I plant the umbrella, spread two towels side by side, and drop the cooler. Sadie settles on her towel, stretches her legs out, and tips her face to the sun. The light catches in her loose ponytail and turns it gold at the edges. I sit next to her and try to look like a guy who’s here for the view. My eyes keep sliding sidewaysanyway. The way the navy fabric hugs the curve of her hip. The smooth line of her stomach. The little freckle above her left knee that I’ve got no business noticing.
Inner monologue time: Get your head straight, Hawthorne. You have guarded people through riots and red carpets without this kind of distraction. But none of them had Sadie’s mix of stubborn and soft. None of them made me want to pull them closer to see if they’d push back. This is work. Intel first. Then keep her safe. Then maybe figure out why the idea of her leaving at the end of this makes my chest feel tight.
I force myself to scan the beach like I’m supposed to. A group of guys tossing a football near the water. A couple of older locals with metal detectors. A woman in a big hat reading a book two blankets over. Nothing screaming suspicious. Yet.
“See the couple with the matching visors?” I say, nodding toward a pair walking the wet sand. “They look like regulars. Might know if any new yachts have been causing talk at the marina.”
Sadie follows my gaze, then surprises me by standing up and brushing sand off her legs. “The two women a few blankets down have been watching us since we sat. Let’s start there. They look friendly enough.”
Before I can argue she’s already walking over, cover-up fluttering, that natural teacher smile in place. I follow because that’s the job, but also because I want to see what she does with it. Sadie’s a natural. She introduces us like we’ve been together forever.
“Hi, I’m Sadie and this is Jace. We’re new to town for a little while and trying to figure out where the locals actually hang out.”
The women are in their late thirties, both fit, both wearing the kind of expensive sunglasses that say country club money. Melissa has dark hair twisted up, Brooke has sun-streaked highlights. They introduce themselves and within two minutes Sadie has them laughing about the line at The Salty Spoon and the eternal missing flip-flops on the wall there.
I slide into the conversation when there’s a gap. “Heard there was some excitement with a big boat at Bluefin Marina last week. Any truth to the rumors?”
Melissa waves a manicured hand. “Oh, summer yacht drama is constant. Rich people and their toys. Nothing that made the police blotter, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Brooke leans in like she’s sharing state secrets. “But if you want real gossip, the Dune Point Country Club is where it all happens. Members only, but the wives run the social calendar. You two should come tomorrow night. Casual dinner. Good food, better stories. Bring your boyfriend.”
Sadie goes still beside me for half a second. We both know what this is. An in. A chance to hear what the people who actually run this town are saying. We have to accept. And we have to sell the couple thing right now, in front of these women who are already watching us like they’re casting a romcom.
I don’t even think. I reach over, slide my arm around Sadie’s waist, and pull her gently against my side.
The second my palm meets the bare skin above the bikini bottom, the world tilts beneath my feet. Her skin is warm from the sun, smooth and soft and perfect under my fingers. The curve of her hip presses into mine like it belongs there. I feel every inch of her along my body and my board shorts suddenlyfeel way too thin. I’m instantly hard, the reaction so fast and strong I have to angle my hips away from the women and shift my weight to hide it. My heart kicks like I ran a sprint. This isn’t just attraction. This is want, sharp and real and way past professional.
Sadie plays along like she was born for it. She rests her hand on my chest, fingers warm through my shirt, and leans into me just enough to sell it. “Boyfriend,” she says with a smile that looks almost real. “Still in the phase where he thinks he can charm me into anything.”
The women laugh. Melissa points at me. “He has the look of a man who usually gets what he wants.”
I grin, keeping my arm right where it is because letting go feels like losing something I didn’t know I needed. “She keeps me honest. Best thing that ever happened to me, even if she fights me on it daily.”
Sadie’s fingers tighten on my shirt for a beat. When the women look away she whispers without moving her lips much, “You’re enjoying this far too much, Hawthorne.”
I murmur back, my mouth close to her ear so only she hears, “Just doing the job. But I’m not going to lie. You feel good right here.”
She doesn’t pull away. If anything she settles a fraction closer. The women keep talking, inviting us officially, giving us the details for tomorrow night. I keep my arm around Sadie the whole time, my thumb tracing lazy circles on her side without even meaning to. Every touch sends another spark through me. I’m supposed to be listening for useful intel. Instead I’m cataloging the way she laughs at Brooke’s story about the regattadisaster, the way her serious edges soften in the sun, the way she fits against me like she was made for it.
When the women finally pack up with promises to see us at the club, they leave us with matching knowing smiles. The second they’re out of earshot Sadie turns in my arm and looks up at me.
“You can let go now,” she says, but her voice is softer than usual, almost teasing.
I loosen my hold but don’t drop my hand completely. “Had to sell it. They bought the whole happy-couple thing.”
“You were very convincing.” She steps back, but her eyes flick down my body for a split second before she catches herself. Color rises in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the sun. “And you’re impossible to stay mad at when you’re being charming on purpose.”
“Part of the service,” I say, but my voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. The attraction is sitting between us now, thick and obvious. I want to pull her back in. I want to see if she would let me kiss her right here on this beach with the waves crashing and the lighthouse watching.
Instead I drop my hand and we stand there for a second, the space between us charged. Sadie clears her throat and looks out at the water.
“We should stay a while. Make it look natural.”
“Good idea.”
She moves toward the shallows and I follow after her, scanning the beach, looking for any signs of a threat.
Up on the dry sand near the dune line, maybe forty yards out, a guy stands with a camera and a lens long enough to shoot the moon. Nothing strange about that on a beach this pretty. Tourists photograph the water, the boats, the lighthouse down the point. Except this guy isn't aimed at any of that. The lens is angled low and left, tracking the shallows.
