He grins. “Bring the girl. She’s prettier than you.”
Isla laughs, and the sound settles something deep in my chest.
We stop at the diner for coffee to go. Jonny slides two paper cups across the counter without asking what we want. “On the house,” he says. “Looks like you two finally figured it out.”
I raise a brow. “That obvious?”
“Been obvious since she fell off that ladder and you damn near broke your neck catching her.” He nods at Isla. “Welcome to town. For real this time.”
She smiles, soft and genuine. “Thanks, Jonny.”
We take the coffee outside and sit on the bench overlooking the water. The sun is sinking now, painting the harbor in rose and amber. Boats rock gently. Gulls call overhead. I drape my arm along the back of the bench; she leans into me, head on my shoulder.
“I used to hate coming into town,” I admit quietly. “Too many people. Too many questions. Felt like everyone could see the guilt written on my face.”
She tilts her head to look at me. “And now?”
“Now…” I watch a fishing boat ease toward the dock, lines being thrown, hands catching ropes. “Now it feels like a place I belong. Because you’re here. Because I’m not hiding anymore.”
She turns in my arms, sets her coffee on the bench so she can cup my face with both hands. “You never had to hide from me.”
“I know that now.”
I kiss her—slow, deep, right there on the public bench with the whole harbor watching. She tastes like coffee and salt air and everything I’ve been too afraid to want. When we break apart, her eyes are shining.
“Let’s go home,” she whispers.
Home.
The word lands soft and sure.
We walk back up the bluff hand in hand, dusk settling around us like a blanket. The cottage glows warm when we reach it—porch light on, windows golden. Inside, it smells like cedar and the faint trace of the candle we burned last night. I lock the door behind us—habit now, but one that feels less like fear and more like care.
She turns to me in the entryway, steps close, and rests her palms on my chest. “I love you,” she says simply. “I think I have for a while. I was just too scared to say it.”
The words steal my breath. I cover her hands with mine, hold them against my heart. “I love you too. More than I know how to say yet. But I’m learning.”
She smiles and rises on her toes to kiss me.
We don’t make it far. Clothes fall away between the living room and the bedroom, jacket, sweater, jeans, leaving a trail we’ll pick up later. When we reach the bed, I lay her down gently, follow her, brace my weight on my forearms so I can look at her—really look.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, tracing the line of her collarbone with my lips. “Every inch of you.”
She arches under me, fingers threading through my hair. “So are you.”
We move slowly this time. Every touch feels like a promise. When I slide inside her, she gasps my name, legs wrapping around my hips, pulling me deeper. We rock together, eyes locked, breaths mingling. Her nails dig into my shoulders. I kiss her through every soft cry, swallow every whispered “I love you” like I’m collecting them to keep forever.
When she comes, it’s a quiet shuddering, trembling, with her face pressed to my neck. I follow right after, burying myselfdeep, groaning her name against her skin, pleasure crashing through me in slow, rolling waves.
We stay tangled, hearts pounding in tandem. I pull the quilt over us, tuck her against my chest, wrap my arms around her, and I’ll never let go.
She traces lazy patterns on my skin. “We’re really doing this.”
“Yeah.” I kiss her temple. “We are.”
“Tomorrow I’m calling the community center. Telling them I’m staying for good.”
“Good.” I tighten my hold. “I’ll be there when you do.”
