Chapter 15 #2
When he eased me back against the pillows and followed, his weight settling over me—warm and solid, there was no urgency driving us. No years of hunger catching fire. Just the two of us relearning each other in the grey morning light—slow, thorough, mapping every response with careful attention.
His mouth traced the line of my throat so slowly I forgot how to breathe. I arched into him and he made a sound low in his chest, and when he finally moved inside me it felt less like sex and more like sealing a promise we’d finally figured out how to make.
After, we lay tangled in the aftermath—his heartbeat beneath my cheek, sunlight warming our skin, nothing between us but breath and quiet and the extraordinary feeling of having finally, finally stopped fighting.
The drive to the coast was almost an hour—winding roads that hugged cliffs, the city disappearing behind us until there was nothing but the Pacific, immense and glittering, stretching to the edge of the world.
“Where are we going?” I asked, watching the coastline unfold through the window.
“You’ll see.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Have a little patience, Wells.”
He was grinning—that real grin, unguarded and warm, the one I’d only seen a handful of times. His hand was on my thigh, his thumb tracing absent patterns through my jeans, and I covered it with mine and watched the ocean instead of questioning him further.
He parked at a pull-off I’d never noticed before—no signs, no tourists, just a gravel patch and a narrow path cutting down through wild grass toward a strip of beach that looked untouched by civilization.
“How do you know about this place?” I asked, climbing out into salt air so clean it stung my lungs.
“Used to come here when I needed to think.” He came around to my side and took my hand. “After you left. I’d drive here and try to figure out what went wrong.”
The admission was quiet. Matter-of-fact. Like he was telling me about a restaurant he’d liked, not a place where he’d nursed a wound I’d given him.
My fingers tightened around his. “And did you? Figure it out?”
“No. I just got really good at sitting on rocks and feeling sorry for myself.”
“That’s depressing.”
“It was extremely depressing.” He led me down the path, steadying me when my foot slipped on loose gravel. “But the view was nice.”
The beach was small and sheltered, hemmed in by dark rocks on either side.
The sand was grey-gold and cool beneath my bare feet—I’d kicked my shoes off at the top of the path, carrying them by the straps.
Waves rolled in and out in that ancient, unhurried rhythm, and the sound of it—that endless patient roar—settled something in my chest I hadn’t known was still tangled.
Jack spread a blanket he’d produced from the trunk—because of course he’d thought ahead, and packed supplies like we were going on an actual picnic.
He pulled out a bag from a bakery I didn’t recognize, and when I opened it, the croissants inside were so flaky they practically dissolved on my tongue.
“Did you plan this?” I asked around a mouthful of butter and pastry.
“I might have called ahead.”
“Taste’s great.”
He sat beside me and stretched his legs out, and we ate croissants and watched the ocean do its thing—exist, endlessly, without caring about the small dramas of the people staring at it.
“This is the most peaceful place I’ve ever been,” I said.
“It’s better now.”
I glanced at him. He was looking at me, not the water.
“Jack.”
“It is. I sat here alone for years thinking about you, and now you’re actually here,” He brushed a flake of pastry from my knee. “It’s objectively better.”
“You’re sappy.”
“I’m honest.”
“Sappy and honest.”
“I’ll accept that.”
I leaned into him, and his arm came around my shoulders automatically, pulling me close. I rested my head against his chest and listened to his heart beat beneath the sound of the waves.
The light was changing—golden hour, that time when the sun hung low and everything it touched turned warm and impossibly beautiful. The water caught the light and scattered it into a thousand pieces.
Jack stood up suddenly, pulling away from me.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer. Just walked toward the water with long, purposeful strides—his jeans getting wet, his shoes still on, which meant he’d either lost his mind or stopped caring about practicality.
He stood at the edge of the Pacific with the golden light blazing behind him, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted.
“I LOVE PAULINE WELLS.”
His voice rang across the water—huge, bright, swallowed by the wind but not before it reached me, every syllable landing in my chest like a bell being struck.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
“I HAVE LOVED HER FOR SEVEN YEARS AND COUNTING,” he bellowed at the ocean, “AND IF ANY OF YOU FISH HAVE OPINIONS ABOUT THAT, YOU CAN WRITE THEM DOWN AND MAIL THEM TO MY OFFICE.”
A seagull screamed. Whether in support or protest, impossible to tell.
He turned back to me, grinning, his jeans soaked to the knees, his hair wrecked by the wind, and he looked so ridiculous and so happy that something inside me broke wide open.
I was laughing. Laughing and crying at the same time, my hand still over my mouth.
“You’re insane,” I managed.
“Probably.” He walked back up the beach toward me, dripping, still grinning like a lunatic. “But now the ocean knows. And that seagull. The fish are informed. It’s official.”
“The fish do not care, Jack.”
“That seagull seemed very invested.”
“That seagull was judging you.”
He dropped onto the blanket beside me—wet jeans and all, not even caring that he was soaking the corner—and pulled me into his lap. His hands cradled my face. His thumbs wiped the tears from my cheeks.
“I wasted seven years not saying that out loud,” he said. “I’m never making that mistake again. I’m going to say it to everything. The ocean. The seagulls. That pigeon you told me about that lives on your fire escape.”
“Please do not serenade my pigeon.”
“Too late. I’ve already composed a sonnet.”
I kissed him. Right there on the beach with the waves crashing and the golden light pouring over us and salt on both our lips. His mouth was warm, tasting faintly of salt and wind, and when he kissed me back—slow, deep, thorough—the rest of the world went quiet.