1. Snog on the Beach #2
“Your son—August, right?” I remember him mentioning his kid during one of our brief conversations at the wedding. “How old is he?”
“Eight going on thirty-eight.” Hayes’s face softens with obvious affection. “He’s way smarter than me already. Chess savant, gifted student, obsessed with quantum physics.”
“Quantum physics? At eight?” Actually, the kid sounds a lot like me when I was his age.
“He asked for Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time for Christmas last year. I got him the illustrated version, thinking it might be more accessible, but he was insulted. Said he wanted ‘the real one, Dad.’”
I laugh. “He sounds amazing.”
“He is.” Hayes fiddles with his camera strap. “So, I heard your sci-fi series is doing well on Bingeflix. Hallucination AI, right? August would love it.”
I blink in surprise. “You know about it?”
“Zach, the original groom mentioned it. Said you were the next big thing in screenwriting.” Hayes shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “I might have looked it up after we talked at the rehearsal dinner.”
“Okay. I’m officially flattered.”
“Yeah. The premise sounded incredible—Hallucination AI, a real thing, forcing alternate versions of people to confront each other.” His enthusiasm is palpable. “It reminded me of some of the best Star Trek episodes, but with a modern twist.”
I can’t hide my smile. “You’re a Trekkie?”
“Original series, all the way. Though I did enjoy Next Generation too.”
“Let me guess—you related to Spock’s struggle with human emotions?”
Hayes looks at me with new interest. “How did you know?”
“Just a hunch,” I say, though it’s more than that. Something about his composed demeanor suggests someone who feels deeply but carefully manages those emotions. “I was always more of a Captain Kirk fan myself.”
“Bold, impulsive, willing to break the rules? Yeah, I can see that.”
We fall into step together, walking along the shoreline.
The conversation flows so easily it’s almost disorienting.
We dive into debates about things in the Marvel universe, argue good-naturedly about the best Next Generation episode— Measure of a Man, but Hayes goes for Tapestry, which is just objectively wrong—and discover we share an embarrassing love for sci-fi D-lister movies.
“Wait, you actually saw Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf ?” Hayes asks, incredulous.
“Not only saw it—I hosted a viewing party… with themed drinks and everything. My boyfriend was on the screenwriting team.”
He throws his head back and laughs, real and unguarded. “I think I’m in the presence of greatness.”
My heart flutters as the setting sun casts a golden glow over everything, including Hayes’s face, highlighting the angles of his cheekbones and the warmth in his eyes. Our conversation shifts to more personal territory as the light softens around us.
“So, a screenwriter boyfriend?” Hayes raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Actually, he was the second of two in a row. When you work as much as I do, that’s the dating pool because it’s the only men you meet.
The first hated that I worked all the time, which is rich coming from someone who once forgot my birthday because he was on a deadline.
The second couldn’t handle that Hallucination AI did better than Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf . ”
“Their loss,” Hayes says simply. “Talent isn’t threatening; it’s inspiring.”
I study him, trying to figure out if he’s feeding me a line, but his expression is open, genuine. “What about you? Anyone since...”
“Since Sarah died?” He completes my hesitation. “No. It’s been almost two and a half years, but between grief, raising August, and trying to build my career...” He trails off. “Dating hasn’t exactly been a priority.”
“I understand,” I say quietly. “It’s only been two months since my mom passed. Time feels... strange. Sometimes it’s like it happened yesterday, other times it feels like years ago.”
Hayes nods, his eyes reflecting understanding. “The worst is when you forget for a moment. When something good happens and you reach for your phone to call them, and then—”
“—and then you remember all over again,” I finish. “Yeah. I hope that part gets easier.”
“It does… a little. For me, it’s when I’m in the grocery store. I’ll see her favorite cereal or the yogurt she used to buy for August, and it hits me all over again.”
“For me, it’s movie trailers. Mom and I used to text each other about every new one that came out, debating whether the movie would be worth seeing.”
We’ve stopped walking, standing face to face as the waves lap gently at our feet. The moon is now lighting the sky, and he’s so handsome with his face illuminated, the sharp angles of his jaw and the reflections in his blue eyes.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he says, and I know he does.
I’m not sure who moves first. Maybe we both do, drawn together by some invisible force—that “zing” Skye was talking about.
His lips find mine, tentative at first, then with growing confidence as I respond.
His hands cup my face, as if I’m something precious, and mine find their way to his hard chest, feeling his heartbeat race beneath my palm.
I move my hands upward, threading my fingers into his hair.
And that does it. His kiss deepens, becoming desperate, and we stumble backward until the jutting rocks swallow us in the shadows.
Hayes murmurs, “No one will see us here,” and we continue, huddled in our private cove, the moonlight glinting off tide pools, every nerve igniting.
There’s this unexplainable magnetic pull, and somehow, we’re so intertwined, it’s impossible to tell where he ends and I begin.
His fingers trail a scorching path down my spine to my waist, then dip even lower.
My breath hitches in his mouth—raw, needy, as though I’ve been starving for this moment my whole life. My pulse hammers in my ears.
“Is this okay?” he rasps against my neck, his words vibrating against my skin.
“More than okay,” I gasp, peeling the flimsy cover-up from my shoulders and letting it fall to the sand. The taste of salt from his lips mixes with the night air, and I’m dizzy with want.
Are we really doing this?
My bikini top slips free under his greedy fingers. He steps back for a breath and simply stares, eyes dark with hunger. Every inch of me feels worshipped under his gaze.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, eyes black with need. Then his lips crash into mine again, voracious and relentless. Our tongues grapple, bodies slick with sweat as wavelets crash, echoing the frantic drum of my heart.
This is definitely a new kind of beach experience.
I glide my hand down to his swim trunks, pulling the tied string loose; they tumble useless to the sand. I drink him in—every ridge and curve—and hell yeah, we’re doing this.
We’re almost skin on skin, his hardness pressing against my swimsuit bottom, just under my belly button.
With a growl, he hoists me up; my legs clamp around his hips, and I tuck my fingers into his tousled hair.
His mouth trails down my neck, across my collarbone, teasing every nerve when a flash of light suddenly illuminates us.
“Daddy, I just took a picture of sea turtles!” a child’s voice exclaims, followed immediately by more light that doesn’t go away. “Why aren’t those people wearing clothes?”
I freeze, mortified, as Hayes scrambles to position himself in front of me. I put my hands over my chest, squinting into the beam of a flashlight.
A father and son stand there—dad with bulging eyes and the child clutching a plastic bucket and small flashlights.
“Sorry, sorry!” the father says, grabbing his curious son by the shoulder. “Come on, Billy, let’s go look for turtles over there instead.”
“But those people—”
“Were just swimming,” the dad says, herding his son away.
As they retreat, Hayes and I look at each other in stunned silence for a beat before bursting into laughter.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, struggling to find my bikini top with shaking hands. “That kid’s going to need therapy.”
“A birds and the bees discussion on the trip home?” Hayes says, pulling his swim trunks on.
Our laughter subsides into something softer, more intimate. Hayes reaches out to brush sand from my shoulder, his touch lingering.
“That wasn’t exactly how I planned our first kiss to go,” he says.
“You planned it?” I smile.
“Let’s just say I’ve been thinking about it since I talked to you at the rehearsal dinner.”
The confession sends warmth spreading through my chest all over again. “Me too.”
He takes my hand; his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “My room has a private balcony. And a door that locks. And no curious children with flashlights.”
I bite my lip, considering. Every logical part of my brain is screaming that this is a bad idea—I’m not good with one-night stands, and if it worked out, I can’t handle long distance relationships either.
But I hear Skye’s encouraging voice in my head, and the part of me that hasn’t felt this alive in months, maybe years, wants nothing more than to follow him back to that room.
“Yes,” I say simply.
His smile is eager as he helps me put back on my bikini top. I’m retrieving my cover-up when my phone chimes from inside it. I’d almost forgotten I brought it.
I’m about to silence it, but when I check the screen and see Paisley’s name, something tugs at my conscience. “It’s my sister—she’s pregnant, and she never calls this late.” I give him an apologetic look. “Just one second, promise.”
“Take your time.”
I answer with, “What’s up, Paisley?” trying to sound like I haven’t just been caught mostly naked on a beach.
But the sound of her sobbing immediately cuts through my attempted nonchalance.
“Paisley? What’s wrong?”
“I’m in early labor, Bri,” she chokes out between sobs. “The doctors are trying to stop it, but... I’m scared. It’s too early for him.”
My heart plummets. I look at Hayes, who’s watching me with concern, and I know my face must show everything.
“I’m coming home right now,” I say into the phone, already calculating the fastest route back to Atlanta as I disconnect and get the hospital information.
“Brielle—” Hayes begins, but I’m already gathering my things, my mind shifting completely into crisis mode.
“My sister’s in early labor,” I explain quickly. “I have to go.”
“Of course. Let me help you get back to your room. Do you need a ride to the airport?”
Even in my panic, I’m touched by his offer. “No, I’ll figure it out. I’m sorry, Hayes. This was... this would have been...”
“Hey.” He catches my hand. “Go take care of your family. That’s what matters.”
I nod, emotion clogging my throat. As I turn to hurry back to the hotel, I can’t help feeling that once again, reality has reared its ugly head. The story of my life condensed into one perfect, interrupted moment on a beach in paradise.