43. Sloane
FORTY-THREE
Sloane
The sheets are tangled around our legs, still warm from the friction.
I lie on my side, catching my breath, and Pope’s arm is heavy across my waist. His hand traces slow circles on my hip, lazy and unhurried.
“This place is incredible,” he murmurs against my shoulder. “Not what I expected.”
I glance at the exposed brick wall, the wide-plank floors creaking under every step. “Built in the 1800s. It was a single house once, but they carved it into a quad sometime in the eighties. I got lucky. It’s the only unit with an original, working fireplace.”
He props himself up on an elbow, eyes roaming the room. “How’d you find it?”
“A nurse I work with was moving out. I jumped on it. My parents had to help with the deposit and two months’ rent to move in, but it was worth it.” I smile faintly. “Feels like mine.”
His gaze lingers on me, not the room. “It suits you.”
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling fan creaking overhead. “I thought you said you were leaving today.”
“I was.” He leans down, brushing a kiss to my collarbone. “But I wasn’t about to miss the tour. Best guide in Charleston.”
I snort, shoving lightly at his chest. “You were skeptical the whole time.”
“Until the guide pointed out the house where Washington stayed. I thought that was pretty cool.”
I laugh, the sound spilling out easily, not forced. “Admit it, you liked it.”
His mouth curves. “I liked watching you take it all in. You looked like you belonged here, like this city was already yours.” His fingers trail down my arm, sending a shiver racing through me. “I liked being in your world.”
My throat tightens, but I manage a whisper. “So when do you leave?”
His hand stills, then slides lower to link with mine. “Plane’s at five tomorrow morning. And I don’t want to get on it.”
The words hang there, thick and dangerous. My chest aches, and I swallow hard, torn between hope and fear.
“You don’t want to leave,” I repeat quietly. The part I don’t say out loud is that you will anyway .
His grip tightens. “Not this time. Not from you.”
I want to believe him. God, I do. But I remember what it felt like to watch him shut me out in Palm Beach, to realize I’d been foolish enough to think I mattered when he could walk away so easily.
What if Charleston is just another version of that? What if I’m just another detour, another mistake he’ll regret once he’s back in his world?
I bite the inside of my cheek, hard, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “Pope, I’ve loved this time with you. But you and I both know this could never work. You live in Palm Beach, and I live here.”
His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, steady, patient. “I don’t agree that it can’t work.” His voice steadies. “Let me show you.”
My chest tightens. “How?”
“Next Friday,” he says without hesitation. “Lennon’s done with school at three. I’ll charter a plane, and we’ll be here by dinner. We’ll stay the weekend. He will be pumped. You can show him Charleston.”
My breath hitches, the images rushing in before I can stop them.
I can already imagine Lennon racing through Charlestowne Landing, pressing his face to the glass at the aquarium, digging for shark’s teeth at Sullivan’s Island, even in the cold.
My throat goes tight with a hope I don’t want to trust.
“Are you allowed to travel with him like that?”
“Of course. We don’t have any restraints. He would be over the moon to see you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. He asks about you all the time.” His thumb brushes my skin again, gentler this time.
A laugh breaks from me, unsteady, half-sob. Nothing’s funny, per se, but my body does it involuntarily.
I want to believe him, but the scar runs deep. “It sounds perfect. Which is why it terrifies me.”
His eyes hold mine, unwavering. “There’s only one way to know I’m not ever going anywhere. One weekend at a time.”
The crash of waves is muted from the pool deck, but I can still smell the salt in the air. Lennon’s finally asleep upstairs, worn out from chasing gulls and climbing the dunes, and Pope and I sit side by side in lounge chairs, bare feet stretched toward the pool lights.
“I can’t believe you signed a six-month lease.” I shake my head, still reeling. “You rented a whole house on Sullivan’s Island?”
Pope’s mouth curves, unapologetic. “Seemed easier than checking in and out of hotels every weekend. Lennon needs consistency. And this way, we have a place.” His hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “A home base here. For all of us.”
I swallow hard, looking at the dark outline of the dunes. “I’m keeping my apartment.”
“Of course.” His thumb brushes my palm, steady and sure. “But the offer stands. Anytime you want a break from downtown, you and your bike can escape out here. Swim in the pool, walk the beach. It’s yours too.”
I nudge his shoulder with mine, the glow of the pool lights flickering across the water. “I still can’t believe you signed a six-month lease for this house. You’re crazy, you know that, right?”
He smirks, but the look in his eyes is steadier than teasing. “That call I just took from Caleb? It was good news. I’ve been waiting on their board to vote before I said anything.”
My stomach tightens. “Said anything about what?”
“Mount Pleasant.” He turns his head to meet my gaze. “The hospital deal was approved by the board. We don’t take over until August. You know, contracts, board transitions, all the boring parts. But once it’s official, it means I’ll be here. Permanently.”
The words ripple through me, sharp and dizzying. Charleston isn’t just a stop for him now.
“Pope…” My voice is cautious, but softer than I intend. “Are you saying you’re moving here?”
“I’m saying I want Lennon’s home base to be here.
And mine, too. I don’t expect you to change anything.
Keep your apartment, keep your life. I just want you to know I’m not flying in and out forever.
” His thumb brushes my palm, slow and certain.
“I’m building something here. I’m proving to you that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. ”
The ache in my chest shifts, something warm threading through the fear.
For weeks, I’ve convinced myself I was temporary, a mistake he’d sweep away when the dust settled. But now, sitting here with his hand covering mine, it feels like the ground under us might finally hold.
He squeezes my hand, eyes steady on mine. “One weekend at a time, Sloane. Until it’s every weekend. Until it’s every day.”
And for the first time, I don’t flinch at the thought. I lean into him instead.