The world narrows to just this—his lips on mine, his arms around me, the warmth of his body and the sound of the waves and the feeling of being completely, perfectly safe.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. River rests his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed.
“Wow,” he breathes.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out shaky. “Wow.”
He opens his eyes, and they’re dark with emotion I can’t quite name but feel echoing in my own chest. “I’ve wanted to do that again since the moment you kissed me the first time.”
“Me too.”
“Yeah?” Hope lights up his expression.
“Yeah.” I smile, my lips still tingling. “Definitely.”
He kisses me again, softer this time but no less meaningful. His lips move against mine with careful precision, like he’s memorizing every detail, and I let myself get lost in it. In him. In this moment that feels both terrifying and perfect all at once.
When we finally pull apart for real, the sun has dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in shades of purple andpink. Stars are starting to appear overhead, and the beach is bathed in twilight.
River takes my hand, threading our fingers together. “We should probably head back before my mother wanders downstairs and wonders where I am.”
“She’s probably asleep already.” But I let him lead me back toward the house anyway, not ready to let go of his hand just yet.
“Thank you,” he says as we climb the wooden steps, our shoes dangling from our fingers. “For tonight. For standing up to my mother. For being here.”
“Thank you for defending me.” I give him a shy smile. “And for giving me mystery ingredients and helping me prepare for the competition and for just... being you.”
He stops at the top of the stairs and lets his shoes drop. He pulls me close again, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m falling for you, Kiera Emmerson. Just so you know.”
The way he says it sends my heart in my throat, and that familiar fear snakes through me. The fear that tells me I’m not good enough. That I’m making a stupid mistake. And River will get bored of playing this game with me and realize I’m not the person he thinks I am. That he will leave me like every other person in my life.
But I force a smile anyway, ignoring the feeling that this all will crumble around me sooner or later.
CHAPTER 19
RiverStone
Tuesday, June 8
The next morningmy mother insists on taking me out to brunch at The Portico, an upscale restaurant that sits on the downtown strip. It smells like fresh flowers and expensive coffee, and I hate everything about being here right now.
I tug at the tie Mother insisted I wear—a navy silk number that matches the button-down she picked out from my closet this morning like I’m still twelve years old and incapable of dressing myself. The starched collar feels like it’s choking me, and the formal atmosphere of the restaurant only makes it worse.
Mother sits across from me in a floral dress. Her pearls catch the light from the brass chandelier overhead, and her hair is arranged in that perfect chignon she always wears to “important occasions.” Which apparently includes breakfast with her disappointment of a son.
The server sets down our plates with a flourish. I ordered the crab Benedict because it’s what The Portico is known for—local blue crab on English muffins with hollandaise sauce and perfectly poached eggs. Mother got the brioche French toast, though she’s barely touched it since it arrived five minutes ago.
She picks up her teacup and takes a delicate sip. Her eyes scan the restaurant over the rim, taking in the other diners with the same critical assessment she gives everything.
I cut into my Benedict, the egg yolk spilling out in that satisfying way that should make this meal enjoyable. Except I can’t enjoy anything right now. Not with the memory of how she treated Kiera last night still burning in my chest.
“The food is lovely here,” Mother says, setting down her teacup. She hasn’t actually eaten anything. Just moved pieces of French toast around her plate with her fork. “Though I must say, it’s quite provincial compared to what we’re used to in Los Angeles.”
“It’s not provincial.” I keep my voice even, but tension coils in my shoulders. “It’s local. Fresh. The chef here actually cares about sourcing quality ingredients from the island.”
“How charming.” She dabs at her lips with her napkin even though she hasn’t eaten anything. “Though I’m surprised there’s even a restaurant of this caliber on such a small island. I would have thought you’d be surviving on fast food and whatever that girl makes for you.”
That girl. Not Kiera. Not even “your cook.” Just “that girl,” like she’s interchangeable with any other person Mother deems beneath notice.
