CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Lennon
My morning shift was crazy, a blur of alarms, monitors, and worried parents. All I want is a hot shower, maybe a cup of tea, and to decompress for a while. But as I step inside and kick off my shoes, the first thing I notice is Ruben.
He’s standing in the kitchen, his posture relaxed but alert, like he’s been waiting for me. A single duffel bag rests at his feet, and the sight of it makes my heart skip.
“You’re home.” He greets me with those words.
He looks up, his dark eyes warm and familiar, but there’s something behind them—something I can’t quite read.
“I’m home,” I reply, and for some reason, his lips pull up into that small, almost shy smile he gives when he’s planning something.
I tilt my head, gesturing toward the bag. “Going somewhere?”
“Yes,” he says simply, but his tone softens as he adds, “we are going somewhere.”
I blink, caught off guard. “We? Where are we going?”
“A little getaway.”
His answer is vague, but I don’t press. Ruben is like that. “What should I pack?”
“Something nice,” he says, already picking up the bag. “The weather’s like here, so no need for anything too heavy.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Something nice?”
He pauses, glancing at me, and his gaze lingers just long enough to send a ripple of heat down my spine. “A dress, maybe. Heels. And whatever else you think you’ll need.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in that devilish way that always leaves me guessing.
I nod, my stomach flipping as I head to the bedroom to pack. Knowing Ruben, I add a little of everything, something casual, something elegant, and a slinky piece of lingerie I haven’t had a chance to wear yet. Just because.
The drive south is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Ruben handles the wheel like it’s second nature, as I pick the playlist, scrolling through my favorites.
When I hit play on a classic rock track, he glances at me, his expression soft. “You always pick the good stuff,” he says.
I smile, settling back into my seat. He’s quieter than usual, and it nags at me, but I don’t want to push. Instead, I focus on the way his jaw tenses as he concentrates on the road, the way his thumb taps in rhythm with the song.
We drive like that for a while, the silence wrapping around us like a cocoon. It’s the kind of quiet that doesn’t demand to be filled, a comfortable pause where just being near him is enough.
Eventually, when the sun begins to dip lower, Ruben takes an exit, and soon we’re cruising along the coast, the ocean stretching endlessly to our right.
He pulls into a small parking lot near Asilomar Beach, and cuts the engine.
“Come on,” he says, his voice lighter now, more like himself.
The beach is breathtaking. The waves crash against the shore as the sky burns in hues of orange and pink. We walk side by side, our hands brushing but not quite touching. I steal a glance at him, and for a moment, I think I catch him watching me, but he looks away too quickly for me to be sure.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, my voice almost lost in the roar of the ocean.
“It is,” he replies, though his eyes are on me.
We linger there until the colors begin to fade, and then Ruben turns to me, his stomach growling audibly.
“Hungry?” he asks, grinning.
I laugh, the tension I didn’t realize I was holding easing a little. “Are you?”
“Starving. I’m a growing boy, you know.”
“Ruben, you’re thirty-five.”
“And still growing,” he says with a wink.
Dinner is casual, lobster rolls at a small, cozy spot nearby. Ruben jokes that he should order another, but he doesn’t, instead watching me with a kind of quiet intensity that makes my cheeks warm.
When we’re done, he takes my hand, leading me back to the car. His grip is firm but gentle, his thumb brushing against mine in a way that feels both deliberate and effortless.
We drive a short distance before he pulls up in front of a luxury hotel perched at the top of a slight slope. The building is stunning, all clean lines and glowing windows, and my breath catches.
“Ruben,” I start, but he’s already stepping out, grabbing our bags from the backseat.
“Come on,” he says, flashing me a smile that’s equal parts excitement and mystery.
The suite is exactly what I should have expected—grand, elegant, and impossibly beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the ocean, and the decor is a perfect blend of modern luxury and timeless charm.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I say, turning to him.
“Yes, I did,” he replies simply, his expression unreadable.
He takes me on a small tour, pointing out the little touches. There are plush robes. A bottle of wine is waiting on ice. The view from the balcony is stunning. But when we reach the terrace, I stop short.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my heart hammering in my chest.