Chapter 34
An hour later, I’m standing on Aiden’s porch with a bottle of wine in hand and Neptune by my side, his tail swaying back and forth, excited to spend time with his best friend. The evening air feels softer than it did earlier, the sky shifting toward a deep blue that only happens right before sunset, and for a second, I stand there listening to the faint sound of the ocean before I knock.
The door opens almost immediately.
Aiden’s smile—wide, easy, his eyes softening as soon as they land on me—hits me first. Then I notice everything else at once. Faded jeans, a light blue T-shirt stretched comfortably across his shoulders, a kitchen towel hangs over one shoulder, and something about how effortlessly domestic he looks feels ridiculously sexy. He looks unfairly attractive standing there,relaxed and comfortable, and I have to remind myself to keep my face neutral.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
Heat rushes up my neck, spreading fast enough that I know it’s visible. I suddenly become very aware of what I’m wearing—the long green maxi, the beige cardigan I almost didn’t bring, the extra time I spent in front of the mirror before I left, fixing my mascara and smoothing on one last layer of lip gloss.
“Thanks,” I manage.
Neptune decides for both of us, slipping past Aiden and into the house like he owns the place, and Aiden steps aside with a soft laugh.
“Please, come in.”
I walk inside, automatically glancing toward the living room, expecting to see Uncle Mike in his usual chair near the window, the TV humming quietly in the background, but the room is empty.
“He went out,” Aiden says, catching my look. “Bingo night at the senior home. I’m picking him up later.”
I smile. “Good for him.”
Aiden takes the wine from my hand, then gestures toward the back of the house. I follow him through the kitchen, Neptune already making himself comfortable with Skye.
The back door slides open, and cool evening air wraps around me as I step outside.
A small fire crackles in a low pit, warm light flickering against the deck. Two chairs with thick cushions are arranged around it, blankets folded neatly over the arms, and beyond it all the ocean stretches out, darkening slowly as the sun sinks lower, the sound of waves steady and endless in the background.
For a moment, I stand there taking it in.
Aiden moves past me toward the side wall, plugging something in, and a second later, soft twinkling lights blinkon overhead, casting a warm glow across the space that makes everything feel quieter, softer.
“Oh wow,” I say, turning slowly. “I hadn’t seen these.”
“I installed them today.”
I look at him, surprised. “Today?”
The question slips out, confusion mixing with something warmer I’m not ready to name. I don’t ask if he did it for me — I’m not sure I want to know the answer if it’s yes.
He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck for a second before meeting my eyes again.
“I was hoping you’d agree to have dinner with me.”
The words settle between us, simple and steady, the fire crackling softly in the background while the lights glow above us and the ocean moves endlessly just beyond the railing.
And for a moment, everything feels very still.
I’m standing in the kitchen with a glass of wine in my hand, watching Aiden roll perfect balls of cookie dough between his palms before setting them neatly onto a baking sheet. I watch him intently as he measures the space between each one with quiet focus. Somehow, even this feels intentional.
Dinner was really good. Salmon on the grill outside, vegetables roasted until they were just soft enough, everything simple but thoughtful in a way that makes me realize how much attention he gives to whatever is in front of him. It catches me off guard every time, watching him move through simple things like they matter.
We’ve been talking most of the evening, conversation flowing easily between sips of wine and bites of dinner. I tell him about work, about the unexpected blue whales we spotted earlier inthe week, and how the whole team stood frozen for a second because none of us were expecting them this early in the season. He listens the way he always does — focused, like what I’m saying matters — asking questions that make me laugh because he actually remembers details I mentioned weeks ago.
When it’s his turn, he talks about work too. About calls coming in nonstop, firefighters being sent out to help with wildfires across Oregon and Washington, which means those staying local are stretched thin, covering everything from accidents to emergency calls in nearby towns. He says it calmly, matter-of-fact, but I can see the tiredness sitting just under the surface.
“There was a cat today,” he says, lining up the last cookie on the tray. “Climbed so high we had to bring the ladder truck out.”
