Chapter 18
eighteen
Sadie
Maren doesn’t even wait for me to sit down before she asks, “Tell me you kissed him.”
I blink. “Hello and good morning to you, too.”
She wraps both hands around her coffee, eyes bright with purpose. “Did. You. Kiss. Him?”
“No,” I answer, a little too quickly.
Her smile turns slow and smug. “Interesting.”
“There’s nothing interesting about it.”
“Now that is interesting,” she says over the steam of her coffee cup.
I sigh and lean back in my chair, staring up at the exposed brick ceiling like it might rescue me. “We didn’t kiss. We watched the sunset. We talked. It was nice.”
Maren tilts her head. “You’re glowing.”
“Am not.”
“You’re all smiley. And bright. All sunshiny for an early Friday morning.”
I roll my eyes because, no matter what, Maren will not stop until she knows every single detail. It’s one of the reasons I love her so much. I pretend to focus on my latte. The café hums around us, but my mind keeps drifting back to last night.
Our makeshift picnic on the beach. The way the sky went soft around us. Colson opening up about everything that happened the night that changed everything.
“Okay,” Maren says, tapping the table. “Then what did happen?”
I hesitate. That’s mistake number one.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh god. What did you do.”
“We held hands,” I share, wincing.
Maren freezes. “Held hands?”
“It was barely holding,” I rush to clarify. “More like… at the end.”
Her eyes light up. “Explain.”
I sigh. “He walked me to my car. We were talking about nothing, the kind of things you say when you’re not ready to say goodbye yet.”
I pause, remembering. We’d stopped beside my door, the night quiet around us. There were a few people out on the streets but we stayed on the beach for a while. Neither of us reached for the door handle. Neither of us stepped back.
“And then,” I continue slowly, “he reached for my hand. Just… took it. Like it made sense.”
A flashback of last night settles in, gentle and warm.
The heat of his palm. The way his fingers laced with mine, unhurried, deliberate. The squeeze—light at first, then firmer—like he was grounding himself. Or maybe grounding us.
I’d squeezed back, my thumb brushing his knuckles without thinking. Not desperate. Not dramatic. Then he thanked me for a good night—the first one in a long time—according to him. I’d be lying if it hadn’t sent a jolt of electricity through me.
Back in the café, Maren is staring at me like she’s watching something secret be revealed.
“You loved it,” she states.
I smile, thinking back. “I really did.”
She grins. “Did you squeeze back?”
“…Yes.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know,” I say weakly. “Longer than necessary.”
She presses a hand to her heart. “I am unwell.”
“It wasn’t about kissing,” I insist, suddenly serious. “It didn’t need to be. That moment felt… complete.”
Maren softens, nodding. “Sometimes it is.”
I look down into my cup, smiling despite myself. “It was enough.”
She lets out a dramatic sigh. “Please explain why I’m kicking my feet over this. I fully expected a steamy make-out story, and instead I’m getting misty-eyed over a damn hand squeeze.” She swipes at the corner of her eyes. “I even went to Cherry Pit and asked Birdie about you two.”
“Maren,” I groan. “That’s cheating.”
She shrugs, unapologetic. “Sue me. I was excited. And a little bored, okay?”
I roll my eyes and pretend to be annoyed, but I’m not. I take a long sip of my latte, trying—and failing—to hide my smile. No matter what, I love that I have a friend who cares enough to do slightly unhinged things like this.
“Anyway,” she continues, eyes wide again. “Birdie told me she heard a lot of laughing from your table.” She shimmies her shoulders in a way that has me stifling a laugh.
“We had fun. We did the thing where you trade questions–”
She presses a hand to her chest, already emotional. Maren cries about everything. “Stop. That’s my favorite.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at her. I love her forever but I know she’s about to deep dive. “It was nice. He shared more than I thought he would.”
“Of course he did,” she adds, voice wobbling. “You know you fucking deserve it. After everything.”
I hear her words. I really do, But part of me is afraid to lean into it too far. I don’t want to get my hopes up.
Maren lifts her mug in a coffee toast. “To the hand squeezes that ruin you for everyone else. And the bad bitches who deserve them.”
I walk one of the local trails, letting the quiet of a Friday morning settle around me. Each minute that passes brings us closer to the rush of tourists on their way—the inevitable swell which comes with summer in a lake town. Right now, though, it’s still calm.
The sun is already warm, amplifying the scent of sunscreen on my shoulders as it heats my skin.
Not a cloud in the sky. It’s going to be a hot one.
I smile to myself, thinking about the local vendors setting up for the day, about cool treats and overworked food trucks, about people giving in to takeout because leaving the beach early never feels worth it.
The trail curves, familiar under my feet, and before I realize it, I’m passing the spot where Colson and I watched the sun sink into the lake.
My steps slow.
A prickle of nerves sit beneath my skin, then comes the smile, the one I don’t bother trying to hide. It carries a feeling I haven’t let myself have in a long time. Too long.
Hope.
It’s the kind that sneaks up on you when you meet someone and suddenly the space you didn’t know was empty starts to feel… noticed. Like maybe there’s room again. Like maybe the thing you’ve been missing hasn’t been lost after all.
The thought makes me nervous. But as I keep walking, breathing in the warmth of the morning, I let myself wonder if maybe it’s time.
Which is quite the jump, considering I have no idea what last night was even about. Neither of us confirmed it was a date. It was simply us spending time together. Me showing him around.
The way he opened up about that night with his team. His injury and the pressure to come back too soon. Colson didn’t just open up but he started telling me secrets. Surprising, considering getting him to share anything real about himself has always been a struggle.
I’ve not talked about my ACL injury longer than I can remember. All the locals know the story, there wasn’t anything else to tell. My time as an up-and-coming basketball player is so far in the rear-view mirror that it felt like a completely different life.
Do I miss being part of a team? Sometimes. I think it’s the feeling of belonging, being a piece of something bigger and working toward a shared goal. Spending time with people who challenged me, pushed me, made me better.
Tearing my ACL ended my basketball career. It also quietly unraveled most of the friendships that came with it. I still keep in touch with a few former teammates, but it isn’t the same. Without the game, the connection thinned.
I came back to Golden Harbor because it felt safe. Like the beach knew me—like it could help soothe the burns left behind by the fallout. I know, deep down, that my next step probably isn’t here. But every time I think too hard about what comes next, my stomach twists in on itself.
There’s a time and place to face that. This isn’t it.
Right now, I need to figure out how to get Colson to agree to help coach the summer tournament.
I started it last year, mostly as an experiment, and it turned into something better than I could have ever imagined.
I reached out to a handful of rec centers within a few hours of mine and pitched a basketball tournament.
Each center brings teams for three age groups, and we run small brackets for each one.
Last summer it was hosted about thirty minutes away. This year, it’s here—in Golden Harbor.
Colson has no idea this is a thing. I feel a little guilty springing it on him now, but if I’d told him upfront, there’s no chance he would’ve agreed. Honestly, the commitment alone might’ve been enough for him to say no to helping at all.
I need teams confirmed. I need coaches. I need backup plans.
So I add one item to the top of my to-do list:
Get Colson to say yes.