“It can be,” he replies, his voice soft, eyes searching mine. “When it’s right. When it feels like this.”
I adjust my dress fully, take the bag from the counter inside when we return. He walks me to the boardwalk edge, hands in his pockets now, but his gaze follows every step I take.
“Enjoy the beach,” he calls after me. “Can I bring you coffee tomorrow?”
I nod over my shoulder with a smile. I know I shouldn’t be encouraging him. There are so many reasons it’s a bad idea. Our age difference, which has to be more than ten years, and the fact that I’m not here forever.
He watches me walk away, that steady gaze following until I disappear around the bend toward the sand. My skin still tingles where he touched me, every nerve alive with the romantic tension he stirred. My heart feels fuller, lighter, aching with the promise of what could be.
4
JAKE
The sun has barely cleared the dunes when I park my truck at the edge of the gravel path leading to her cottage. The little white rental sits tucked between sea oats and a weathered picket fence, porch light still glowing softly against the pale morning sky. I cut the engine, grab the two to-go cups from the holder, and step out. The air carries that fresh, sea salt smell that only exists right after dawn on the coast.
I walk the short path, boots quiet on the crushed shells, and climb the three steps to her porch. The screen door is unlatched like she’s expecting me.
I knock twice, light but firm. A moment later, the inner door swings open, and there she is. Her hair mussed from sleep, wearing an oversized T-shirt that hits mid-thigh and bare legs that make my body go tight. Her eyes are still heavy-lidded, but they brighten the second they land on me.
“Morning,” she says, voice husky with sleep, a small smile curving her lips.
“Morning.” I hold up the cups. “Coffee delivery.”
She steps back, holding the door wide. “You’re a saint.”
I follow her inside. The cottage is small, bright, and filled with soft morning light pouring through sheer curtains. A half-read book lies open on the couch, a throw blanket draped over one arm.
She closes the door behind me and turns, leaning against it for a second like she needs the support. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up this early.”
“Told you I would.” I hand her the cup with two sugars, keeping the black one for myself. Our fingers brush. She doesn’t pull away immediately, and neither do I.
We move to the tiny kitchen island. She hops onto one of the stools, legs swinging slightly, and takes a long sip. Her eyes close in pure pleasure. “God, this is perfect. How did you know exactly how I take it?”
“I pay attention.”
She looks at me over the rim of the cup, studying. “Are you always this thoughtful?”
“Only when it matters.” I lean against the counter opposite her, close enough that our knees almost touch. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better than I have in months.” She sets the cup down, fingers tracing the cardboard sleeve. “No nightmares. No waking up wondering if I’m going to have to defend my choices over breakfast. Just the sound of the waves.”
I nod, letting the words settle. “That’s what the coast does. Strips everything else away until you’re left with what’s real.”
She meets my gaze. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not always.” I take a sip of my own coffee, buying a second to find the right words. “But it gets easier when you stop fighting what feels right.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, then she closes them again, exhaling softly. “I’m trying.”
“I know.” I reach across the island and cover her hand with mine. Her skin is warm from the cup. “That’s why I’m here. No pressure. Just coffee and company.”
She turns her hand over, lacing her fingers through mine. The simple connection sends a slow heat through me. We stay with our hands entwined, the only sounds the distant roll of waves and the faint tick of a clock somewhere in the living room.
Finally, she speaks. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Whatever you want me to be doing.”
A small laugh escapes her. “Smooth.”
