Chapter 11 #2
Rosie raised a brow, her eyes flicking from Keefe to Gwen and back again.
She didn’t consider herself overly romantic, but even she had to admit they were more than just a handsome couple.
There was something between them—something intangible yet unmistakable.
It was like the soft, steady rhythm of rain falling outside the window, comforting and alive, something you could feel deep in your bones.
“That sounds dangerously domestic,” said Rosie with an exaggerated horrified look.
Gwen couldn’t tell if that was teasing or something else, but she just shrugged and said, “Only because he promised I’d get to knead something muscular.”
That made Rosie laugh. “Sounds like you’ve finally met your match, Keefe.” She turned back to the grill. “You’ll be wanting your usual I suppose—unless you want to play it safe?”
Keefe looked at Gwen. “You game?”
“Always.”
“Two mucky bacon burgers—with ketchup—and side of curry chips coming right up. Cheese on your chips?”
“Cheese makes everything better,” declared Gwen.
Keefe couldn’t hold back. He took her face in his hands and kissed her—hard and fast—as if he meant every damn second, but had to keep it brief.
As Rosie got to work, Gwen watched the easy way Keefe leaned against the truck, chatting like he belonged there. Which, clearly, he did. This was his world—easy, warm, rooted. And here she was, a woman who had burned every loaf of bread she ever made and talked to her plants.
Still, when Keefe looked at her and said, “Wait ‘til you try these,” she too felt included, like she wasn’t just an outsider. She was his.
They found a spot on the grassy rise above the sand, burgers wrapped in paper and drinks sweating in the sun. And as they sat cross-legged on the blanket he’d somehow remembered to bring, Gwen realized she was starving—for the food, for the day, for more of this .
She took a bite and groaned. “Okay, I’ll give it to you. This is the best burger I’ve ever had.”
Keefe leaned in, that grin back in full force. “Told you.”
“What’s her secret?”
“She sprinkles just the tiniest smidge of cocaine on the cheese.”
Gwen, who’s mouth was full, stopped chewing and looked at him a moment. He’d said it so easily. “You are joking…”
He winked and grinned. “It’s her homemade sauce. She keeps that recipe locked up tighter than Fort Knox.”
Gwen smiled and finished her bite of food. “You called me your girlfriend.”
“Was I being too presumptuous?”
Gwen shook her head. “No, I liked it. So, I guess that makes you my boyfriend.” She felt a little too old to be saying such things. Boyfriends and girlfriends seemed like something from a bygone age. But it was oh so sweet.
For a moment they just looked at each other, the salty wind tugging at her hair, the sound of gentle rolling waves in the distance. There was something easy and yet heavy in the air between them, like the moment before a kiss or a promise.
Neither of them moved. But they both felt it.
Now they sat side by side on their checkered blanket, nestled into the warm sand while the sea churned and crashed in rhythmic, hypnotic waves just beyond them.
She marveled at the sight. Never had she seen so many shades of blue.
To their right, just past the weathered stone wall, a quiet campsite stretched out—scattered with cozy caravans and rounded yurts, their canvas sides glowing softly in the fading light.
Though it wasn’t busy—after all, it was a weekday—she could almost hear the distant echoes of children’s laughter, imagine neighbors exchanging warm hellos and stories, catching up after months apart.
Summer was the only time they truly gathered, their brief, precious season of togetherness beneath these wide, open skies.
Then again, what did she really know about togetherness and family? Only distant dreams that always felt just out of reach.
The salty breeze tossed Gwen’s hair around her face as she traced idle shapes in the sand beside her.
Keefe lay back on his elbows, watching her with quiet amusement. “You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?”
“That one.” He tapped his chest. “Like you’re here, but also miles away. Thinking heavy thoughts.”
She glanced out at the ocean, the horizon hazy and infinite. “I suppose I am.”
He shifted to sit up, brushing sand off his jeans. “Tell me.”
Gwen opened her mouth, then hesitated. Her pulse quickened.
This was it. The perfect moment. No distractions. No noise. Just the two of them, the waves, the bright sky, and the truth.
She swallowed. “Keefe, there’s something I need to tell you.”
His brow furrowed slightly in concern. “Okay...”
She looked at him then—really looked at him. At the kindness in his eyes, the openness. How easily he trusted. How he’d let her in without question. Her throat tightened.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she began, her voice barely above the wind. “When I came here, I wasn’t?—”
A sudden bark cut through the air.
Then shouting.
A golden retriever came barreling down the beach, ears flapping, tongue lolling. He skidded across the sand and nearly took out the edge of the picnic basket before planting himself right in front of them with a triumphant woof, tail wagging like mad and a weathered stick clutched in his jaws.
“Murphy!” a breathless voice called from down the shore. “Jesus, would you come back here now!”
Keefe let out a startled laugh as Murphy promptly dropped the stick at his feet, then lunged up to lick his face.
“Hi there fella,” Keefe said, trying to fend off Murphy’s affections.
He turned his face away just in time for the dog’s slobbery tongue to hit his ear instead.
“All right, settle down and I’ll throw your stick!
” he said, laughing as he wiped his cheek.
Gwen watched as Keefe got up, brushing sand off his jeans to play fetch. All she had to do was ask him to stay and he would have but the moment was gone.
He bent to grab the stick and gave it a lazy toss down the beach. Murphy tore after it in a blur of gold and sand. “Go get it boy!” he said with a grin. Then he turned to Gwen, extending a hand to help her up.
She took it, letting him pull her to her feet.
The owner finally caught up, puffing and red-faced, leash dangling uselessly from one hand. “So sorry, he thinks every picnic is an open invitation. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No worries,” Keefe replied, tossing the stick once more as Murphy barked in approval.
As the man clipped the leash back on and led Murphy away with a wave, Keefe turned back to Gwen, still smiling. “Well, where were we?”
“Nowhere important.”
She shook her head with a small laugh, her pulse still thudding. But she had gone quiet, her eyes on the sea.
Keefe turned to her. He looked at her a beat longer but didn’t push. Instead, he reached over and laced his fingers through hers, then pulled her arm through his before easing her into a walk in the sand.
He was so happy, and the day had been so lovely and right.
She would tell him.
She had to.
Just... not yet.