“Maybe you should have.”
He looks at me, really looks at me, and there’s something vulnerable in his expression. “Want to go for a walk? On the beach?”
“Now?”
“Why not? I have oceanfront property. Might as well use it.” His lips curve into a small smile. “Besides, I could use some air. And some company that doesn’t make me feel like I’m constantly disappointing them.”
The honesty in that statement roots me in place. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
We head through the sliding glass doors in the living room and step out onto the patio. The evening air is warm and salt-tinged, and the sun is starting its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
River leads the way down the wooden steps that connect his backyard to the beach below. We take off our shoes and walkbarefoot in the sand. It feels soft under my toes, and the sound of the waves is soothing in a way I didn’t know I needed.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the ocean and feeling the breeze. The beach is mostly empty—just us and the occasional seagull.
“I’m sorry about my mother,” River says finally. “The way she treated you was unacceptable.”
“It’s not your fault.” I step over a piece of driftwood. “You can’t control how other people behave.”
“No, but I can control how I respond to it.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I should have stood up to her earlier. The moment she called you ‘the help,’ I should have shut that down.”
“You did shut it down. Eventually.”
“Eventually isn’t good enough.” There’s frustration in his voice now, directed inward. “I’ve spent my whole life letting her talk to me like I’m a disappointment, letting her make me feel small and inadequate. And now she’s doing it to you, and I—” He stops walking, turning to face me. “I hate it. I hate that she thinks she can treat people like they’re beneath her just because they don’t fit into her narrow idea of what’s acceptable.”
The passion in his voice surprises me. I’m used to River being patient and kind, but this anger—this righteous fury on my behalf—is new.
“River.” I reach out and touch his arm. “You stood up to her tonight. You drew a line. That matters.”
“It’s not enough.”
“It’s a start.” I squeeze his arm gently. “Standing up to toxic people in your life, especially family, is really hard. I should know. I couldn’t do it with my parents. I just ran away instead of confronting them about how they were treating me.”
He covers my hand with his, and the contact sends warmth up my arm. “You were sixteen and alone. That’s different.”
“Maybe. But we’re both learning the same lesson, I think.” I look up at him, at the way the setting sun catches the angles of his face. “Sometimes the people who are supposed to love us unconditionally are the ones who hurt us the most. And sometimes we have to set boundaries with them, even when it’s scary.”
River’s thumb strokes across my knuckles, and my breath catches. “When did you get so wise?”
“I’m not wise. I’m just speaking from experience.” I pause, searching for the right words. “Your mother doesn’t get to define your worth, River. She doesn’t get to decide whether your documentary is valuable or whether your life choices are valid. You get to decide that. And from where I’m standing, you’re doing pretty great.”
His eyes search my face, intense and focused in a way that makes my heart stutter. “You really think that?”
“I know it.” And I mean it. “You’re talented and kind and passionate about your work. You’re patient with me when I’m being defensive and difficult. You play Barbies with a little girl like it’s the most important thing in the world. You stood up to your mother even though it scared you.” I take a breath. “You’re amazing, River. And if she can’t see that, she’s the one who’s missing out.”
The sun is lower now, casting everything in golden light. The waves crash against the shore, and the breeze carries the scent of salt and summer.
River’s hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone with infinite gentleness. “Kiera.”
My name on his lips sounds like a caress, and suddenly I want to show him what him standing up to his mother for me meant to me. I want to show him what I’m feeling right now.
I rise up on my toes and press my lips to his.
He pauses, then his arms come around me, pulling me closer, and he’s kissing me back with a tenderness that makes my knees weak. This kiss is different from the first one. That was impulsive, driven by emotion and need. This is deliberate. Chosen. Real.
His hand slides into my hair, cradling the back of my head, and I wrap my arms around his neck. The kiss deepens, becomes more intense, and I feel it all the way down to my toes. He tastes like gochujang chicken and something sweet, and I can’t get enough of it.
I press closer, as heat rushes through me. His other hand is at the small of my back, holding me against him, and I can feel the rapid beat of his heart matching mine.
