Chapter 16
Wyatt
“If it weren’t for the tan I witnessed today, I’d wonder if you were really from Santa Rosé. How do you know about this place?” Bryn questions as we get out of my truck.
I’m not sure whether to be offended or proud. “The tan is a work in progress. And Brody, if you can believe it.”
“One of his favorite surfing spots is right around that outcropping,” she says as we meet at the back of my pickup, pointing to the left of where we’re parked.
“But you need to park here and paddle out to it or go down some crazy rocks to a small beach. It’s not super popular ‘cause it can be rough and it’s technical. ”
Then she points to the right where there’s large boulders stacked up until they lead to an actual cliff above. Waves crash into them, the sound of the powerful ocean a mesmerizing thrum.
“Over those rocks is the boardwalk and the beach where they set the fireworks off. You can’t see it, but when they do the fireworks, you’ll definitely see them—” She pauses, a hand touching the top of the tailgate on old Betty. “Is this our date? The beach and fireworks?”
There’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, her eyes widening just enough to let me know excitement bubbles beneath the surface. Anticipation.
When I thought about tonight and our second official date, I wanted to make it special, but I didn’t want us to be surrounded by tons of people in a crowded restaurant or a touristy beach.
I asked for suggestions on beaches a few shifts ago at the station, and it was Brody who told me—thankfully before I soaked the guy—how to get here.
A small parking lot overlooks a little cove that’s protected by cliffs and rocks on either side.
Waves roll onto a sandy beach, the water full of quiet power, but not like some of the other areas I’ve seen in Santa Rosé.
Not like the spot on the other side of the outcropping where Brody surfs.
There are a couple of other vehicles in the lot that only holds five, and glancing at the beach, there’s only one group of three out there.
Plenty of room for us to carve out our own little space.
“You’re missing two things,” I tell her, unlatching the tailgate and dropping it open as she steps aside with curious eyes. I grab the basket I packed after dropping her off earlier to get ready, and the blankets beneath. “Dinner and dancing.”
Her eyes bounce between me, the basket, and the beach, and finally her face completely lights up, shining brighter than the setting sun. “A departure from the last date full of action.”
I wink at her, lifting the tailgate and then offering her my arm.
“Oh, no,” she shakes her head, pointing at my boots as she lifts her own leg. “Take those off, Montana. You’re in California now, and you are not walking across that sand with those boots. It’s like fucking with socks on.”
“What’s wrong with fucking with socks on?” I deadpan. “I get cold feet.”
Her eyes bulge, and she opens her mouth, probably to tell me this date is over, but I laugh and set the basket on the paved lot, and she must realize I’m joking.
Sitting on the bumper of the truck, I pull my boots off one by one, along with my socks, just so there’s no question about those.
It takes her less than thirty seconds to get her black ankle cowboy boots off, but it takes me significantly longer. The one downfall to the boots.
When I’m done, and our boots are in the back, I grab our dinner and then hold out my hand, which she takes. I spin her, which makes her squeal in surprise, then has her bursting into a joyous laugh. It’s a bonus to the reason I really did it.
I had to see the full effect of this dress on her while the sun was still up.
I’ve never seen anyone as stunning as this woman.
The black skirt flutters around her legs, the bottom of it embroidered with a multitude of different colors in a pattern that reminds me of dandelion seeds blowing in the wind.
Blues and reds and whites, and it’s while she spins a second time that I realize she’s dressed for the Fourth even though the rest of the material is black.
The same pattern shows up along the deep V in the neckline, drawing my eye to her breasts and the skin she shows off between them.
With the spaghetti straps, her collarbones are on full display, driving me crazy.
The dress cinches at her waist, showing off every curve, but remaining flowy around her hips.
It was made for her.
Then again, I’ve thought that about every outfit I’ve seen her in.
I’m starting to think I might have a bias.
When we pick a spot on the left side of the beach, furthest away from the other group and in the best location for the fireworks later, she helps me get the blanket spread out. Before she can sit, I catch her hand, shaking my head.
“Wait.” I twirl her around in the sand, and when she spins back towards me, her eyes are shining brightly. “Dance with me?”
“To the music of the ocean?” she teases, lifting an eyebrow.
“We could, or…”
I pull my phone from my pocket, bring up a playlist, and turn it on.
Soft country music starts to play, perfect for slow dancing to.
Dropping my phone to the blanket, I turn her once more and then step into her, my arm snaking around her waist to haul her close to me.
It’s not like the night on the dance floor in the club.
There are no proper hand placements, no space between us.
This is intimate familiarity. Connection.
She melts against me, her hand gliding up my arm and around my neck while she lays her head against my chest. The touch of her fingertips along my nape has my cock stirring in my jeans as we sway.
I will him to settle, not wanting a repeat of earlier when she hardly touched me besides a little dry humping and that damn massage.
God, her fingers felt incredible. I was lost to them in a matter of moments, and before I knew it, there was my load. Blown.
“There’s a spot on top of those cliffs up there,” she murmurs, and I feel the vibration of her voice through my black t-shirt. “It overlooks the spot Brody likes to surf. I’ll have to show you one day. I think it’s one of the prettiest places in all of Santa Rosé.”
My eyes travel in the direction she points with our hands still clasped together. From our spot on the beach, it’s nearly straight up a bunch of jagged rocks. There’s a road up there, I know, because I drove along it when I was scouting this place out a few days ago.
“I go there sometimes when I need to think. Or not think,” she continues, and I feel her release a big sigh. “Between the waves and surfers, there’s always something to watch that gets me out of my mind.”
Dropping my head, I press a kiss to the top of hers, letting her know I’m listening. “What kind of things do you not think about up there?”
There’s a pause as she contemplates the question. “Depends. Sometimes something someone has said to me. Sometimes a creep at work. Sometimes my parents. Lots of the time my Gran.” The last part she whispers, and I almost don’t catch it over the sound of the waves and music.
My instinct tells me to ask about the creeps at work, a growl rumbling deep inside of me threatening to come up, but I force it down. I have the sense that isn’t the biggest thing on this list.
“Do you remember the first night we met when I came out of the restroom?” she asks.
Though she isn’t looking at me, I nod. “Yeah. You were different when you came out.”
Bryn pulls back, surprise lighting up her eyes. “I wondered if you noticed.”
“I notice a lot of things, beautiful,” I tell her, bringing our linked hands to my lips so I can place a kiss on the back of hers. “You forced a smile and I wasn’t sure I’d get a single dance from you.”
She chuckles at the memory. “Well, that worked out for you.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m the luckiest man out there. You had me sweatin’ bullets. You were the most gorgeous girl I’d ever seen, and all I could think about was dancing with you.”
Her fingers stop stroking my neck for a moment, her eyes twinkling up at me like the brightest stars I’ve ever seen. Considering I’m from the country, that’s mighty bright, but so is the woman in my arms.
“I’m glad I didn’t leave then, because I wanted to.” Snuggling back into my chest, she blows out a breath that I can hear over the lapping waves. “Jordan made a flippant comment that triggered me, and when that happens, it can send me into a tailspin.”
Slipping her hand that’s in mine up and around my neck, I envelop her in both my arms, my lips moving against her hair as I ask, “What kind of trigger?”
“Thinking I’m hopeless.”
My movement stops, my feet sinking deeper into the sand. She said that in the bar to me when we were dancing. I didn’t think much of it then—an off-the-cuff comment about her dancing. Then she said it after my massage, and I wondered about it. If it was a coincidence.
It wasn’t.
Easing back, I duck my head to see her better as her gaze finds mine. “Someone told you you were hopeless?”
“My parents are lovely people,” she says, but her eyes tell a different story.
Sadness fills them, her smile nowhere within reach.
“But they didn’t know how to nurture a child.
They knew I was pretty. Knew I was like a doll.
Knew they could parade me around to all their friends and find all the praise and attention they sought. ”
She pulls back from me, and I frown as she takes a few steps backward, then a few more.
On reflex, I move forward but she holds up a hand.
As though I’m watching a different person take over Bryn’s body, her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts, and she walks towards me in measured, deliberate steps, her hips swishing from side to side.