“Can I ask you something?” Damon says as we walk along the water’s edge.
“Sure.”
He hesitates, eyes on the horizon. “You and Scott… I’m getting the sense that chapter’s not closed yet.”
It’s not a question. Not really.
“We were together in high school,” I say. “First love.” I keep it light. Surface level. “Then he left without explanation. That about sums it up.”
Damon studies me for a moment, expression thoughtful, not prying.
“I see,” he says.
I don’t answer.
He doesn’t push.
Instead, he slows his pace, giving me space without stepping away. “I like knowing what I’m walking into,” he adds. “Not because I need everything spelled out— I just don’t like surprises.”
Scott was, and continues to be, a surprise.
Damon continues before I can linger on the thought. “I had a similar experience. The kind of love that takes over your whole life.” He exhales slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Let’s just say it cost more than it gave.”
I almost ask what he means, but something in his tone—the flat finality—tells me not to.
We walk in silence for a few steps, the water curling around our ankles.
“What if I don’t want just compatibility?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
He looks at me then—not pitying. Not judging. Just honest.
“Then I’d tell you to be careful about handing your heart to someone who’s already burned you once,” he says.
The words land softly. Not a warning but not a promise either. Just something stated and left there between us.
His words linger, unsettling instead of reassuring, as I try to decide whether the quiet is relief—or just unfamiliarity.
Damon’s hand rests lightly at the small of my back—not possessive, not demanding. Just there.
How little it affects me is hard not to notice. No restless heat. No pull. No urge to close the distance and disappear into him.
With Damon, everything stays contained. Pleasant. Easy. Safe.
I tell myself that’s the point. That this is what it’s supposed to feel like when something isn’t complicated or dangerous.
So why do I keep waiting for—no, wanting—more?
Chapter Eight
Scott
* * *
I’ve welded myself to this deck railing since the torches ignited. The infinity pool spills liquid moonlight toward the black ocean below. Their table perches at the edge—candle flames dancing across Lyla’s bare shoulders, silk dress shifting like water over the skin I still map in my sleep.
Damon’s voice drifts up, low and even. She laughs at something he says. Soft. Polite. Nothing like the wrecked, gasping sound she made yesterday when my mouth was on her throat and her leg locked around me.
My fingers dig into the teak. Wood groans.
