“Regan.”
“What?”
“There are balloons.”
“Yes.”
“On a boat.”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
“Because you turned eighteen, and I was told explosives were frowned upon at the marina.”
I was still staring at the balloons when someone on deck said, “You gonna stand there all day, birthday girl?”
The world tilted.
Edge stood on the catamaran.
For one second, my body forgot how to move.
He looked completely wrong in Cabo sunlight. Not bad. Just wrong. Edge belonged to desert roads, clubhouses, motorcycles, and shadows where dangerous men made other dangerous men think twice. Here, on a white catamaran with balloons bouncing behind him, he looked like a wolf someone had accidentally booked for a luxury excursion.
Beside him stood Tarak, arms crossed, dark sunglasses on, expression carved from stone. He looked even less like a boating person.
And near the rail, waving so hard she almost smacked Tarak in the shoulder, was Amber.
One Amber.
One very real, very excited Amber.
“Happy birthday!” she yelled.
I looked from her to Edge to Tarak, then slowly turned to Regan.
She gave me a sweet smile. “Birthday people.”
“You are impossible.”
“I know.”
I climbed onto the catamaran because my legs were moving before my brain had voted on it. Edge stepped forward, then stopped. That tiny hesitation nearly undid me. He was giving me the choice again. Letting me decide whether I wanted to close the distance.
I did.
I walked straight into him.
His arms came around me, careful at first, then firmer when I didn’t pull away. He smelled like leather even without the cut, like soap, sun, and the faint sharpness of stress he was trying to bury. My face pressed against his chest, and for one impossible second, the whole marina disappeared.
“Happy birthday, baby girl,” he said, his voice rough.
I closed my eyes.
Baby girl.
The words were too much. Not bad too much. Just too much for a heart still learning how to accept things without flinching.
