“That’s not—”
“Not true? Not fair?” Her eyes darkened, her voice clipped. “Ipivot too many times, I’m unreliable. I screw up once, it sticks.” She gave a humorless smile. “See the difference?”
Nate opened his mouth, ready with a defense—he’d taken heat too, hadn’t he?—but it stalled out. It wasn’t the same. Guys did a few years in the industry, made their money, and rebranded. Fitness coach. Real estate. Crypto bro. People smirked, sure, but by next week it was old news. The women didn’t get smirks. They got screenshots. Threads. “Receipts.” Their names trailed behind them like exhaust.
His shoulders sank, the fight draining out of him. “Yeah… didn’t mean to bring the vibe down.”
“Right.” Ella’s voice went light in that deliberate way that meant it wasn’t. “Maybe we just drop it?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He knocked back the rest of his champagne, the bubbles useless against the thickness in his throat, and turned toward the dark stretch of water instead of her. The lake glinted under the moonlight, indifferent to human stupidity.
Tell her how you feel about her. This might be your only chance.
“Look…” he cleared his throat, and for a second, he thought he might chicken out. “So that was a really clumsy way of saying you matter to me. Like, an embarrassing amount. And these last few days? They weren’t just fun.”
Ella didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. But he knew she was listening, the weight of her silence pressing against him like a physical touch.
He blew out a breath. “Before this, I was in a crap headspace. And then you barreled into me and wrecked that. In a good way.” He huffed a small laugh. “And suddenly, it’s like I care again. About stuff. About myself. It’s dumb, I know. Especially since it’s been, like, what, five minutes? So yeah. You’re probablyinternally screaming, wow, dial it back, sir. You’re making our last night weird.”
He looked at Ella. “But you weren’t nothing. None of this wasn’t nothing. I just… I couldn’t leave without saying that.”
For a second, she stared at him. Then she swiped at the corner of her eye with the back of her thumb, quick and almost annoyed. “Jesus, Nate,” she said, her voice rough. “How can you not see you weren’t nothing either? I literally borrowed—stole, whatever—a boat because of you. Because I wanted you to think I was cool.”
She made a face. “Which is humiliating. That is, like, peak eighth-grade crush behavior. And yeah, because it made me feel something. Something big and stupid.”
Nate’s mouth twitched. “See,” he said carefully, “I’m still not sure that’s a compliment.”
She thumped him on the shoulder. Not hard, but with emphasis. “What I’m getting at,” she said, her voice wobbling in a way that made something inside him ache, “is this mattered to me too. So much. And you’re leaving, but…”
He didn’t let her finish.
His hand rose, cupping her jaw. Her skin was warm beneath his palm, her pulse fluttering against his thumb. The champagne flutes wobbled dangerously between them, glass chiming in protest as he leaned in. His mouth found hers before he could second-guess himself, before he could remember all the reasons this was a bad idea.
Ella made a soft, surprised sound, her body tensing before she melted into him. She tasted like bubbles and something else, something hers. Nate groaned, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. It was awkward: the angle wrong, their noses bumping, their teeth clinking—but he didn’t care.
Ella’s flute tipped, champagne sloshing onto his T-shirt and the cockpit glass. The bottle beside them rocked, hesitated, andtipped too, rolling away with a hollow rattle across the fiberglass. She inched back and let out a breathy laugh. “We’re making a mess.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “We are.”
And then he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to her waist. Ella shifted until she was half in his lap, her knee between his thighs, her weight pressing into him.
“Ella,” he breathed against her lips.
A roar split the night.
A speedboat shot past, carving through the water like a cannonball. The wake hit them, jolting their vessel. Nate’s head snapped forward and bonked into Ella’s.
“Shit—fuck,” Nate gasped, jerking back, his hands flying to her shoulders to steady her.
Ella blinked at him, stunned, then winced, rubbing her forehead. “Ow.”
“Jesus, you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, rubbing the spot on her forehead.
They lingered there, breathing unevenly, Ella still perched on his lap, her hair falling forward over her face. The world crept back in piece by piece: the champagne bottle rolling with the motion of the boat, the sticky champagne cooling against his skin, the distant snarl of the other speedboat fading into nothing.
