The comment slipped between us gently, but it remained in the space between us.
“I’m not,” I said.
“Good.”
Because he would have fought me on it.
We grabbed sandwiches from the small shop along the boardwalk, the one with faded navy umbrellas and the smell of toasted bread drifting through the open windows. We ate outside, knees brushing under the metal table.
He stole half my fries. I let him.
By the time we finished, the sun had shifted lower, and the air held a slight chill to it. We wandered toward the lookout above the water—the wooden platform where the railing always creaked when too many people leaned on it.
No one else was there, and he rested his forearms on the railing, pulling me between them, back against his chest.
The ocean stretched out in front of us, endless and volatile, and everything else felt smaller.
“You know,” he whispered near my ear, “this is the first time in weeks it’s just been us.”
“I know.”
No whispers. No watching eyes. No crisis. Just this.
His chin rested lightly against the top of my head. “I meant what I said,” he added. “I’m not choosing anything over you.”
My fingers curled around his wrists where they circled my waist.
“I don’t want you choosing between worlds,” I said quietly. “But I also don’t want to see you dragged into your father’s and King Enterprises.”
“I won’t be.”
The wind shifted again, colder now. I turned slightly within his hold so I could see his face. He looked relaxed. Unbraced. And that did something to me. I realized I didn’t want to be the reason that expression disappeared.
He brushed his fingers along my jaw slowly. “You’re overthinking again.”
“Maybe.”
He leaned down and kissed me—slow and unhurried. It lingered, slipping into my thoughts even as it happened, stealing the breath from my lungs until nothing outside of him existed.
When he pulled back, I felt steadier than I had all morning.
We stood there longer than we needed to, long enough for the sun to dip lower. Long enough for the world to narrow to the sound of water and the warmth of his arms around me. And for a few hours, I let myself believe that choosing each other was enough.
When he drove me home, he walked me to the door.
“Text me later.”
“Of course.”
He waited until I let myself inside.
My room felt quieter than usual.
I changed into leggings and sat at the edge of my bed, phone resting in my palm.
Part of me regretted deleting the message from earlier. Now, Luke’s name sat at the top of my screen instead. Our day today was good. The simplicity eased something in me.
I laid back against my pillows and stared at the ceiling.
