Chapter 31 Now
Now
The week has been long and uneven, but today feels different.
The air itself seems softer, like spring is finally settling in.
I curl into my usual chair on the heated screened-in porch, notebook balanced on my knees, and for once, the page doesn’t feel like an enemy.
After my recent breakthrough, it feels like an invitation.
“Write the story you want to read,” Rose told us on the first day.
I hear her voice in my head now. And even though I want to believe her, I still don’t know what that story is.
I’ve started jotting down fragments, like character names, a seaside town that looks suspiciously like this one, and scraps of dialogue that don’t quite connect, but none of it feels whole yet.
The story I want to read doesn’t exist, at least not on these pages, and I haven’t figured out how to write it.
I snap my notebook shut, not angrily this time, just to give myself a break.
Alexa glances over with her stack of neatly highlighted pages, and I swear even her sticky notes have better posture than I do.
She doesn’t say anything, but her eyebrows do, and I almost laugh.
Maybe one day I’ll be as put together as her. Probably not though.
Before I can escape, Rose corners me. Her silver hair is frizzy, which makes her look even more like a literary genius. “Ainsley, don’t settle. You’ll know when it’s right. It’ll feel like home.”
I give her a weak smile, nodding because I don’t trust myself to respond without saying something wildly self-deprecating. “Thanks, Rose,” I say, and she pats my arm before moving on to someone else.
The bike ride into town is a mix of salt, wind, and the wobbly rhythm of my pedaling.
Instead of going back to the bed-and-breakfast to sit in my room and wallow about how I still have nothing to send to Tess, I remind myself I’ve got one more night.
One more chance to pull something together, even if it’s messy.
So I decide to go back to the restaurant I went to on my first night here.
Mostly for a glass of wine, partially hoping to run into Greg, the hot server I was unnecessarily mean to.
Maybe I’ll tell him I’ve reconsidered and I’m ready for my small-town enemies-to-lovers romance after all.
I chain up my bike, smoothing my hair as I step onto the deck.
The host gives me a look that feels just shy of pity as she grabs a menu. “Just you tonight?”
“Yep.” I smile brightly, like drinking alone is my favorite thing in the world. Honestly, it’s slowly getting there.
I order two glasses of wine up front, because one won’t cut it, and a plate of shrimp scampi.
Instead of pulling out my notebook, I pull out my Kindle.
Maybe reading will jog something loose, remind me why I wanted to write in the first place.
Or maybe I just need a break from staring at my own words and hating them.
Either way, I scroll through my Tbr list like it’s my Instagram feed.
The scene is almost comical—I’m sitting here sipping wine, reading romance, and feeling very much like a fifty-something divorcée trying to reinvent herself.
If someone wrote me into a book, I’d be the quirky woman sitting alone at the bar who gives the main character relationship advice while secretly wondering why my own life isn’t that exciting.
Two hours later, I close the Kindle, sign the check, and start the trek back to the bed-and-breakfast. The wine was good, the food even better, but the silence feels heavy.
When I pull up to the house, I park the bike and wave to Beth’s husband, who’s getting the mail.
As I head toward the front steps, I notice a younger guy sitting on the porch in the same chair I was writing in yesterday, which is strange because I haven’t seen a ton of people my age here except for the other writers and the server I suppose I was borderline stalking.
Wait, what if it’s Greg? Did one of his coworkers tip him off?
Something like, Hey, just so you know, there’s this woman who comes in alone, double fists pinot grigio, and stares at the servers like she’s trying to decide whether to ask for their phone numbers or their zodiac signs.
I get closer, trying to decipher his face as I walk up the steps. Relief and confusion hit at the same time when I realize it’s not the hot server. It’s Lucas. My stomach flips but not in the way I expected.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, startled, my voice catching somewhere between surprise and embarrassment.
Lucas leans back slightly in the chair, his arms resting on the sides as he tilts his head at me. “Why have you been dodging my texts and calls?”
I shift awkwardly, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “I wasn’t dodging. I was just, you know…” I wave a vague hand. “Trying out this whole no-phones, off-the-grid writer thing.”
His eyebrows lift. “So you went off the grid, but only with me?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Okay, maybe I was dodging a little.”
He stands, moving slowly, giving me space. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”
“You came all the way here to tell me that?” I asked.
“No,” he says gently. “I came here because I know you. I figured you got cold feet, and you were pushing me away so you didn’t wind up hurt again. And I wanted to remind you that you’re not in this alone.”
I swallow, throat tight. “I got scared. That morning, after breakfast—you made that joke about the dedication, and I laughed, but I was already in my head about it. It felt too familiar. Too much like what happened with Cole. I started thinking about what it would mean if I let this happen. If I lost you.”
Lucas nods, stepping a little closer. “Ains, I’m sorry.
I wasn’t even thinking when I made that joke.
I replayed that morning over and over in my head every day since, wondering how I could be so dumb.
I didn’t know how to say what I actually meant, which is that I believe in us enough to feel like what we have is worth writing about. ”
I want to believe him. I want to trust this. “What if our story doesn’t have a happily ever after? What if our entire friendship goes up in flames? You can sit here and tell me that we’ll figure it out and there’s no universe in which we won’t be best friends, but you don’t know that.”
He sits back down and pats the seat next to him. I hesitate, then sit. The breeze shifts, rustling the leaves above us, and for a moment, it’s just the two of us. No gardeners, no birds, no bed-and-breakfast guests. Just us. He watches me with an expression that feels like safety.
“I know you’re afraid of getting hurt again,” he says finally, his eyes locked on mine.
I nod.
He leans forward, his forearms resting on his thighs.
“I can’t predict the future. I don’t know that if we try this, it won’t go down in flames.
I can’t sit here and tell you that if you give me a chance, we’ll get married, have three kids and two dogs, and die together in our sleep holding hands.
” He pauses for a moment. “I can’t promise you any of that because I don’t know how this ends for us.
But what I can tell you is that the way I feel about you is something I’ve never felt for anyone before.
I just want a chance to show you that it can be different—that we can be different—because we always have been.
I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep choosing you. None of that will ever change.”
I stare at him, my eyes stinging. And for a second, I imagine what it might look like if I stop running. If I let this be real.
Before he can say anything else, I lean in and kiss him. It’s heavier than the ones that came before it, because we both know it’s more than just a kiss. This is me letting go. This is me trusting him with my heart. This is me falling. I melt into his mouth like I was made to do this and only this.
The sound of a car engine in the driveway breaks the moment, but neither of us moves.
Finally, he smiles. “So does this mean I get to see the famous bed-and-breakfast room you’ve been hiding out in?”
I laugh as I stand, brushing my hand against his. “Come on. It’s not much. But the sheets are freshly pressed, and the mattress is more comfortable than I expected.”
He follows me to the door, close enough that my body lights up. “I don’t need much,” he says. “Just you and maybe a door that locks.”
I glance back at him, pulse quickening. “Is that so?”
He leans in, just enough for his breath to graze my cheek. “Yeah. I want to take my time with you.”
We’re not rushing. We’re not pretending. We’re doing this. I feel a quiet click in my chest, like maybe this isn’t just about him. Maybe it’s about me finally choosing to write a different ending, both in my books and in my life.
Once I’ve gotten the door open, we drop our bags and start kissing again.
He pushes me against the wall and picks me up in one swift motion, his hands steady at my waist as my legs wrap around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I’ve never wanted to be anywhere more than right here.
His tongue slides against mine, and a small sound escapes me when his hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head just enough to deepen the kiss.
“I want you,” I whisper, breathless.
“I know,” he murmurs, his forehead pressed to mine. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Something in me aches at the honesty in his tone, and I try to lighten it before I completely combust. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”
He grins, eyes dark, and the look he gives me makes my stomach flip. “I’ll take your edits into consideration.” He lifts me again, and I gasp. “But just so you know, I’m not your meet-cute sidekick anymore.”
My skin alights at his voice, the confidence rolling off him.
“I have heard you have main character face,” I whisper.
He laughs in delight before carrying me the short distance to the bed like he’s been waiting years to do it.
I land with a soft bounce, giggling as I look up at him.
His hair is a mess, his chest is rising and falling like he’s already halfway gone, and his dark brown eyes are looking at me with a level of want I’ve never seen before.
I move my hand down to the waistline of his boxers so I can feel him. My hand grips, tracing the length, and he groans into my mouth as he kisses me.
“I need you right now,” he says, breathless. “I can’t take this any longer.”
“Then show me,” I shoot back, a grin tugging at my mouth.
He climbs over me, and it feels like everything is happening in slow motion, like he’s trying to memorize every second of this. His hand brushes my thigh, and my whole body arches toward him like a reflex.
“Are you still good?” he asks, voice rough.
“So good,” I whisper.
He lets out a low laugh, then leans down and kisses me. His hands trail under my shirt, and I lift my arms so he can slide it off. He smirks and kisses down my chest before reaching behind me to unclasp my bra, which he manages on the first try.
Every kiss, every touch, makes my body buzz. He moves down to my hips, pulling my jeans off, and when his hands trail up my thighs, I can’t stop the shiver that runs through me.
When he finally pushes inside me, I swear the room spins. I cling to him like he might disappear.
His forehead rests against mine, and for a second, everything is quiet except the sound of our breathing and the slow rhythm we fall into like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Like we were always supposed to find our way here.
“You feel…” he starts, then trails off with a groan. “Fuck, you feel like everything.”
His mouth is on my neck, then my collarbone, then lower, and all I can think is: This is what it’s supposed to feel like. I wrap my legs tighter around him, trying to ground myself, because for once, this is a moment that I don’t have to overthink.
He moves with this intensity, like he’s trying to memorize every sound I make.
Every twitch of my hips. Every gasp that slips out when he hits the exact right spot.
I’ve had sex before, plenty of times, but I’ve never felt like this.
Like my body and my heart are synced up for once, and they’re both screaming, Finally! !!
My whole body tenses, then melts into him, wave after wave rolling through me as I hold on and hope he’s not going anywhere. Lucas follows right after, groaning into my hair. We stay like that for a minute—sweaty, tangled, not talking. Instead we’re just existing in this perfect moment.
Somewhere between breaths, I murmur against his ear, “See? I told you missionary had its perks.”
He laughs and then drags his lips down my jaw. “You really had to bring that up now?”
“Obviously,” I whisper, smiling even as my body trembles.
Eventually, he rolls onto his back and pulls me with him. My head rests on his chest, his heart still racing under my cheek. But even as we lie here, naked, flushed, and completely undone, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispers: This changes everything.