And perhaps the beginning of everything I did not dare to hope for.
“You do realize,” said June, casting a pointed glance toward the window, “that staring at the sea will not teach it manners.”
April didn’t turn. She stood with her hands resting lightly on the windowsill, the sea glinting under the moonlight like spilt silver. “It might,” she said, smiling faintly. “With the proper audience.”
May sighed behind her. “You’re different tonight.”
“Am I?”
June leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out with a groan. “You are. There’s something about you this evening. Some air of mystery, perhaps. A touch of mischief. And not even a whisper of your usual restraint.”
May nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed. You’re glowing. And don’t try to pretend it’s the moonlight.”
April finally looked at them, lips curving. “Well, I suppose I am feeling rather—alive.”
“That much is clear,” observed May, propping her chin on her hand. “Meanwhile, I am wilting under the attention of every dull gentleman who thinks speaking about phaetons and curricles is the height of courtship.”
June groaned. “If I hear one more opinion about boot polish or tobacco, I shall scream. I swear half the men at Lady Tinsley’s garden party yesterday thought I would be impressed by their new cravats. One even compared the folds to Roman architecture.”
“Roman architecture,” May repeated, making a face. “Heavens. Did he expect you to marry him on the spot?”
“I nearly buried myself in the shrubbery.”
They laughed, the sound light and familiar, but April only half heard them. Her eyes had wandered back to the window.
May tilted her head. “You’re not listening.”
“I am. Truly. I just… I think I needed the sea. And perhaps the silence that comes with it.”
June studied her closely. “You never used to like the sea. You used to say it felt like staring into the mouth of something you could never understand.”
“I know. But tonight, it feels different. I feel different.”
“You do,” May said, suddenly serious. “It’s as though something shifted. Did it?”
April hesitated, feeling the answer bloom in her chest. “Perhaps I’m learning not to fear the things I used to.”
June raised a brow. “Is this about Theo?”
“It is, isn’t it?” May added before April could reply. “Oh, April.”
April smiled again, faintly, and turned her gaze back to the sea. She caught the movement almost immediately. A figure, tall and deliberate, slipping from the inn’s side door and heading toward the sand.Theo.
Her breath quickened.
“I need some air,” she said, already moving toward him.
“Don’t fall in!” May called after her.
The wind had quieted. The moon was a full coin in the sky, casting light that turned the beach into a world of shadows and glimmer. April walked swiftly, heart beating with a strange, fierce energy.
I was not afraid of the sea. I kissed him. I laughed with him. I can do anything tonight. Even follow him into the dark.
The air tasted of salt and freedom. The sand gave under her shoes as she reached the edge of the dunes. Theo was ahead, shirt discarded, boots off. He stood ankle-deep in the tide, his breeches rolled, his chest bare under the moonlight.
April stilled. Her breath hitched.Oh.
The moon left very little to the imagination. Muscles shifted as he moved, all long lines and effortless strength. The water curled around his feet, and his skin gleamed where the spray had kissed it. His hair was windswept, his expression remote, but even fromthis distance she could see the lines of tension carved into his shoulders.
