He nods, mouth full. “This is incredible.”
“I know.” She tops off my water and throws me a wink on her way past.
She’s not wrong. The fish is perfect, as always, and after the first few bites the conversation loosens the way it does with him, easy and unforced. We spend ten minutes debating whether the song playing qualifies as country or just ‘somebody’s therapy session with a slide guitar.’
He grins around a fry and I let myself look a moment too long. The scruff along his jaw, the way his eyes crinkle when he’s being ridiculous. I look away before he catches me.
“I’m genuinely happy to not remember some of these.” He gestures at the speaker with a fry. “I really don’t think I was a Swiftie.”
Finger quotes around the word. I laugh, loud enough that the guy two stools down glances over, and my eyes catch Ronnie’s across the bar.
She gives me a look that saysfriend, my ass.I suddenly find the last piece of fish in my basket very interesting.
We settle up and I wave to Ronnie on our way out before heading back up the beach.
It’s off-season but the sun is out and the wind is low, and that’s enough to pull people onto the sand. A couple walks a golden retriever near the waterline. A few kids chase each other in and out of the surf, shrieking every time the cold water hits their legs.
“Nice one, bro!”
Two teenage boys, sandy-haired and shirtless, tossing a football. The younger one snags a wild throw and launches into a touchdown dance. His brother charges over and tackles him flat. They roll in the sand, shoving and laughing.
Beside me, Johnny has gone still.
“...Dario.”
I stop. “Sorry?”
“I have a brother.” He says it like he’s testing the word, then again like he believes it. “He’s older. He always used to shove me around like that.” He gestures toward the boys, his hand shaking. “I have abrother.”
I clap both hands over my mouth. The sound that comes out is embarrassingly close to a squeal. He laughs, a real laugh, big and sudden and shocked, and then his hands are around my waist and I’m off the ground. Spinning. I hook my arms around his neck and laugh too, properly laugh, with my feet in the air and the ocean behind him a bright blur.
“Thank you, Natalia.” His voice drops. “You didn’t have to help me. You keep helping me.”
“I just thought the scenery?—”
“It worked.” He grins. “I’m going to find a way to repay you. Starting with dinner. I wonder if I can cook.”
He sets me down.
He doesn’t let go.
Back up, some sensible part of me says.This is the part where you back up.
I don’t move.
I told myself I’d keep my distance. Told myself the kiss was a mistake. Told myself this man is a stranger with scars and secrets and that caring about him is the fastest way to get us both killed.
But he’s looking at me, bright and brimming, and his thumb traces a slow line across my lower back, and I can’t remember a single one of my rules.
His hand slides down my arm, fingers finding mine. Neither of us says anything.
We walk back like that. The sun moves over the dunes, turning the sand copper, and the silence between us isn’t careful anymore. It’s the kind that happens when something has shifted and both people know it.
His fingers tighten around mine. I tighten back.
Neither of us lets go.
9
