“It is?”
“Oh yes. If you just say California time, you can make anything true.”
Reese laughed. “So noted.” She followed Sloane inside, seemingly taking in every detail as they walked. “You collect art,” Reese said, pausing in front of a painting of a woman turned half away, sunlight breaking across her face, unfinished in a way that felt deliberate on the artist’s part.
Sloane placed her hands on her hips and studied the piece she’d found in Florence in a tucked-away shop five years ago. “I don’t know aboutcollect. That’s probably too generous. But I pick up pieces here and there. When something compels me to pause and stare for a while, I know it’s good.” She dropped her hands, and Reese threaded their fingers. “And that’s the extent of my art knowledge.”
“Well, you have good taste. But we already knew that.”
“Thank you. Oh! And technically, I am collector adjacent. My father has a Rembrandt. Probably several.”
“He probably has more than one bed, too.”
Sloane laughed and gave Reese’s arm a tug. “I’ll give you the grand tour.” The house wasn’t big because Sloane was raised in excess and never really understood the point of too much space. Cozy chic was more her vibe. She’d decorated the living roomwith a softness in mind, leaning into creams and blues and turquoises that reminded her of the ocean just yards away.
“I love this place. And right on the water. Wow.”
“I haven’t touched my Foster trust fund, but the F1 money was good. You’ll likely find that out soon enough. Plus, my automotive consulting work is fairly specialized.”
“So you can be neighbors with the ocean because you’re Moneybags McGee.”
“Well, my friends just call me McGee.”
Reese turned. “I like it. And I like you. End of story.” She gave Sloane’s arm a tug, and it brought her closer. They could hear the waves rolling in from the back deck, which felt more romantic than she’d ever fully realized on her own. She wanted to be kissed so badly. She wanted to be taken. She wanted to escape the world with Reese Maddox because, with her, the world seemed so much more interesting. Details snapped sharply into focus like the sound of the waves. Jokes were funnier. Even food tasted better.
“Have you ever had sex on the beach?” Reese asked, running her thumb over Sloane’s bottom lip.
“Once, years ago. Sexy in theory. But a lot sandier than I would have guessed.”
Reese winced. “Maybe we stay beach adjacent then.”
“Are you making plans for the next few days?”
“And every day after that,” Reese said quite seriously. The declaration sent a flutter through Sloane’s midsection. “Does that scare you?”
“Nothing about you scares me.” She hesitated. “But what you do for a living hits pretty close to home.”
Reese nodded, absorbing. “You’ve been quieter since Cassidy.”
“What if it had been you?” The rush of emotion that nearly toppled her wasn’t new. She’d been battling it for a whilenow, but it was gaining ground. She felt tears prickle, hating that the mood had shifted, but knowing it was important to communicate. “It scares me that I grow closer to you every single day, knowing the kind of heartbreak that might be waiting for me that very next weekend.”
Sloane swallowed hard. The words had tumbled out before she could sand down their edges. “Every time you strap into a car, I’m bracing for the call. And I hate that part of myself, the part that counts risk like it’s some kind of debt I’ll eventually have to pay.”
Reese’s hand slid beneath her jaw, grounding and warm. “Hey,” she said softly. “Look at me.” When Sloane did, Reese’s expression was open, unguarded in that way that always undid her. “I don’t pretend it isn’t dangerous. I know exactly what it is. But I’m careful. I prepare. I listen. And I love what I do.” She took a breath. “I also love us.”
The words landed with a quiet weight between them. Sloane laughed weakly, the sound breaking around the ache in her chest. “You say things like that like it’s easy.”
“It isn’t easy,” Reese said. “It’s just worth it.” She leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sloane’s forehead, then her temple, a trail of gentleness that felt deliberate. “And for the record, I worry too. About you. About losing time. About all the ways life can blindside you.” She smiled, small and earnest. “We’re both brave in different directions.”
Sloane rested her hands at Reese’s waist, grounding herself there. The waves rolled in behind them, patient and constant, as if reminding her that fear didn’t get to be the only thing that stayed. “I don’t want to hold you back,” she said. “I just … want you to come back.”
Reese’s smile softened. “Then that’s the deal,” she said. “I go fast. Then I come back.” She nudged Sloane’s nose with her own. “And right now, I’m very much here.”
That was enough. It had to be.
Sloane pulled her closer and kissed her—slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that communicated everything Sloane was feeling. Reese responded in kind, hands firm at Sloane’s back, like she was anchoring them both to the moment. When they finally broke apart, Reese rested her forehead against Sloane’s again, grinning. “So. Happy hour?”
Sloane smiled through the last of the sting in her eyes. “On the deck,” she said. “Beach adjacent.”
