Chapter 23 Day 3, Cabo San Lucas
ASHLEY
When I wake up in Beckett’s arms, for a second I honestly think I’m dreaming. The suite is washed in morning light, and his arm is heavy around my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
For one dizzy moment, I let myself imagine this is a real vacation. A second honeymoon. The kind of romantic cruise people take when they want to find their spark again.
But we’re only pretending—or supposed to be. Even though last night everything felt a little too real.
I still don’t look away. I lie there studying him up close.
His lashes are ridiculously long. His jaw is rough with stubble.
And for the first time, I notice a few silver strands threading through the dark hair at his temples.
They weren’t there a year ago, and a part of me wonders if they’re not a result of the year he’s spent shutting me out, of all those secrets he’s been keeping.
And ironically, they look… good on him. Mature. Distinguished.
I roll onto my side, reaching for my phone—but my gaze catches on his instead. The new one.
The questions I have about that message I saw yesterday rise up, almost taunting me. But…
No. Just no.
Today is for Luna. I refuse to let Beckett’s problems pull me under.
I slip out from under his arm, careful not to wake him, gather my clothes, and take a quick shower. A couple spritzes of the styling product I splurged on, some scrunching, a little fluffing—and thankfully, my hair looks close enough to how it did yesterday.
Today, the ship docks in Cabo San Lucas, where I arranged for the wedding party and several of the guests to go out on a private yacht tour around the arches. Live music, catered lunch, open bar, a true “luxury experience.”
When your little sister shares Pinterest pics of her ideal prewedding excursion, you make damn sure it’s perfect.
I even bought a new dress for it. Aqua cotton, flirty hem, light enough to catch the breeze, finished off with sandals that show off my newly polished toes.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom, the sunlight has climbed higher, slanting across the bed, catching on the dark scruff along Beckett’s jaw.
At the sight of him, along with the memory of how I acted last night…
I just freeze.
When he took me in his arms last night and I reached for him, I was only acting out of habit. That’s all that was.
My body wanted the intimacy our marriage no longer had.
And I’d had a few too many drinks, obviously.
It didn’t mean anything, and… he was right to shut it down.
And I know it shouldn’t bother me. He did the right thing.
But yeah, he was the one to shut it down.
Ultimately, we just fell asleep. Fully dressed, for Pete’s sake—which should make this simpler than it feels.
Without thinking, I walk closer, lean over, and—God help me—almost kiss him.
What the heck am I doing?
I jerk back, heart pounding, and busy myself grabbing my purse, my documents, anything to keep my hands from betraying me.
Sure, a woman can be excused for almost making a pass at her not-quite-estranged husband after a sentimental song and a few too many drinks.
But she absolutely cannot—under any circumstances—kiss him good morning.
I gather my resolve along with my beach bag and slip quietly out of our cabin, careful not to look back.
Every self-help book insists that change—even good change—is hard.
Just like Beckett’s chest.
The thought hits me out of nowhere, and for a split second I just stand there, hand on the door, breathing like I’ve done something wrong.
No.
Not going there.
I need coffee. A very tall one. Something solid. Something that doesn’t stir up doubts I settled weeks ago.
Then I head toward my mom’s room, where the boys are probably already bouncing off the walls, where everything still makes sense.
“Mom!” Max sees me first. “We’re going on a different boat today!”
“And we’re taking a little boat to get to the different boat!” Blakey adds.
Their voices tumble over each other, bright and loud and alive. The sound hits me right in the chest. My boys. My heart. My whole world.
“But Grandma said we take a boat off this boat first. That’s like, hundreds of boats!”
I grin. “Let’s see…” I hold up one finger. “This boat.” I add another. “Then the tender boat that’s going to take us to shore. The yacht where we’re having Aunt Luna’s party. The tender back—”
“Another party for Aunt Luna?” Max’s face scrunches in mock disbelief. “How many parties does one person need?”
Blakey pipes up. “It’s also for Uncle Noah.”
“He’s not our uncle yet,” Max counters, crossing his arms. “You have to be married to be an uncle.”
“Not always,” Blake argues, slipping into his serious tone. “If someone’s your aunt’s boyfriend, and they’ve been together for more than six months, and they practically live together—”
“Where did you hear that?” I interrupt, trying not to laugh.
“Auntie Luna.”
Of course.
They launch into a full debate about the exact timeline required for “uncle status” while I sip my coffee, letting the caffeine and their energy dilute all my lingering doubts.
This. These boys right here are why I need to make good decisions.
Better decisions from here on out.
After a few minutes, my mom comes out of the bathroom, hair smoothed into her blond-silver bob, makeup perfect, wrapped in a floral cover-up and leather sandals—basically the poster woman for Cruise Life Magazine for seniors.
“You look nice, Mom.”
“Why thank you, darling.” Her tone is cheerful, but her eyes do that subtle, assessing sweep. “You look well-rested today.” Then she spots my cup and frowns. “I hope that’s decaf…”
Oh, right.
I’m tempted to pretend to not know what she’s saying, because my mom isn’t supposed to know what she thinks she knows…. Only, my mom won’t care about that, no, my mom, as my mom, will always be…
My mom.
“Of course it is,” I lie smoothly, flashing an innocent smile.
She opens her mouth, no doubt to ask intrusive questions or offer unsolicited advice, until I tilt my head toward the boys—an unsubtle don’t you dare.
Which works, for now.
“I’m so excited for today!” I say brightly, clapping my hands together, effectively changing the subject.
“This boat I’ve reserved for the party—it’s supposed to be amazing.
” I turn to the boys, because if anyone will match my enthusiasm, it’s them.
“The yacht is huge—three decks. If we’re lucky, hopefully we’ll see some dolphins, maybe even some whales! "
“Will there be pizza?” Max asks.
“No, but I bet there will be tacos,” I say. The menu specified was an elaborate buffet of local cuisine. “I got a great deal on it, Mom. Private charter.”
“Well, then, I can’t wait either.” Her smile lingers, but her eyes narrow just a little. “So… you and Beckett… are having a nice time?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” I answer a little defensively.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “But rumor has it that he, uh… got a… tattoo.” She glances over her shoulder and then back at me. “In an intimate area.”
“MOM!”
I am absolutely not discussing my husband’s intimate area with my mother.
“Dad got a tattoo?” Max asks, because little boys may seem like they’re not listening, and if you want them to be, they usually aren’t, but they somehow manage to hear all the things you don’t want them to hear.
Blake looks horrified. “One that won’t wash off?”
I set the cup down before I spill it all over my dress. “You’ll have to ask your father about that.”
“But—”
“Time to get moving.” I march over to the dresser where their clothes are stacked and toss each of them a neatly folded outfit. “You two need to get dressed or we’ll miss the boat. Literally.”
Max groans. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
I shake my head, fighting a smile as I start making up each of their bunk beds, when three knocks sound at the door. Mom disappears to answer it, but then she squees just a little.
“Beckett, darling!”
“Morning, Mom.”
I don’t look up as my mom leads him into the already-crowded little room. “Look who’s here!” she announces. “My favorite son-in-law. The safest bet in town!”
“For now.” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them.
Mom sends me a somewhat baffled scowl. “I love Noah, but he’s gonna have to put in some time to even come close to winning that number one spot.”
“I just ran into Babs,” Beckett says easily, giving her that smile that wins everyone over. “She says to meet her at your favorite table near the omelet station.”
Beckett looks…
Really good. And seeing his hair damp, slicked back, I’m impressed he was able to shower so quickly.
He’s shaved too—though that stubble will be back within the hour—and his white shirt clings just enough to remind me how solid he is.
“But you.” Mom pokes his chest with her finger. “Need to stop working so many weekends. I know you’re a Wall Street big wig, Bex, but family needs to come first.”
Before this week, I would have expected Beckett to say something like…” Someone’s gotta pay the bills,” or, “How else can I support my wife’s little business?”
But instead he says: “I know. And they do. They always will.”
He meets my eyes, jaw set, daring me to argue, and for a second, I’m back in that king size bed, our bodies pressed together…
I glance away quickly.
“Well, then. Good,” Mom says, and then shuffles around, gathering her tote. “I’d better find Babs. Our tender leaves in an hour. Don’t be late.”
“Fifty minutes, Mom,” I correct her. Because I am never late.
Meanwhile, Beckett is helping Max wrestle out of his pajama shirt, telling Blakey to grab the sunscreen.
“Dad,” Max says, hopping on one foot as Beckett helps him into shorts, “can we see your tattoo?”
My head snaps up.
Blakey’s eyes go huge. “Is it a dragon? Or a shark? Or a snake with fire breath?”
Beckett freezes for half a second. Just long enough for me to notice.
“Who said I got a tattoo?”
“Grandma and Mom.”
Beckett looks down at his arms, and then pulls up his shirt, exposing…
Abs.