Chapter 22 #2
He kisses me again, deeper this time, until my head spins. “Relax. I’ll make sure you’re ready for me.”
And he does. His hand slides lower, finding me slick and wanting. He teases first, rubbing slow circles until I’m writhing under him, my fingers clawing at his shoulders. He murmurs against my mouth, “So fucking perfect like this. Pink hair, messy bed, and you trembling for me.”
The compliment hits deeper than I expect, like he sees the parts of me I’m always afraid to show.
When he finally pushes into me, it’s with a careful slowness that makes my breath catch. He pins me to the mattress with his weight, braced on his forearms, watching my face as though documenting every twitch, every gasp.
“Yes?” he asks softly, his forehead pressed to mine.
“Yes,” I whisper. My nails dig into his back, desperate to keep him close.
He moves then, deep and steady, his mouth trailing kisses along my jaw, my throat. The dream flickers in the back of my mind—three men, three touches—but right now it’s only Boone, and that’s more than enough.
The rhythm builds until I’m clinging to him, my breath breaking in ragged moans, his name falling from my lips. He holds me through it, his hand pressing mine into the sheets, his mouth capturing my cries in hungry kisses.
When he comes, it’s with a groan against my shoulder, his body shuddering above mine. He stays braced so he doesn’t crush me, but I wrap my arms around him anyway, pulling him down, wanting all of him.
For a long moment, the room is filled only with the sound of our breathing.
Boone rolls gently to the side, pulling me with him so I’m tucked against his chest. He kisses the top of my head, his lips lingering in my hair.
“I’ve gotta be up for work early,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “But… thank you. For letting me stay the night.”
I nestle closer, my cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“Yeah, I do.” His hand strokes down my back. “Good luck with the mayor today. You’re gonna do great.”
I nod against him, my throat too tight to answer.
When he finally drifts back to sleep, I stay awake. My body is still heated, the aftershocks humming through me, but my mind spins elsewhere—back to the dream. Boone’s weight is still fresh on me, his tenderness, his focus, his care.
But behind it, the ghost of Gabe’s lips, Shepard’s hands, that impossible feeling of being wanted by all three.
I should be embarrassed. Ashamed, even for dreaming about other men when I’m in bed with Boone. That I was aroused by that dream.
But I’m not.
Instead, my pulse stirs again, traitorous and alive, and I let myself lie there in the quiet morning, turned on by the dream as much as the reality.
Ipush my hair back into place, fingers combing through the freshly dyed pink strands that still smell faintly of conditioner. It’s brighter now, sharper, like me trying to reclaim some part of myself that I thought was gone.
I tug on jeans and a loose blouse, and as I button it, I catch myself in the mirror. There’s still the faintest flush to my skin, the ghost of Boone’s mouth on my throat. I look… different. Not fixed. Not whole. But softer. Alive in a way I haven’t been in years.
The memory of last night—and this morning—presses heat between my thighs, but I shove it away. I can’t walk into a meeting looking like I’ve just spent twelve hours wrapped around a man, even if I did.
By the time I sling my bag over my shoulder and lock my door, I’ve mostly wrestled my expression into something calm. Boone’s parting words still echo in my head, though: “Good luck with the mayor.”
He’d said it so casually, like he believes in me without hesitation. That’s new. That’s terrifying.
When I pull up outside the town hall, Jake is already waiting near the steps. He’s in his usual button-down and slacks, though his sleeves are rolled up, a look that makes him appear less like a mayor and more like the boy who used to sneak into bonfires with half the town following behind him.
His easy smile cuts through some of my nerves. But there’s someone standing beside him.
A man in a tailored navy suit, the kind of expensive that doesn’t scream luxury but whispers it. His shoes gleam like they’ve never seen dirt, and he holds himself with the calm confidence of someone who knows people will listen when he speaks.
Jake spots me and waves me over. “Sadie! Perfect timing.”
I step forward, my tote bag bumping against my hip, and nod at both of them. “Morning.”
Jake gestures to the suited man. “This is Julian Vance. I don’t know if you’ve officially met.”
Julian offers his hand. His grip is firm, his smile polite but assessing, like he’s already cataloging me in some mental file. “Julian Vance. I run a few of the development projects around Driftwood Cove.”
I know the name. Hard not to, living here. It’s stamped across half the flyers for new housing proposals, storefront renovations, and something about a lakeside lodge resort that had people whispering over coffee last winter.
He’s not a stranger, even if we’ve never spoken.
“I’ve seen your name,” I admit, shaking his hand. “A lot, actually.”
He chuckles, smooth. “That’s the idea.”
Jake clears his throat, stepping back into the role of bridge between us. “We wanted to talk with you about the mural, now that it’s finished.”
Finished. The word makes my heart squeeze. For weeks, it’s been my world—the wall, the sketches, the paints. My body aches from the hours I’ve poured into it, but there’s a thrill too, a sense of accomplishment I’d forgotten I could feel.
Julian’s gaze sharpens. “The work you’ve done has been nothing short of transformative. People are talking, Sadie. Not just here in Driftwood Cove. Word’s spreading to the neighboring towns, and that’s exactly what we want.”
I blink. “It is?”
Jake smiles. “You’ve given us a face. Driftwood Cove is known for fishing and old diners, sure, but this”—he gestures broadly, as if painting the mural in the air—“this is something that makes people stop and look. It tells them we’re not just holding onto the past, we’re building something new.”
Julian nods. “And if we can build excitement around this beautification process, it helps everything else. Elias is spearheading the parks project—new trees, flowers, a whole focus on green spaces. I’ve got developments tied to revitalizing the waterfront and downtown.
It all connects. Your mural is the anchor. ”
Anchor. The word hits me in a way I can’t quite name. For so long, I’ve felt unmoored, drifting. Now suddenly they’re saying my art is holding something together.
Julian pulls out his phone, swiping quickly before holding it up. “I’d like us to do an official unveiling. Local news is already interested. If we can get coverage, it makes the whole beautification process more visible. More investors, more volunteers, more pride from the locals.”
I glance between them. “An unveiling?”
Jake steps in gently. “Tomorrow at midday. A short event. A few words from me, maybe from you if you’re comfortable, then we pull back the tarp and let people see it all at once. It’ll make a splash.”
Tomorrow. Midday. My stomach flips. That’s soon. Too soon.
But then something strange happens inside me. Instead of dread, there’s… a spark. Excitement. The kind that makes my hands itch for a brush, makes my chest feel lighter than it has in years.
I hear myself saying, “Yeah. Yes, I can do that.”
Julian smiles, satisfied. “Excellent. We’ll arrange press and make sure everything’s set. It’ll be the kind of thing people talk about all year.”
Jake clasps my shoulder briefly, warmth in the gesture. “You’ve done good, Sadie. You’ve given this town something to be proud of.”
And I feel it, for the first time in so long. Pride.
I nod, my throat tight. “Thank you. I—I can’t remember the last time I was this excited about a project.”
Because truthfully, I can’t. My art used to be an escape, then it became a burden, then it became nothing at all. The murals I did in other towns were survival—commissions to pay bills, to prove I could still function. But this… this feels different. This feels alive.
Julian pockets his phone, already moving toward the next step. “We’ll be in touch with details. Congratulations, Sadie.”
He shakes my hand again before striding off, efficient as ever, probably headed to another meeting that could shape the town’s future.
Jake lingers, softer. “You okay?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Just… nervous, I guess.”
“That’s normal,” he says. “But you’ll do great. Trust me. Driftwood Cove needed this. We needed you.”
His words echo after he leaves, the weight of them settling over me.
Needed me.
I stand there for a long moment, sunlight warming the steps, my tote bag heavy against my side, before finally turning toward home. My chest is tight, but it’s not fear this time. It’s anticipation.
I can’t wait to see the mural unveiled. I can’t wait to see the town’s reaction.
I can’t wait to see myself in that moment—someone who made something that mattered.
I’m not just surviving. I’m building.