Page 88 of My Beautiful Sin

I flash him a smile. “I know.” I sigh. “Is it weird that even knowing everything I do about Peter that I still miss him terribly?”

“Oh, baby. No. Of course not.”

“Those years living in that house with him—and before, when I would go there after school before my dad died—I mean, I grew up there. I grew up with him. I missed my house after Daddy died, but this place became my home. It was my sanctuary. It was where I met you,” I add, meeting his eyes. “And you were my sanctuary, too.”

“El—”

“You were,” I say. “Even though you left. And I thought Peter was, too. But he wasn’t. Not really.”

“Wasn’t he?”

It’s a serious question, and I think about it. Because Devlin—Alex—really was my lynchpin. And he still is, even though he’d hurt me all those years ago. Because I understand why, and because I can live with the reasons.

With Peter, I can’t grasp the why. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever. But I’m trying, and I don’t know … maybe it will make a difference.

I twine my fingers with Devlin’s as I think about the duality of people. Who we are inside versus who we let people see. I think about Alex and Devlin, the same yet different. And me. Cop. Reporter. Lover. Survivor.

“Facets,” I say, remembering something Devlin had said a while back about how I could still love Peter, despite the bad things he’d done. Beside me, Devlin nods.

“I guess it’s not weird,” I concede. “And the truth is, I really do miss that place. Not just the memories, but damn, that was an exceptional building.”

“It was,” he agrees. “For that matter, it still is.” He hooks his arm around my waist. “My best memories are there, too. There, and one more place.”

I look up, meeting his eyes. “Yeah,” I say. “Me, too.”

We turn south and walk there without needing words, Jake trotting beside us, the Frisbee in his mouth. It doesn’t take long. It’s a short walk down the beach to the tide pools near the DSF.

“You better be careful,” I tease, as we get close. “It’s Friday and you’re playing hooky. If anyone in there sees you…”

“Lucky for us, I run the place.”

“Lucky indeed.” I grab his hand and tug. “Race you,” I say, and we take off sprinting.

Jake makes it there first, Devlin second, and I come in a very pathetic last. “Your legs are longer,” I complain.

“I love your legs,” Devlin says, tracing his finger on the hem of my shorts so that his fingertip brushes my thigh.

“Careful.”

His brow rises. “That was hardly a sensual caress.”

“With you, everything is a sensual caress. Especially here.”

Here is the place where he first kissed me, by the tidal pools formed by a collection of porous black rock.

“Come here,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you again.”

“Oh.” I slide into his arms. “Thank you for a wonderful morning,” I say, as he tugs gently on my hair, angling my mouth up to his.

“What do you say we make it a wonderful day?”

“That sounds—” It sounds perfect, but I don’t get the word out. Instead, I melt into his kiss as the waves break around our ankles and Jake frolics nearby.

And as I lose myself in this moment, all I can think is that I don’t want it to end. Because somewhere beyond the veil of this fabulous morning is my mysterious texter. And he—or she—is determined to pop my hard-won bubble of happiness.