lips twitch. “You’re infuriating.”
“You’ve mentioned.”
We sit there, side by side, watching the tide roll in. The waves lap against the rocks, steady and patient. It smells like salt and cinnamon again, or maybe that’s just my memory playing tricks.
After a while, she says, “You didn’t have to come.”
“I wanted to.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
