Chapter 12
Rebekah
I t was weird. In so many ways, I felt like I was managing incredibly well. The extra structure which Luca had brought to my life was amazing. But it was a double edged sword, too. The more time I had, the more stuff I took on.
It wasn’t just the organizing of the fundraiser—it was the actual nuts and bolts of putting together the stalls, co-ordinating materials, keeping in touch with the sponsors and stall owners.
It was a lot, and I felt like I was kind of drowning in it.
I woke to the weight of the seemingly hundreds of unfinished tasks pressing against my chest. Another day, another checklist I’d never fully conquer.
Still half-asleep, I shuffled into the bathroom, catching sight of myself in the mirror as I reached for my toothbrush. Yesterday’s T-shirt clung to my shoulders, its neckline stretched from wear. My reflection was not kind—dark circles hollowed beneath my eyes, and the corners of my mouth were drawn tight with tension. I leaned closer, squinting, almost expecting to find flecks of glitter stuck to my face from last night’s frantic crafting session. But there was none. Only me, worn thin.
"Great," I muttered under my breath, splashing cold water on my face. It didn’t help much. The list of things I had to do today was already scrolling through my mind: inventory counts, fundraiser calls, fixing the display table in The Treasure Trove that wobbled every time someone touched it . . .
By the time I pulled on a loose blouse and my most forgiving pair of jeans, I felt no more prepared for the day than when I’d woken up. But I’d gotten good at pushing through exhaustion. That’s just what you did when people depended on you. So, I grabbed my bag, tied my hair back into something resembling order, and headed out the door.
T he familiar jingle of the bell above the shop door greeted me as I stepped into The Treasure Trove. I braced myself, wondering if Margaret was going to scold me for being late or for forgetting to stock the new yarn shipment.
But instead of her usual stern look, Margaret glanced up from behind the counter with an expression I could only describe as . . . soft. My steps faltered. “Morning?” I said, voice uncertain, waiting for the reprimand to come anyway.
"Rebekah," she said, waving me over. Her tone was clipped but not unkind, which only made me more suspicious. I approached slowly, gripping the strap of my bag like it might somehow shield me.
"Listen," she said, folding her hands on the counter. "You’re off today."
"Wait, what?" The words hit me like a record scratch. “I can’t be off. There’s too much to do. And—and we’re short-staffed today, aren’t we?”
"Fully paid," Margaret added, ignoring my protest. Then her lips curved into this knowing little smirk, and she arched one eyebrow. “Someone arranged it for you. I didn’t quite realize how much work you’re doing for the community center fundraiser. I’m grateful. We get a lot of business from the craft group who meet there. I think I’d kind of forgotten that.”
"Someone?" I echoed dumbly, the word barely leaving my lips before I caught movement in my peripheral vision.
At the end of the aisle, leaning casually against a rack of craft paints like he didn’t have a care in the world, was Luca. His tall frame was unmistakable, even with the morning sun pouring in through the front window behind him, making a silhouette of him. He straightened when our eyes met, his smile slow and self-assured. He looked entirely too proud of himself, like a cat who’d just laid a mouse at my feet and expected praise.
"Good morning, princess," he said, his deep voice rolling across the room as he started toward me. The warmth in his tone sent a shiver along my spine, though I tried not to let it show.
"Did you—" I turned back to Margaret, gaping like a fish. “You can’t just—”
"Go," Margaret interrupted, waving me off with a flick of her wrist. "He’s already talked me into it. Don’t waste my time trying to argue."
"Thank you, Margaret," Luca said smoothly, reaching my side just as I opened my mouth to protest again. He slid my bag off my shoulder before I could stop him, his movements so easy and practiced it left me momentarily stunned.
"Wait," I managed, glancing between them. “What about—?”
"Handled," Luca said, wrapping his fingers around mine and tugging me gently toward the door. “Whatever it is, it’s been handled.” His grip was firm but not unkind.
"Seriously, I have—" I trailed off as Margaret shot me a pointed look. Before I knew it, I was stepping back out into the sunshine, Luca’s hand still wrapped around mine.
For a moment, I just stood there, frozen between the familiar chaos I’d left behind in The Treasure Trove and the unfamiliar lightness of whatever this was. Free time? It felt foreign. My mind scrambled for something to cling to—an excuse, a task, anything—but then Luca’s voice broke through.
“You deserve a day off, princess.” His tone was low, conspiratorial, like we were sharing some grand secret. “Hell, you deserve a year off, but a day is all I could swing for now. I know we have Littlespace time every day, but sometimes you need a little more.” Before I could respond, he leaned down and brushed a kiss against my cheek, the scruff of his jaw grazing my skin. My breath hitched at the casual intimacy of it, but I tried to play it cool.
“No phone calls, no spreadsheets, not even any glitter,” he added with a mock-serious expression that made me want to laugh despite myself. “Unless you really want it.”
I blinked up at him, caught somewhere between gratitude and disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”
“Of course I’m serious. You ever known me to joke?” He grinned, utterly unrepentant, and gave my hand a gentle tug. “Come on.”
I laughed then, a sound that felt strange and out of place after weeks of stress. But it loosened something in me, something knotted tight for far too long. The tension in my chest began to ease as we walked, his hand still wrapped around mine like an anchor. My heart fluttered, drumming with nervous energy and anticipation.
When we reached his car—an executive sedan that always seemed out of place in Small Falls—I hesitated, my eyes catching on the edge of a picnic basket peeking out from under a blanket in the back seat. Next to it were two oversized beach towels, their bright stripes vivid against the leather upholstery. I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s all this?”
Luca slid into the driver’s seat with the kind of easy confidence that made it impossible not to trust him. He reached for my hand again, lifting it to his lips and pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to my knuckles. “We’re going to Golden Sands,” he said, his tone so casual it took me a second to process the words.
My stomach did a little flip. “Golden Sands?” My voice came out higher than I intended. “You mean the beach? The secluded one?”
“That’s the one.” He started the car, the engine purring to life beneath us.
I stared at him, trying to reconcile the impossibility of what he was saying. “How do you even know about that place? You’re new in town!”
“I may be new, but I’ve got friends, Little One. And so do you.”
I let myself sink back into the passenger seat, exhaling a shaky breath. The idea of being whisked away to a private beach by Luca—it seemed almost too good to be true. But here I was, watching the town fade into the background as his car rolled forward, my heart pounding and my smile growing despite myself.
"Alright," I said softly, glancing sideways at him. "Take me to the beach."
I rested my head against the window, watching as the town blurred into open fields and winding stretches of road. The air in the car felt light, and charged with an unspoken energy.
From the corner of my eye, I glanced at Luca’s profile—his strong jaw relaxed, his hands resting confidently on the wheel. That little smirk played at his lips again, the one that said he was entirely too pleased with himself.
"Alright," I said, breaking the silence, "so are you going to tell me what made you decide to play hooky with me today? Not that I'm complaining."
He chuckled softly, shifting gears with a smooth flick of his wrist. “Let’s just say someone needed to remind you that taking care of yourself is not optional.”
"Someone," I echoed, rolling my eyes but unable to keep the smile off my face.
"Don’t roll your eyes at me, princess,” he teased, reaching over to rest his hand on my thigh. His thumb brushed lightly over the fabric of my jeans, sending a tiny jolt up my spine. “You’ve been running yourself ragged for ages. It’s my job, as your Daddy, to make sure you don’t forget how to have fun.”
"Your job?" I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head to look at him fully now. There was something so effortlessly commanding about the way he carried himself, even while driving down an empty stretch of road.
"Mm-hmm." He squeezed my leg gently before letting his hand return to the wheel. “You might be in charge of glitter and spreadsheets, but when it comes to making sure you’re happy? That’s all me.”
I bit my lip, warmth spreading through my chest. He had this way of saying things that should’ve come across as cocky but instead felt reassuring. I could tell that he meant every word.
"Fine," I said, aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably. “But if this involves any kind of surprise karaoke performance, I’m out.”
His laugh filled the car, low and rich. “I don’t recall karaoke being a hard limit on the contr—”
“I’ll safeword so quick you won’t know what hit you.”
Another laugh. “Duly noted. No karaoke. But don’t think I didn’t hear you humming along to the radio earlier.”
"That wasn’t humming; I was clearing my throat,” I shot back, grinning now.
"Right," he said, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. "Completely unrelated to ‘Dancing Queen’ playing at the time.”
"Shut up," I said, swatting at his arm, and he caught my hand mid-swing, bringing it briefly to his lips before releasing it. The simple gesture left me momentarily speechless, my pulse fluttering.
We fell into easy conversation after that, talking about everything from local gossip—the mayor’s dog apparently having its own Instagram account—to embarrassing childhood memories. I found myself laughing more freely than I had in weeks, the tension in my chest unraveling with each mile that passed. He told me about the time he got detention for arguing with his third-grade teacher about the rules of dodgeball—turns out he’s always been very into following the rules—and I countered with the story of how I accidentally glued my hand to my art project in fifth grade.
"Crafting mishaps,” he mused, giving me a sidelong glance. “On brand for you.”
"Careful, or I’ll find some glitter and dump it in your car," I warned, though my grin softened the threat.
“I’ve actually been thinking of getting this old thing re-upholstered. Glitter sounds good.”
The conversation flowed so naturally, so effortlessly, that I hardly noticed the time passing until the scenery outside began to change. The flat fields gave way to gently rolling dunes, golden sand peeking out between patches of sea grass. My breath caught as I spotted the faint glimmer of ocean on the horizon, sunlight dancing on the waves like scattered diamonds.
"Wow," I murmured, leaning forward instinctively. The sight felt surreal, like stepping into a postcard.
"Looks like we’re here," Luca said, his voice softer now, as if he could sense the awe creeping over me.
He pulled into a small, sandy lot tucked behind a line of dunes, cutting the engine and hopping out. Before I could open my door, he was already there, pulling it open for me with an easy grin.
"Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?" I teased, stepping out.
"Not when it comes to you," he said, grabbing the picnic basket from the back seat. The sincerity in his voice made my cheeks flush, but I quickly busied myself by grabbing the striped blanket and . . . a beach ball? I held it up, raising an eyebrow.
"Can’t go to the beach without proper equipment,” Luca said, completely unbothered by my dubious expression. He opened the trunk and pulled out a couple buckets and spades.
"Ohh, sandcastles?"
“Of course. We’re at the beach, baby girl.”
The sand shifted beneath my feet as we climbed one of the taller dunes, the breeze carrying the salty tang of the ocean. By the time we reached the other side, I couldn't fight the giggle bubbling up in my chest. Between the oversized blanket, the half-inflated beach ball, and the buckets and spades, we looked like two kids sneaking out of school for a day of mischief.
"Stop laughing," Luca said, though his own smile betrayed him. “You’re ruining my serious lawyer image.”
"Serious lawyer image?" I snorted. “You’re the one carrying a beach ball. You ruined that image all on your own.”
The crash of waves was louder here, rhythmic and soothing, and I felt the last remnants of my stress melt away with each step.
"Here,” Luca said, stopping near the edge of the dunes. He set the basket down and spread his arms wide, gesturing to the view. “Perfect spot, don’t you think?”
I looked out at the expanse of glittering water, the horizon blending seamlessly into the sky. The beach was nearly empty, just a few scattered figures in the distance, and the sun hung bright but gentle overhead.
"Yeah," I said softly. “It’s perfect.”
I dropped the blanket onto the sand with a flourish, smoothing it out as Luca crouched nearby to unclip the picnic basket. The striped fabric rippled under my hands in the gentle breeze, the colors bright against the pale sand. He handed me a thermos of lemonade and shot me a grin that sent my stomach flipping.
"Start with this," he said, motioning toward the basket still brimming with food. "You need hydration, princess."
I rolled my eyes but took the thermos anyway, unscrewing the lid. “I’m not that fragile, you know.”
"Mm-hmm." His smirk deepened as he pulled out neatly wrapped sandwiches and a small container of strawberries. “You keep telling yourself that.”
The first sip of lemonade hit like pure summer—tart and sweet, outrageously refreshing. I let my eyes flutter shut for a moment, breathing in the salty air and the faint hum of crashing waves. For once, there was no mental checklist ticking away in the back of my mind. No deadlines, no spreadsheets, no stress. Just this: Luca unpacking lunch beside me, the soft heat of the sun on my skin, and the endless stretch of ocean before us.
"Okay," Luca’s voice broke through my quiet reverie. “Swimming first or sandcastles?”
He leaned back on his heels, looking at me with a mix of challenge and amusement.
"That’s a tough one," I said, tapping my chin theatrically. “But swimming sounds pretty good right now.”
"Good choice." He stood in one graceful motion, offering his hand to pull me up. “Let’s go.”
He’d brought a bikini for me, and handed it to me, as well as a towel. I managed to cover myself up while wriggling out of my clothes under the towel. My cheeks felt pink as he watched me. Then, he pulled off his white shirt to reveal an unreasonably beautiful torso. The sunlight danced off his bronzed skin, highlighting the muscles rippling beneath.
I couldn't help but admire the way his navy swim trunks hugged his lean waist. I dropped the towel and Luca's eyes widened imperceptibly before a wolfish grin tugged at his lips.
“Well, that fits.”
“Only just,” I said, adjusting the tight fabric around my bust.
“Seems very good to me.” Another wicked grin. “So, you ready to get wet?”
"Are you sure you’re not afraid of getting your oh-so-serious lawyer hair wet? You don’t want a shower cap?" I teased, slipping my hand into his.
"Young lady," he said, tugging me to my feet with a low chuckle, “I’m about to dunk you under the first wave we hit if you keep that up.”
"Promises, promises," I shot back, laughing as he led me down to the water.
The surf was cool against my toes, kicking up little splashes as I waded in. I squealed when the first larger wave lapped against my knees, sending droplets flying onto my jeans-turned-shorts. Luca followed close behind, his pace measured, his smirk firmly in place as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And then, without warning, his arms came around me, lifting me clean off the ground.
"Hey!" I shrieked, my laughter bursting out in panicked little hiccups as he carried me deeper. “Put me down!”
"Careful what you wish for, princess," he said, his tone as smug as ever.
And then he did it. With an exaggerated flourish, he dipped me just enough to catch the next wave, the water rushing over my legs as his laugh joined mine. I swatted at him, but it was useless—he only held me tighter, spinning us both until I could barely breathe from giggling.
"Okay, okay!" I gasped. "Truce!"
"Noted," he said, finally letting me slide back down into the waist-deep water. But his grin was wide and unapologetic. “For now.”
We spent what felt like hours splashing and dodging waves, my shrieks mixing with his deep, rumbling laugh every time he found another way to surprise me. By the time we stumbled back onto the sand, dripping and breathless, my cheeks ached from smiling so much.
"Alright,” Luca said, raking a hand through his damp hair. “Time for phase two.”
"Phase two?" I arched a brow, watching as he knelt by the edge of the blanket and began digging his fingers into the sand. “What exactly is phase two?”
"Building a kingdom," he declared, his eyes alight with mischief. “Obviously.”
"Obviously,” I echoed, grinning despite myself. Dropping to my knees, I scooped up a handful of sand and let it spill through my fingers. “Fine. But fair warning—I take building projects very seriously.”
"Noted," he said again, already shaping careful walls with his palms. “But I should warn you: I play to win.”
"Win? Oh, honey.” I tilted my head, giving him my best mock-pitying smile. “This isn’t a competition.”
"Of course it is," he said without missing a beat. “Everything’s a competition.”
I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief at his competitive spirit even in something as simple as building a sandcastle. But as I started to shape the castle walls with intricate details, I couldn't help but get lost in the childlike wonder of it all. The sun was starting its descent, casting a warm golden hue over the beach, and the sound of the crashing waves provided a soothing background melody to our playful banter.
Luca's castle was taking shape next to mine, and I couldn't deny the joy that bubbled up inside me at the sight of his focused expression. It was a side of him I hadn't seen before - carefree, unguarded, and utterly captivating.
“Prepare for a seige, King Luca.”
"King Luca, huh?” He glanced up, smirking. “I like the sound of that.”
"Don’t get used to it," I said in a posh accent, my nose in the air. “I’m the Palace Architect, and I have standards , you know.”
"Standards?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly biting back a laugh. “Like these?” He gestured toward my lopsided tower, which had already started leaning precariously to one side.
"That’s intentional,” I shot back, trying to sound indignant. “It’s Brutalist, a modern design.”
"Sure it is." He pressed a finger to the base of the tower, toppling it instantly. “Oops.”
"Excuse me!” I gasped, clutching my chest like he’d mortally wounded me. “That was sabotage!”
"The King is above the law," he said, brushing sand off his hands with a nonchalant shrug.
"Oh, it’s ON now, Your Majesty.”
From there, all pretense of seriousness dissolved into chaos. We lobbed playful insults and made increasingly ridiculous demands—"Build me a turret that touches the sky!" "Fix the moat, or the crocodiles will escape!"—all while systematically destroying each other’s work in fits of laughter. By the time we called a truce, we were both covered in sand, our so-called kingdom more of a disaster zone than anything else.
"Not bad," Luca said, surveying the wreckage with a grin.
“You too. Well, for an amateur.”
"Amateur?” he asked, scandalized. “You’re lucky I don’t banish you from the kingdom.”
"Go ahead," I teased, brushing sand from from arm. “See how far you get without me.”
"Hmm. Fine.You can stay. For now.”
I flopped back onto the blanket, still catching my breath, my cheeks aching from all the laughing and grinning. The sun warmed my skin as I tilted my head to watch Luca, who was crouched over what remained of our sandcastle kingdom. His brow furrowed in mock concentration, he carefully shaped a turret with his hands, smoothing the edges like it was some kind of high-stakes architectural masterpiece.
"I can’t believe you let the moat run dry," I teased, shielding my eyes from the sunlight with one hand.
"Someone had to salvage the situation after you turned the palace into modern art," he shot back without looking up, his lips quirking into that smug little grin he always wore when he thought he was being clever. "And for the record, the moat is structurally sound."
"Structurally sound? Absolute lawyer chat," I retorted, rolling onto my side to face him fully. Watching him like this—his sandy hair sticking up at odd angles, his shirt damp and clinging to his back from earlier in the water—it hit me how different he looked from the buttoned-up, sharp-suited version of himself I normally saw. This Luca was relaxed, playful, completely at ease. Seeing him this way made something flutter low in my chest.
"Okay, fine," I said softly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "This feels like the best day I’ve had in . . . maybe ever."
He paused mid-sculpt, turning his head to look at me. His expression softened, the teasing edge melting away, leaving just that lopsided smile that always made my heart skip. "It does," he said simply, his voice low and warm. "Feels pretty real, doesn’t it?"
"Yeah," I murmured, sitting up and brushing loose grains of sand from my arms. The word "real" hummed through me, resonating deeper than I expected. It felt like he’d plucked the thought straight out of my mind, put into words what I hadn’t been able to name until now.
"Real" wasn’t a word I’d used often when it came to relationships. My past ones had been fleeting or left me constantly second-guessing myself—trying to be easier, quieter, more agreeable, anything but too much . But with Luca, there was none of that. Everything about us felt effortless, like we balanced each other perfectly without even trying.
"Yeah," I said again, this time stronger. I shifted to sit cross-legged in the sand, hugging my knees. "No one else has ever made me feel like this. Safe, I mean. Like . . . I don’t have to hold my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It feels like you really care about me."
Luca leaned back, his hands braced on the sand behind him, his gaze fixed on me. He didn’t interrupt or rush to fill the silence, and something about that made me want to keep talking.
"With you," I continued, meeting his eyes, "it’s like I can just be myself." My voice wavered slightly, but I pressed on. "There’s no guessing, no pretending. Just safety. And yeah, it feels real."
His mouth curved into a slow smile—not his usual teasing smirk, but something softer, more genuine. He sat up, wiping the sand from his hands, and reached for mine. His fingers brushed against my wrist before settling around my hand, warm and steady.
"That’s because it is real," he said, his tone quiet but sure. "I’ve never had this with anyone either, Rebekah. A partnership that feels balanced. Chaos and order, all wrapped together." He gave me a small grin, tilting his head. "Though I think we both know which one of us is chaos."
"Hey!" I protested, bumping his shoulder lightly with mine, though the heat blooming in my chest betrayed how much his words affected me.
"Just saying," he quipped, squeezing my hand once before letting go. "But seriously . . ." His voice softened again, his eyes holding mine. "This works. We work. And I don’t think I’ve ever been surer of anything."
The word "relationship" hung unspoken between us, yet as he said it—"we"—it felt claimed, solidified. My stomach flipped, though not with nerves. It was excitement, pure and simple. I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face if I tried.
"Okay," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "We work."
"Yeah, we do," he said, leaning back into the sand again, his grin widening as if he’d just won an argument. "And for the record, I’m keeping the title of King Luca. Someone’s gotta keep you in line, Palace Architect."
"Don’t push your luck," I warned, but my laugh gave me away.
The sand beneath my legs was warm, the shade of the dunes creeping closer as the sun began its lazy descent. Beside me, Luca shifted, propping himself up on an elbow, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if he were cataloging every ripple of the ocean.
"So, have you thought about going back to Littles League?" His voice broke the silence gently, like he was testing the waters.
The question caught me off guard, and I froze for a moment, startled by how easily he saw through me. A lump rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down, brushing the stray grains of sand from my knees to buy myself time. "I don’t know," I admitted finally. My voice sounded small, even to me. "It’s hard to even think about it with everything going on."
"Because of the fundraiser," he said softly, not a question, just understanding.
"Yeah." I picked at a thread on the edge of the blanket, unable to meet his eyes. "It feels selfish, you know? Like, how can I show up there, laughing and playing, when the center—the place that made all of it possible—might not even be around much longer? I feel like I have to fix that first. Otherwise . . ." I trailed off, unsure how to finish, but the guilt sat heavy in my chest.
"Otherwise, what?" he prompted, his tone careful, coaxing.
"Otherwise, I don’t deserve it," I whispered, barely audible over the hiss of the waves.
His hand found mine, his fingers curling around my own with a steady warmth. I didn’t realize how much I needed that anchor until it was there. When I finally glanced up at him, his expression wasn’t pitying or disappointed—just patient, like he was waiting for me to see something I hadn’t yet.
"It’s not just that, though, right? You haven’t been for a while?"
“Yeah. I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like . . . if I don’t sort out all the issues in my life, I don’t deserve to have fun. Is that dumb?”
“Of course not. It’s hard to relax when you feel like you’ve got things to do.”
“Right.”
“But for you, my feeling is, if you don’t find a way to unwind, doing your work will get even harder. And the Littles League isn’t about earning anything. It’s about being yourself. Finding joy. And if anyone deserves that, it’s you."
My throat tightened, and I blinked rapidly, willing away the sudden sting of tears. How did he always manage to say exactly what I needed to hear without making me feel worse for needing it?
"Maybe," I murmured, my lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. "But I need to focus on the fundraiser right now. I can’t really think about anything else until it’s handled."
He nodded, his thumb brushing absentminded circles against the back of my hand. He didn’t argue, didn’t press—just stayed quiet, letting the weight of my words settle between us without judgment.
"Whenever you’re ready," he said simply. "The league will still be there."
"Thank you," I breathed, the words carrying more gratitude than I could express.
We lapsed into another silence, one that felt less heavy this time. Eventually, he leaned back onto the blanket, his free hand pointing toward the horizon. "Look," he said, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "Pirates."
"Pirates?" I squinted, following his finger to where a small boat bobbed lazily on the water. "That’s a fishing boat."
"Exactly," he said, his grin widening. "Fishing pirates. They’re probably smuggling glitter. Highly illegal in these parts, you know."
"Glitter pirates," I repeated, a laugh bubbling up despite myself. "What are they doing, bedazzling their treasure chests?"
"Obviously," he replied, completely unfazed. "And maybe crafting some very intimidating eye patches while they’re at it."
"Intimidating sparkly eye patches," I managed between giggles. "Yeah, I’m sure that’ll strike fear into the hearts of . . . well, no one."
"Don’t underestimate the power of glitter," he said solemnly, though his smirk gave him away. "Especially weaponized glitter. It’s—" He paused dramatically. "—fabulously deadly."
That did it. I laughed so hard I had to clutch my stomach, tears pricking the corners of my eyes for an entirely different reason than before. I slumped against his shoulder, still chuckling, and felt his arm wrap around me instinctively, pulling me close.
"Careful," he teased, "or the glitter pirates might recruit you next."
"Only if they promise me a sparkly crown," I shot back, grinning up at him.
"I think that’s mandatory." His lips brushed my temple, and I felt his smile against my skin. The moment lingered, sweet and unhurried, as the breeze toyed with loose strands of my hair.
"Do we have any plans for tonight?" I asked after a while, my voice soft, almost hesitant. The thought of extending this perfect day—even just for dinner or a quiet movie—sent a hopeful flutter through my chest.
"Maybe," he said, shifting to prop himself up on one elbow. There was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes now, paired with a sly curve to his lips. "Actually, yes. I have something very special planned."
"Special?" My brows shot up in curiosity, my pulse quickening. "What kind of special? Dinner? A movie? Don’t tell me you’ve got more glitter pirates stashed somewhere."
"Nice try," he said, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was so simple, so tender, that it nearly distracted me from his maddeningly vague answer. "But you’ll just have to wait and see."
"Come on!" I protested, narrowing my eyes playfully. "You can’t leave me hanging like that."
"Sure I can," he said with a wink, leaning back onto the blanket with an air of triumph.
"You're impossible," I muttered, though the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me. My mind raced, trying to guess what he could possibly have planned, but his cryptic expression gave nothing away. Whatever it was, I knew one thing for certain—it would be unforgettable.