They sat there, side by side, while the waves rolled in and out in their steady rhythm. A kid’s laugh drifted faintly from the far end of the public beach, then faded again. Here, the silence settled softly rather than heavily.
Bree nudged his knee with hers. “So this is your hideout.”
“Yeah.”
“And you just handed it to me.”
“It seemed like you needed it more today.” He looked at her profile, the stubborn line of her jaw, the freckles across her nose that the sun had brought out. “You did say you came here to paint.”
Her mouth curved. “I did.”
“Bring your easel tomorrow,” he said. “Come early. Before the rest of the teams finish breakfast and turn the place into a circus.”
“While you are on the track,” she guessed.
“While I am on the track,” he confirmed. “You can paint without worrying about stray motorcycles.”
“I do like that part of the plan.” She angled toward him a little. “You're sure you don't mind?”
“If I minded, I would have taken the long way around and lost you in the dunes.”
Her eyes sparked. “You couldn't lose me if you tried, James.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“It might be.” She rose from the driftwood and brushed sand from the back of her jeans. “Come on. If I stay here any longer without a canvas, I will start sketching in the sand like a kid.”
He pushed to his feet, careful with the shift of weight. The leg gave him one quick protest he ignored. “You ever do that? When you were younger?”
“Draw in the sand?” She started along the waterline, walking where the tide had packed the ground firm. “Bryn and I used to fill the whole driveway with chalk. Our mother hated it. The neighbors loved it. Kids we barely knew would come over just to scribble.” Her smile went soft. “Bryn always drew suns. Big, bright, impossible-to-miss suns.”
“And you?”
“I drew houses.” She looked up at him from the corner of her eye. “And trees. And one unforgettable portrait of our dog that looked more like a meatloaf.”
He laughed. “Poor dog.”
“She was offended. Refused to sit for me after that.”
They walked in easy silence for a few strides. The water swept up to kiss Bree's toes; she stepped out of reach on instinct, then went back to the firmer line with a quiet huff.
“You okay out here?” he asked. “You are not a fan of getting wet, I take it.”
“I like water. I don't like unexpected cold feet.” She wriggled her toes in her sandals. “You?”
“Spent enough time being wet and cold deployed. I pick my battles now.”
That earned him another of those small, true smiles. “So racing on a wet track is out.”
“Not my favorite.” He shaded his eyes to glance up the beach, where the hotel roofline was just visible above the dunes. “We should head back. I told the guys I wouldn't be gone all day.”
She slowed, then stopped altogether. “Hank?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For this.” She swept a hand around, taking in the little stretch of empty beach. “For not trying to fix anything. Just… showing me a place where I can breathe.”
He shifted closer, drawn in before he could think better of it. “Some things don't need fixing, Bree. They just need space.”
