“Yeah.”
Her silence should sting, but it doesn’t. Not this time. Because now her unspokennot yetdoesn’t sound like no. It sounds like a promise.
I nod. “Okay.”
She smiles, small and unsteady. “Okay.”
That night, back at the farm, I can still taste her.
The rain, the warmth, the way she saiddo it againlike a prayer.
For the first time in a long time, the ache in my shoulder doesn’t hurt.
But my heart? My heart’s on fire.
Sleep doesn’t come. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling fan, every slow turn syncing to the rhythm of her kiss. It’s there on my tongue, in the ache of my jaw, in the pulse that won’t settle. When lightning flashed behind her, she looked like the storm had chosen her as its favorite. And now my whole body hums with the memory.
Around three a.m., I give up, pull on a T-shirt, and step onto the porch. The air still smells like rain and salt and something faintly sweet—honey, maybe, or her. The fields glitter darkly.
I’m half tempted to text her, but I can already imagine her response:go to sleep, quarterback.
I don’t know how long I stay outside on the back deck, but it’s long enough to watch the sun rise over the tree line.
Inside, the kitchen’s a battlefield of clinking dishes and judgment. Mom’s making pancakes, Dean’s at the counter eating them like he earned them, and Lila’s pretending to help while mostly watching Oliver and Evelyn, Dean’s niece and nephew, who he is now the guardian of, play a game of Guess Who?
Dean looks up. “You look like a man who got struck by lightning.”
“Funny story,” I say. “I did.”
Lila freezes mid-scroll. “Oh my God. You kissed her.”
I blink. “What?”
“You totally kissed her. Gah, why didn’t she tell me?” Her blond hair immediately veils across her face as she types on her phone like a madwoman.
Mom raises a brow but doesn’t stop flipping pancakes. “Finally,” she mutters.
“Do I have no privacy?”
Dean grins. “This is Coral Bell Cove, brother. The gulls probably know.”
Lila leans forward. “Was it romantic? Or, like, ‘oops our faces collided in a hurricane’?”
“Can wenot—”
“Was there tongue?”
“Lila!”
She cackles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Mom slides a plate toward me. “Eat before you pass out from embarrassment.”
I drop into the chair, muttering, “Remind me to never have a personal life again.”
“Too late,” Dean says. “You’re in a Hallmark movie now. Enjoy the montage.”
By afternoon, the rain’s cleared, but the clouds still hang low, soft, and heavy. I drive out to the lighthouse under the pretense of checking on the flooded books. Really, I just need to see her and make sure last night wasn’t something I dreamed up between thunderclaps.
