“You look good, Ash.” His voice was low, gravelly.
“So do you.” I tried for casual and failed.
He nodded toward the living room. “That guy with you—you like him?”
“He’s nice.”
“‘Nice.’” He took a step closer. “Is that what you want?”
I backed up against the pantry, knowing…
He reached out, brushed his thumb over the bracelet he’d given me before he left for school—the one I still wore even after saying we should see other people.
“I hate this.” He just said it. No pretense. No playing it cool. “Thinking you aren’t mine.”
And then he kissed me.
The world tilted. My knees threatened to buckle, and for a moment, I felt as if I was actually going to swoon like some delicate princess in a fairytale.
When he finally pulled back, he looked wrecked and hopeful all at once.
“Still want to see other people?” he murmured.
I’d wanted to be angry.
Instead, I kissed him again. Harder.
By the end of that night, the safe, forgettable boy had gone home alone.
And Beckett?
He never really left my life after that. Until now.
Laughter drifts through the open doors behind me, tugging me back to the present.
That was a long time ago. We’re different people now.
I’ma different person. A few well-placed compliments don’t erase the year I just survived.
More guests have spilled outside, drawn by the view. The sun is dipping low, the ocean wide and endless, demanding attention.
I turn toward it, but my chest feels tight, like I didn’t quite finish my last breath. The breeze lifts my hair, cool against skin that suddenly feels too warm. My fingers curl, then uncurl at my sides.
It’s nothing. Nothing’s wrong.
I fix my gaze on the horizon, counting the slow roll of the waves, letting the salty air fill my lungs. I give myself a few seconds. That’s all. Then I’ll force the corners of my mouth to turn up again, step back inside, and help Luna play the gracious bride-to-be.
I have this under control.
“Hey.”
I inhale—too fast—then force the breath to slow as I turn.
There he is. Slightly rumpled. Still unfairly handsome.
“You’re not okay,” he says, his brow creasing. “You look pale.”
He thinks I’m seasick. That must be it. Of course.
