The warm glow of the restaurant still trails behind us as we make our way toward the water, like the evening itself isn’t quite ready to let us go yet. The waves lap steadily along the shore, and the sand beneath my toes is no longer warm from the day’s sun, but cool and soft instead. My sandals dangle from one hand, swaying with each step, while the breeze brushes lightly against my skin—still gentle, but carrying the faint hint of the night settling in.
The air has shifted from balmy to just slightly cooler, enough to make me aware of it without making me shiver. The moon hangs high above us, casting ribbons of silver light across the water that ripple and stretch every time the tide moves. I’ve rolled up my linen pants so I can walk closer to the edge, letting the waves chase my feet every few steps.
As we begin to walk, Nate reaches for my hand again. This time, it feels almost natural. Familiar, even. But because it’s still so new, there’s a thrill to it that sends a quiet flutter through my chest.
I glance over at him, and he looks back at me with that steady smile of his.
And then—suddenly—it turns mischievous.
Uh oh.
He gives a quick tug on my arm, and the moment a wave washes up near our feet, he immediately splashes me.
“You did not,” I say flatly, my expression turning completely serious in an instant.
His smile drops just as fast, panic flashing across his face. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry,” he says quickly, looking genuinely sheepish.
I hold the serious look for exactly half a second longer.
“This. Means. War.” My grin explodes across my face as I launch into action, splashing him back with zero hesitation.
He clearly forgot one very important detail about me: I have a lot of siblings… and we are extremelycompetitive.
His laugh echoes out into the night as he tries—and very much fails—to match my splashing skills. I tap into years of childhood experience, memories of beach days and pool battles with my siblings flooding back as I experiment with new angles and tactics like this is an Olympic sport and I fully intend to win gold.
I splash with my hands. With my feet. With an impressive level of strategic force.
Water flies everywhere.
“Mercy, mercy!” he laughs, throwing one hand up in surrender while trying to shield himself with the other.
I pause just long enough to assess my victory.
The bottom of his pants are completely soaked, splash marks dotting the rest of him like evidence of my undeniable win. Meanwhile, I’ve escaped relatively unscathed—just a few scattered droplets above my rolled-up linen pants.
I grin.
He takes a step closer, closing the gap between us, and I immediately tense, ready to spring into round two at any moment.
But instead of splashing me back…
He grabs my waist and pulls me in close.
My breath hitches instantly. Every playful thought disappears from my mind like someone switched off a light. Every cell in my body feels suddenly, acutely awake.
“I should’ve realized you’d be competitive,” he chuckles softly, his hand tightening slightly at my waist.
But my mind has gone completely blank, so all that comes out is a breathy, “Yeah.”
His eyes drift down to my lips as the breeze wraps around us again, cooler now, almost like the night itself is holding its breath with me. He pulls me just a fraction closer, until there’s barely any space left between us.
My hands rest against his chest at first, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Then one of them slides upward almost on its own, curling gently around the back of his neck.
My head feels like it’s swimming.
His cologne fills my senses in a way that feels oddly permanent, like this scent will forever be tied to this exact moment in my memory. Everything about my awareness sharpens and slows at the same time, as if my mind is determined to capture every detail so I can replay it later.
My vision? Crystal clear. Every feature of his face etched into my brain like a scene I’ll rewind a thousand times.
