Chapter 16
LEIGH
It was nearly nine when I pulled into the garage parking lot, the pizza box warm on my passenger seat. Dex’s truck was still there, and lights glowed from the shop floor.
I’d texted him an hour ago asking if he’d eaten. His response—Too busy. Forgot—made me feel bad for keeping him busy so much. I should have realised that things would have been backing up at the garage.
The garage bay door was open, classic rock playing low from somewhere inside. I found him under the hood of a beat-up Chevy, grease streaked across his forearm, that focused expression on his face that I’d come to recognize. The one that said he was trying to lose himself in work.
“You know,” I said, leaning against the doorframe, “most people stop working when it gets dark.”
His head jerked up, surprise flashing across his face before it melted into something warmer. “Most people don’t have three cars to finish by Monday.”
“Most people also eat dinner.”
“I was going to…” He stopped, caught the smell of pizza, and grinned. “You brought food.”
“I brought bribery.” I held up the box. “Pepperoni and sausage. Your favorite, according to Xander.”
“Xander talks too much.” But he was already wiping his hands on a rag, that smile still playing at his lips. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to.” I set the pizza on his workbench, carefully avoiding any tools or parts. “Besides, I haven’t seen you in two days. I missed you.”
Something in his expression shifted. Softened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I moved closer, drawn to him like always. “Terrible, right? We spend every day together for weeks and then two days apart feels like forever.”
“Terrible,” he agreed, but his arms came around my waist, pulling me against him. “Absolutely terrible.”
He kissed me, slow and thorough, and I melted into him despite the grease and sweat and garage smell that clung to him. Or maybe because of it. This was Dex in his element. Dex being himself.
“You taste like motor oil,” I murmured against his lips.
“You taste like heaven.” He kissed me again, deeper this time. “Much better than motor oil.”
“Low bar.”
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Come on. Let me clean up and we can eat. I’m starving.”
“Where? Here?” I looked around the garage dubiously.
“Upstairs.” He grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers together. “I have an apartment above the shop. Nothing fancy, but it’s private.”
I’d driven past the garage a dozen times but never thought about what was above it. “You live here?”
“Sometimes. When I’m working late or don’t want to go home to the empty house.” He led me to a door at the back of the garage, up a narrow staircase. “Fair warning, it’s not as nice as the house. I don’t really keep it up.”
The apartment was small. A kitchen barely bigger than a galley, a living room with a couch and TV, a bedroom visible through an open door. But it was clean in that sparse, masculine way. No clutter, no decoration, just the essentials.
“I like it,” I said honestly. “It feels like you.”
“That’s not necessarily a compliment.”
“It is.” I set the pizza on the small kitchen table. “It’s real. Honest. No pretense.”
He looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. “I’m going to wash up. Make yourself at home.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, and I took the opportunity to really look around. There wasn’t much to see. A few books on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the couch, a coffee mug in the sink. Evidence of someone who existed here but didn’t really live.
It made my chest ache. It just felt lonely.
When he emerged, he’d washed his face and arms, and changed into a clean t-shirt he must keep here. His hair was damp where he’d run wet hands through it, and he looked younger somehow. Less guarded.
“Better?” he asked.
“You looked fine before.” I opened the pizza box. “But I appreciate the effort.”
We ate standing at the kitchen counter, too hungry to bother with plates or formality. He devoured three slices in the time it took me to finish one, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“When did you eat last?”
“Breakfast. Maybe.” He grabbed another slice. “I’ve been swamped. Jenkins wants his car done by tomorrow, and the timing belt on the Miller truck is shot, and Mrs. Ridley’s van needs…” He stopped, shook his head. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear about my work problems.”
“I do, actually.” I touched his arm. “I want to hear everything. Tell me why you’re killing yourself with work.”
He was quiet for a moment, chewing slowly. “Because if I’m working, I’m not thinking.”
“About?”
“About August.” He set the pizza down, his appetite apparently gone. “About you leaving. About how this…” He gestured between us. “...ends.”
My stomach twisted. “Dex...”
“I know. I know it has to end. We agreed. Your life is in Blue Point Bay, mine’s here. It makes sense.” He turned to face me fully. “But knowing it makes sense doesn’t make it hurt less.”
I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust my voice not to break if I tried.
He must have seen something in my face because he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Dance with me.”
“What?”
“Dance with me.” He was already pulling out his phone, scrolling through music. “We’ve done everything else backwards. Bar hookup, then meeting the family, then dating. Might as well add dancing to the list.”
“There’s no room…”
“There’s plenty of room.” He found what he was looking for, and soft music filled the small apartment. Something old and bluesy, the kind of song you slow dance to at the end of the night. He held out his hand. “Please?”
How could I say no to that?
I took his hand and let him pull me close. We swayed together in the tiny kitchen, barely moving, just holding each other. His hand was warm on my lower back, his other hand cradling mine against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong.
“I didn’t know you were such a romantic,” I murmured.
“I’m not usually.” His breath was warm against my temple. “But with you, I want to be. I want to give you everything.”
My throat tightened. “You already are.”
We danced through two more songs, neither of us speaking, just swaying together in the dim kitchen light. And with each moment, I felt the walls I’d been building around my heart crumble a little more.
When the third song ended, he pulled back just enough to look at me. The heat in his eyes made my breath catch.
“Leigh...”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t even ask yet.”
“You don’t have to.” I reached up, cupped his face. “Whatever you’re about to ask, the answer is yes.”
He kissed me then, and it was different from every other kiss we’d shared. Not desperate or rushed or fueled by urgency. This was slow, deliberate, loaded with everything we couldn’t say. Everything we were afraid to admit.
When he pulled back, we were both breathless.
“Bedroom?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Yes.”
He took my hand, led me through the small apartment to the bedroom. It was as sparse as the rest. Just a bed, a dresser, a lamp. But when he turned to face me, none of that mattered.
“I need you to know something,” he said, his hands coming up to frame my face. “This isn’t just sex for me. Not anymore. Maybe it never was.”
“Dex…”
He kissed me again, harder this time, and I kissed him back with everything I had. All the feelings I’d been trying to contain, all the love I’d been afraid to acknowledge, poured into that kiss.
We undressed each other slowly, reverently. Every button undone deliberately, every piece of clothing removed with care. Not the frantic urgency of our first times, but something deeper. Something that felt like worship.
When we were finally bare to each other, he pulled me onto the bed, his body covering mine. The weight of him, the warmth, the realness… it was everything.
“Leigh,” he breathed against my neck. “My beautiful, Leigh.”
His hands mapped my body like he was memorizing every curve, every dip, every place that made me gasp. He took his time, kissing a path down my throat, across my collarbone, lower. His mouth on my breast made me arch into him, my fingers threading through his hair.
“Dex, please…”
“I’ve got you.” His voice was rough with want. “Let me take care of you.”
And he did. His hands, his mouth, his body, all of it focused entirely on me. Learning what I liked, what made me cry out, what made my fingers dig into his shoulders. He was patient, thorough, devastating in his attention.
By the time he finally settled between my thighs, I was trembling.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
I did. Our eyes locked as he pushed inside, slow and careful, giving me time to adjust. The stretch, the fullness, the intimacy of it, I’d never felt anything like it.
“Okay?” he asked, his jaw tight with the effort of holding still.
“Perfect.” I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “So perfect.”
He started to move, and it was nothing like before.
Not rushed or desperate, but slow and deliberate.
Each thrust deep and measured, each movement calculated to drive me higher.
His forehead pressed against mine, our breath mingling, our bodies finding a rhythm that felt ancient and new all at once.
“I can’t believe I got so lucky to find someone like you,” he murmured against my lips.
“I know.” My nails raked down his back. “I feel it too.”
The pleasure built slowly, achingly, until I was on the edge. He seemed to sense it because his hand slipped between us, finding that perfect spot that made me shatter.
I came with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him. He followed moments later, my name a prayer as he buried his face in my neck.
We lay tangled together afterward, our heartbeats gradually slowing, neither of us willing to move. His hand traced lazy patterns on my hip, and I played with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“That was...” I didn’t have words.
“Yeah.” He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “It was.”
We were quiet for a while, just breathing together. Then, softly: “Tell me about Blue Point Bay.”
I stiffened. “What?”
“Tell me about your life there. Your studio, your world. Help me understand why you can’t leave it.”
I pulled back to look at him. “Dex…”
“Please.” His eyes were serious. “If we only have this short time, I want to understand all of you. Even the parts that take you away from me.”
So I told him. About my studio, small but successful. About the coastal light that made Blue Point Bay perfect for photography.
And then, because his eyes were so gentle and his arms were so safe, I told him about Wren.
“She’s my cousin, but she’s more like my sister.
We grew up together, me and her were the closest because we’re the same age.
Then there’s Scarlett, Claire and Ford.” I turned my face into his chest, needing the comfort of his heartbeat.
“When we were in high school we were down on the beach one summer. We had a bonfire going, music playing, everyone was generally just being stupid like kids do. But we did it all the time. We grew up on that beach you know? Someone decided to go for a swim, and then pretty much everyone was going in. Kelsey was the third in our trio. We did everything together. She had this light about her. Everyone wanted to be her friend.”
I shifted in his arms, nestling in deeper and giving myself a moment to prepare for the worst part.
“So when Kelsey said she wanted to swim, we all went to swim. It happened so quickly, even now I’m not sure I can remember the whole thing.
The sea looked so calm that night but we should have known better.
Kelsey got caught in a rip tide, she was right there in front of us and then she was gone.
Wren wanted to go after her but Claire pulled her out, got everyone back out to the beach.
We called for help, we screamed at that ocean for what felt like hours.
They never found Kelsey’s body. It never gave her back to us.
Wren blamed herself, and then she lashed out and blamed everyone she could.
It was a dark time for our family. She barely finished high school, she just retreated into her room and hardly ever came out.
She’d learned how to code, made money doing that.
The lighthouse came up for a sale and she bought it without any of us knowing.
It was a wreck back then but she moved herself in any way.
She’s done it up over the years, let us help when she started to let some of us back in.
It’s actually really nice. But it’s like she’s spending her whole life in the lighthouse staring out at the ocean waiting for it to give Kelsey back. ”
His arms tightened around me. “Shit, Leigh, I don’t even have words that.”
“It was a really hard time for the whole town. No one blamed Wren. They didn’t blame any of us. It was just a tragic accident.”
“And that’s why you take care of her.”
“Someone has to.” I looked up at him. “She’s not okay, Dex.
She has nightmares, panic attacks. Some days she can barely function.
And I’m the only one who can get through to her.
The only one she’ll talk to when it gets bad.
Claire is with her now, but I think Wren blames her nearly as much as she blames herself. ”
He was quiet for a moment, his fingers still tracing patterns on my skin. “Does she know? About us?”
“Of course. And she’d be the first person to tell me to stay here with you. But she needs me Dex. She’s better than she used to be, but she’s not ready to be alone.”
“So you’re staying for her.”
“In a way. But it’s also because my whole life is there. My business, my home, everything I’ve built.” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t the whole truth. I could move those things.
He seemed to know it too. “Leigh, I have to ask you something. And I need you to really think about the answer.”
“Okay.”
“What do you want?” He shifted so he could see my face. “Not what you think you should want, not what’s practical or responsible. What do you actually want? If you could have anything, what would it be?”
I opened my mouth to say I didn’t know. To deflect, to avoid.
But looking into his eyes, I couldn’t lie.
“You,” I whispered. “I want you. I want this. I want to wake up next to you every morning and photograph your family and have Sunday dinners at the farm. I want to be part of this beautiful world you’ve shown me.”