I’d known this feeling once before—the day after Simon’s wedding.
THE RECEPTION WAS INfull swing, music and laughter floating throughout the garden of the Coral Bay Inn. The early evening glow washed everything in soft colors, and from my spot near the bar, I had a clear view of Rio in that damn salmon-colored dress.
She wasn’t looking at me. Not really. She’d glance past me, around me, but not at me. And maybe I was doing the same, pretending not to track her every move. Maybe because last night, under my touch, she hadn't hesitated—she’d opened for me, trusted me, let me in. I still remembered tracing that tiny tattoo on her hip with my fingers, the way she shivered when I did.
Now, here we were, all dressed up, too many eyes around us, pretending nothing had happened.
Then we ended up on the dance floor together.
My hand settled on the small of her back, and I felt it again—the heat of her through the thin fabric, the difference between this and the way she had moved beneath me just hours ago. I swallowed hard, keeping my expression even, but inside, everything tightened.
It didn’t last. Her father cut in so fast, I hardly had a chance to say anything even if I knew what.
I let her go, but the ache didn’t ease.
Later, when the noise and commotion had thinned, I found her standing alone near the inn’s side garden, the warm light from the reception shining behind her.
“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said before I could.
I nodded, hands shoved in my pockets. “Yeah.”
A beat of silence. The kind that stretched too long. The kind that had texture.
She gave me a small smile, her eyes warm. “Thanks for ...” she didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. “Have a safe flight.”
Something lodged in my throat. I didn’t know what to say—what Icouldsay. I just knew I couldn’t leave without touching her one last time. Something feral bloomed inside me, unexpected. Like I’d unwrapped a precious present for someone else to have. I felt like a complete dickhead just feeling that.
I stepped closer, cupped her cheek, and pressed my lips to hers. Soft. Slow. Just enough to remember.
I then pulled back, brushed my thumb over her skin, and let go. “Goodbye, Rio.”
Before I could do any more damage, I turned and walked away.
I DIDN’T KNOW THENthat sixteen years later, I’d be in love with her—trying to trace the beginning, still unsure about the end.
33
Rio
WHEN HE WHISPERED RIOMio last night, I nearly letOur Owenslip from my lips.
MyOwen.
He felt like my Owen, but he wasn’t. Not completely.
Giving it a name wouldn’t make it true. It wouldn’t change the reality of waking up alone, the warmth of his body missing from the bed, his room’s open door revealing that both Owen and his suitcase were gone. The driveway no longer blocked by his gigantic SUV. The house quieter. Just me and Walter again. The town no longer holding his temporary presence.
“I won’t miss those god-awful frittatas,” Walter muttered when I set down a bowl of yogurt, fruit, and granola in front of him.
“Yes, you will,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips as I sat across from him.
We ate in silence in the beautiful, bright kitchen, with the sun washing in from all the windows and French doors at the far end of the adjacent living room.
Then, out of nowhere, Walter spoke again. “You shouldn’t have gotten yourself mixed up with him.”
I nearly choked on my granola.
He didn’t even look up. “I’m half-deaf, but I’m not blind.”
