Chapter 19
Nineteen
Liz
The light is soft when I wake, filtered through gauzy curtains that move with the breeze.
I should get up. I should shower, get coffee, and find something to do that doesn’t involve staring at Alaric.
Instead, I linger. The morning is still in a way that feels rare—no phone notifications, no work, no pretending.
Just the soft hush of the ocean through the open balcony doors and the steady sound of him breathing.
When I finally move, I slide out of bed and pull the sheet up over him. The floor is cool under my bare feet. In the bedroom mirror, I can see whisker burn.
After a minute, I hear him stir behind me. A rough sound escapes his throat, half a groan, half a sigh, and I turn to see him stretch, his hand dragging across his chest before falling back to the mattress. His hair is a mess, sticking up in a way that makes me smile.
“Morning,” I say.
He blinks at me, still somewhere between sleep and waking. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” I curl into the armchair near the balcony. “Too many thoughts. And I just called for coffee and tea.”
He sits up slowly, the sheet slipping down to his waist and his glorious morning erection. I have to look away before my thoughts turn back to last night.
“Are you regretting what we did?” he asks quietly.
“No,” I say. “Just wondering what it means.”
He nods like he understands, and maybe he does. At least we’re acknowledging what we’ve done this time. That feels like progress.
There’s a knock at the door, and I open it to find room service and our morning beverages.
Once we’ve gotten our caffeine, we go through the morning routine.
The conference doesn’t have sessions for us to attend this morning, so we can be tourists or just do more of what we did last night.
It feels a little reckless, but a big part of me wants to stay in the room and have more mind-blowing sex all day.
We decide against that, but it does take some time to get out of bed. By the time we make it downstairs, the breakfast buffet is nearly empty. A few couples linger over coffee and fruit.
Alaric gestures toward a table near the open windows, sunlight spilling across the linen. “Does this work?”
“Perfect.” I drop my bag on the chair and glance at him. “You cleaned up nice today.”
He looks down at his crisp shirt and conference lanyard. “You’re saying this like I had a choice. It’s the uniform of professional suffering.”
I laugh and grab a plate. “Right. Because nothing says cutting-edge psychology like scrambled eggs and a name tag.”
He smirks but follows me to the buffet, waiting while I debate between fruit and pancakes.
“You’re overthinking breakfast again,” he says.
“It’s a talent.” I scoop some fruit onto my plate. “You should see me at a salad bar.”
He chuckles as we move through the line together, our shoulders brushing now and then. When we sit, the ocean stretches wide behind him, blue and endless. He steals one of my pineapple slices before I can stab it with my fork.
“Hey,” I protest. “That was mine.”
“I’m conducting a quality check.” He chews thoughtfully. “Approved.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
We eat in companionable silence and every so often, our eyes meet and the air shifts a little.
He gazes out the window. “Do you think they ever tire of that view?”
“I don’t think you can.” I rest my chin on my hand. “If I lived here, I’d eat breakfast outside every day and pretend I didn’t have to be anywhere.”
He nods. “You’re the one who always said she wanted to live by the water.”
“Yeah.” I look out at the waves. “Back when I thought dreams were things you could just manifest whenever you wanted.”
His expression turns thoughtful. “Maybe you still can.”
I don’t answer right away, just watch the sunlight catch the edge of his smile. This feels different. Not that our past has gone away, but somehow, I’ve stopped running from it long enough to breathe.
I glance down at my coffee, realizing it’s gone cold. The shift in light across the table tells me we’ve been here longer than I thought. But still, I trace my finger along the rim of my cup, not ready to move yet.
He leans back in his chair, eyes on the horizon. “Are you glad you left?”
I look at him. “Left where?”
“Vancouver.” His voice is quiet. “Some days, I think about leaving Paradise and moving back there to start over.”
That catches me off guard. “You’d leave your family?”
He shrugs, his thumb brushing the handle of his mug.
“I became a psychologist to figure out my own stuff, and I came back home to help my sisters and maybe understand my grandmother, but I’ve realized that will never happen.
” He lets out a soft laugh. “I think maybe I’m tired of being the one who always fixes things. ”
I watch him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “You have always been the fixer,” I say. “You were like that even when we were dating. Your family came first, especially when we were in Paradise.”
“Yeah. But maybe I don’t have to be.” He looks down at the table, then back up at me. “Sometimes, I picture a place on the edge of the city. Maybe a practice near the water, fewer patients, more time to actually live.”
He looks away for a moment. There’s something wistful in the way he’s speaking.
“That sounds…nice,” I tell him.
He gives a faint smile. “You used to talk about moving to Salt Spring Island with a big house on the water.”
I smile. “You remember that?”
“Of course, I do. You said you’d fill your whole place with color and noise so it never felt empty.”
The memory makes me laugh. “That sounds like me.”
He tilts his head, eyes warm. “You still could, you know. Do something for yourself. Doesn’t have to be the same dream.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “I moved to Paradise General for myself. Paradise doesn’t move as fast, and working weekends and long days here feels unnecessary. It’s not the same as it was in North Van. I need to adapt.”
He nods, eyes softening. “Maybe we both need to stop striving so hard.”
He goes quiet for a while after that, just watching the water.
He catches me watching him. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. You look…lighter, just talking about it.”
He smiles, and something soft unfurls inside me. “You deserve to be happy, Ric.”
He goes still, the words settling between us. For a second, I think he’ll look away, but he doesn’t. He just holds my gaze. Then he reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine. It sends a ripple through me.
“I think we both do,” he says.
Despite my better judgment, I turn my hand, letting my fingers fit between his. His thumb traces small, absent circles against my skin.
For as long as I’ve known him, I thought his calm was coldness, that his ability to step back meant he didn’t feel.
But now, looking at him, I see what it really is.
He feels everything too deeply, and that calm.
It’s armor. This is the part of him I needed to know existed.
The part that listens and softens enough to let someone in.
We linger long after the plates are cleared, the table now just scattered crumbs and cold coffee. No one rushes us.
This is our last full day. Tomorrow is only a half day before we fly home, back to Vancouver, and then on to Paradise and everything waiting for us.
Ric leans back in his chair, eyes closed, face turned toward the sunlight. He looks content, maybe even peaceful, and the sight knots something in my chest. I can’t remember the last time either of us looked like that.
When he finally stands, he holds out his hand. “Come on. Let’s hit our last session this morning and then make the most of today.”
I let him help me to my feet, feeling the warmth of his palm against mine. As we walk toward the lobby, the sound of the ocean follows us, wrapping everything in quiet. It feels like the stillness before something shifts again. And I still don’t know what that means for us.