Chapter 31 Colson
thirty-one
Colson
News travels fast in a small town. Not in the dramatic, headline kind of way, but the kind that moves faster than texts or social media, carried by conversations and concern and people stopping by “to check in.”
We’ve barely been seated at Cherry Pit when the first person comes over.
Then another, and another. They don’t interrupt for long.
A hand on Sadie’s shoulder. An offer of help.
Someone asking about the rec center, the damage, what still needs fixing.
A guy who I’m pretty sure runs the marina offers to bring tools by later.
A woman from behind the counter slips Sadie a chocolate-covered cherry, like a secret treat to make things better.
It’s… kind of remarkable. I sit there with my glass of cherry lemonade sweating against my palm, watching Sadie respond to each person with the same steady patience, gratitude tucked into her smile even when I can tell she’s tired.
No one pushes. They show up. By the time the third group wanders away, I lean back in my chair and shake my head. “Does this happen everywhere you go?”
She exhales a quiet laugh. “Pretty much.”
“They all heard already.”
She nods. “The Golden Harbor way.”
“It’s… impressive,” I say honestly. “People don’t do this where I live. Well, that’s a lie. They spread the news that may or may not be true in record time.”
“Where you live has at least two million more people,” she points out.
“Still,” I say. “This is definitely different.”
She lifts her glass, the deep red of her cherry wine catching the sunlight streaming through the front windows. Tourists bustle past outside, the warmth of July pressing in every time the door opens.
“It’s how it works around here,” she shares. “Something happens, everyone checks in. Even if they can’t help, they want you to know you’re not alone.”
Something tightens in my chest. Not in a bad way—just with quiet recognition of something I didn’t realize I was missing.
I glance toward the line forming near the counter. “We’re kind of taking up a table.”
She follows my gaze, then shrugs. “We’ll make up for it in the tip.”
Our lunch arrives and some of the people walking in are festive, headbands and hats to match the holiday. After a moment, I clear my throat. “This seems like Golden Harbor’s favorite holiday.”
“We have fun with it. The fireworks from the beach are always a great time but I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite.” Sadie presses her hand to her chest.
“If this isn’t your favorite, which holiday is?” I ask the sort of random question, almost falling into step of the game we played the last time we were here. Trading questions. Learning about each other.
She grins. “Halloween.”
“Really?”
“Love it,” she gushes. “The costumes. Corn mazes. Haunted houses. Golden Harbor goes all in.”
Her eyes light up as she talks, and I can already see it—the town stripped of summer chaos, leaves everywhere, Sadie in a sweater instead of her rec center branded T-shirt.
“It’s gorgeous here in the fall,” she adds. “You should come back.”
I smile. “I’d like that.”
It’s one of the first times we’ve brought up the future.
Something still so murky for me. A few weeks ago, drifting into that place would’ve left me with nothing but frustration.
Now, that’s not the case. The uneasy feeling of not knowing what comes next is still there, but it almost feels like the answer is possible to find.
“So,” she says, resting her elbows on the table. “Favorite holiday?”
“Thanksgiving,” I answer without thinking.
Her eyebrows lift. “Immediate answer. Interesting.”
I roll the glass between my hands. “My mom loved it. Cooking all day. Music on. The house would be warm from the oven and smelling that certain way when you’re making a bunch of dishes. It was what I remember most from being a kid—her teaching me something in the kitchen.”
Her smile is gentle. “That sounds really nice.”
“It was,” I agree, then add quietly, “though it’s harder to do when I play a sport that’s in season during that time but we always found a way to make it work. Even if that meant having dinner on the Tuesday of that week, or a week early.”
She studies me for a beat. “That must’ve been hard. The first one without her.”
I nod once and look down at the almost gone lemonade in my cup. “Yeah. It was.”
The thing about Sadie is she doesn’t seem to push too hard. Or maybe talking about my mom with her is a different kind of experience.
“I’m glad you had those memories,” she says. “Hope you find a way to continue. That’s the magic in remembering.”
I offer her a little smile and nod. I don’t tell her that I spent this last one eating takeout on my living room floor and letting my days off from the team kind of run together.
There was a break in our schedule that allowed us to be dismissed for a few days.
Rare. A cruel fucking trick from the universe to take the one person I’d have wanted to spend it with right before.
Another local waves to Sadie from the door, and she lifts a hand in return.
Small town. Big heart.
Sitting here, watching the way this place wraps itself around her, I can’t help thinking how lucky she is—and even though something dark and depressing brought me to this place, I know how lucky I am to be here long enough to see it.
Time flies with Sadie. After Cherry Pit, walking around town, even watching the apple pie eating contest, I can’t believe the sun is already going down.
We leave the main stretch of the beach behind, the crowd thinning as we walk.
The sounds of the crowds are still there but it starts to feel muted, like someone turned the volume down.
Sadie veers off the path right before the shoreline curves, ducking between two rocky formations I wouldn’t have thought twice about. From the outside, it looks like nothing. Just lake and stone and a sharp bend in the sand. More like the end of the line.
Then she steps past the peak, I follow, and it opens up.
A crescent of beach is tucked behind the rise, hidden enough that if you didn’t know it was here, you’d not even bother continuing. The lake stretches out in front of us, calm and darkening as the sun sinks lower, the fireworks barge barely visible in the distance.
“Wow,” I say quietly.
She glances back at me, pleased. “Told you.”
“You weren’t kidding,” I add. “This is prime real estate.”
She shrugs. “Locals only.” She puts a finger in front of her lips, emphasizing the secret.
She drops her tote and shakes out a blanket, spreading it over the sand with practiced ease. I help anchor the corners, the fabric warm from being folded up all day. When we sit, we both stretch our legs out and lean back on our arms, close enough that we seem to touch.
“This is where you always watch?” I ask.
“Most of the time,” she says. “Unless someone beats me to it. Which never happens.”
“Because no one knows,” I say.
“Exactly.”
The air’s cooler now, the lake breeze cutting through the leftover heat of the day.
Sadie tilts her head towards the sky. “Give it a few minutes. You’ll hear the first one before you see it.”
I glance at her, at the way the lake light catches her profile, how comfortable she looks here—like this place belongs to her.
I turn toward her without really meaning to. Her hair, almost the color of caramel, drifts down her shoulders. She closes her eyes, letting the light breeze run over her skin. When she opens her eyes, she catches me watching her.
“What?” she asks, almost like a dare.
I lean on one arm and use the other to touch her face, my fingers finding the nape of her neck.
Pulling her to me, I feel her melt into it like she was already halfway there.
Her lips are warm and lush, tasting faintly of cherries and summer, and the world narrows to the quiet press of her mouth against mine.
She sighs into the kiss, her hand sliding over my shirt, fingers curling like she’s grounding herself. I deepen it just enough to make my intention clear, but I keep it slow—like I’m savoring something I don’t want to rush. And also, because we’re out on a public beach.
My tongue sweeps along the seam of her lips and then I’m tasting her. She moans and it could be my undoing. She kisses me back, sure and a bit charged, her hand still pulling at my shirt like she’s afraid I might drift away.
Then she’s sitting up, not breaking the kiss, lightly pushing my shoulders back. She pulls away long enough to swing a leg over and straddle me, the movement easy and intentional, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Sadie kisses my jaw, and then down my neck. Her hands move from my chest to my arms.
“Colson Burke, with those good arms,” she teases me, squeezing my biceps. Something flashes across her eyes and puts a hand over her mouth. “Your shoulder. I didn’t even think about it. Are you okay?” She looks around to the sight of my arms propping me up, like she can see an injury with her eyes.
When she tries to stand, I move a hand to her hip, holding her in place.
“The shoulder is fine. Don’t you go anywhere.”
Relief shows on her face and she slowly leans in, bringing her lips back to mine. She nips at my bottom lip and a groan spills from my mouth. I can feel her smiling into it, sinking into my reaction, and I love how she makes me feel like this. I doubt she’ll ever be close enough.
My skin feels like it’s buzzing where she touches, and where I wish she was. The wind picks up a bit, pushing her hair into her face.
She pulls back enough to look at me, tucking her hair behind her ears, eyes bright and lips swollen from kissing. “This,” she says quietly, a teasing smile tugging at her mouth, “might actually be the real reason I brought you to my secret spot.”
I laugh under my breath, my hands sliding to her hips as she sits back, steadying her there. “I feel incredibly honored.”
She leans down again, kissing me once more—slower now, sweeter—but there’s still a spark underneath it, the hum of something charged and alive. A firework bursts overhead, lighting up the lake.
Sadie turns, looking at the sky. The light from another firework catches her face in flashes—warm, then shadowed, then bright again—and something about it makes my chest feel tingly in that good, dangerous way.
She moves until she’s sitting next to me. I pull my knees into my chest, my arms around them. Sadie loops an arm through mine, leaning into me.
Another burst goes off, closer this time, and the sound ripples through the crowd we can still hear but can’t see. Someone cheers in the distance. Here, it’s just us, tucked behind the curve of the lake, the blanket soft beneath us.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” I say.
She turns her head, smiling softly. “You’re welcome.”
We sit there, fireworks going off, and I feel like the moment stretches around us. And the way I feel about her is something I didn’t see coming.