CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
GRANT
W aking up in The Atlantis never gets easier.
Even after four years, the house still breathes her in every corner—the worn wood floors she refused to replace, the faded blue shutters she painted herself, and the way the whole place smells faintly of sea air and old books.
This was her pride and joy. Her dream. She poured herself into every inch of it, from the ivy climbing the porch railings to one of her paintings still hanging over the fireplace.
Careful not to wake Lina, who was sound asleep in my bed, I tread down the stairs. I’m not sure if she slept for any amount of time in the guest bedroom. All I know is, around two in the morning, the light streaming in from the hallway stirred me awake as she slowly creaked the door open.
“I can’t sleep,” she had whispered, standing at the foot of my bed.
Sitting up slightly on my forearms, I had strained to make her out in the dim room.
Looking at her, I couldn’t even be mad at the intrusion—not when she stood there in her adorable matching pajama set, her long brown hair starting to fall out of its ponytail, and her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to take up less space than she already was.
So painfully pretty.
I couldn’t resist the way she was visibly tired but too stubborn to go to sleep on her own terms. Which is why I lifted the duvet up on the other side of me and said in a quiet, groggy voice, “C’mere.”
She didn’t hesitate. Just slipped under the covers and curled up with her back facing me, leaving enough space between us to feel the gap like a live wire. I didn’t push it. I lay there, listening to her breathing even out until I finally drifted off again.
Now, hours later, I move quietly through the house, as if my mom’s memories are tucked in the walls. The morning light spills through the windows into the kitchen and living room, bathing the rooms in a golden hue.
The Atlantis always feels heavier in the mornings—like the weight of my mom’s memory settles in with the sunrise.
At the same time, it takes awhile for me to settle in whenever I’m here. Since I’m typically by myself, I can usually do that without thinking twice about it.
But with Lina upstairs, it feels different. Like the memories echoing are being drowned out by the girl in my bed.
A soft creak on the staircase pulls my attention away.
A moment later, Lina appears, yawning into her sleeve, her hair a sleepy mess around her face.
She’s still in the same matching pajamas but somehow looks even more disoriented, like she was fighting sleep all night—it’s not entirely unlikely, either.
I’m reminded of the reason I brought her here in the first place: to give her a place to escape.
After she cried in my arms about missing her mom during the holidays, I knew Christmas—and the few days following—was going to be tough for her.
I wanted to make it better, and I was going to be headed to the vineyard anyway, so it made sense to bring her along.
“Morning,” she says, voice scratchy. She blinks at me, adjusting to the sunlight pouring into the kitchen.
“Morning,” I say back, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. “Coffee?”
She nods like I just offered her salvation. “Please. And maybe a eulogy for my dignity while you’re at it.”
I smirk as I pour. “You looked pretty dignified crashing my bed last night.”
“I was desperate,” she says, sliding onto one of the barstools at the counter and slumping forward like she might fall asleep right there.
“You can’t hold that against me. I was fully prepared for your jokes the moment I walked through the door, like a kid waking their parents in the middle of the night. ”
“I’m not complaining,” I say, setting the mug in front of her. Our fingers brush, barely, but it’s enough to make me glance up and catch her doing the same. “In fact, I should probably be grateful you weren’t coming in to tell me you threw up.”
She wraps her hands around the mug, hiding her face behind it. “You were very hospitable, by the way. Gold star.”
I laugh under my breath. “High praise, coming from you.”
The tiniest smile pulls at her lips. “I don’t hand those out easily, you know.”
We fall into a quiet stretch, the kind that somehow doesn’t feel awkward with her. The coffee pot gurgles in the background, and the breeze lifts the sheer curtains, making the house feel almost alive.
“This place is so quiet, and then there will be random sounds. I kept thinking I was hearing things.”
“That’s the house settling. Happens more in the winter when the air’s colder. You get used to it.”
“I feel like I’m in a Hallmark movie or something.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not.” She smiles into her cup, and it’s so natural that something in my chest takes hold of my heart, pumping my blood faster. “It’s kind of perfect, actually.”
I nod before pulling the creamer out of the fridge and sliding it toward her. She smiles up at me as she pops the lid open and sloshes it into her coffee.
“Jesus.” I laugh. “That cup is officially more creamer than coffee.”
Lina doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Exactly how I like it.”
I reach across the counter, grabbing the mug and lifting it to my mouth so I can take a sip. It’s so sweet it practically makes my teeth ache, but I grin as I set the mug back down in front of her. “Yeah, you can have that back.”
“So,” she says, stretching her arms above her head, “what’s the plan for today?”
I’m busy putting the creamer back in the fridge. “Whatever you want to do.”
“Can we go walk on the beach?”
At the same time, we both glance out the picture window looking out from the dining room to the beach in the backyard. There’s a light layer of snow over the sand, the sky is gray, and the wind is cutting through the waves, making them look borderline dangerous.
“You want to go walk on the beach?” I look back at her with a raised eyebrow, like it couldn’t possibly be a bad idea.
“When else am I ever going to be able to experience a Martha’s Vineyard beach?”
She hops off her barstool, but I’m stuck in place, because her words are burning through my chest like a match would a tissue.
Like this is a one-time thing. Like she’s already bracing herself to leave, to turn this whole trip into something she stores under the category of things I’ll never do again.
I would say something about it, tell her that she can come back here with me anytime she wants, but I don’t want to dampen her excitement with a conversation that feels more weighted than either of us are ready for.
So, I push off the counter, leading her to the door. She’s bouncing on her toes like a kid about to open Christmas presents, smiling at me like she can’t feel the cold already seeping through the cracks of the old house. It’s the most excited and outwardly happy I think I’ve ever seen her.
“You’re insane,” I mutter, tossing her one of Abby’s windbreaker jackets. “Put this on.”
“Just admit it. This is going to be fun!” she argues, quickly slipping her arms into the jacket I’m already holding open for her.
We both throw on shoes, and Lina watches with anticipation as I put my jacket on.
“I’ve seriously never seen you this excited before.” It’s honestly refreshing being able to see this side of her.
She looks almost unreal standing here—heart-shaped face blushing pink, full lips tugged up into a grin she can’t seem to contain. “Well, you should take me to the beach more often then.”
And before I can say anything more, she’s already pushing the door open and racing down the steps of the front porch. The wind is whipping her hair every which way, long brown waves barely contained by her already messy ponytail.
Her elated giggles ring through the air as I follow quickly behind her, the cold sucker-punching me in the face. The way she’s running toward the sand makes me wonder if she’s seeing something I can’t.
“Careful, careful!” I yell when she nearly trips over one of the loose pavers on the cobblestone path.
Lina doesn’t seem to care much about how she nearly knocked her front teeth out; she just keeps on her way.
When she finally reaches the water’s edge, she stops, breathless and pink-cheeked, staring out at the horizon.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, almost like she’s surprised.
I don’t look at the ocean. I look at her.
“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”
She glances at me then, and for a second it feels like the whole world stills. Just the two of us, the sound of the waves crashing, the cold digging into my skin, the words I want to say swelling too big in my throat.
I notice her shiver and tuck herself tighter into her jacket.
“How do you not want to be here all the time ?” she asks, in complete awe. “I would never be able to go back to Yale if I owned this.”
I chuckle as I come up behind her, trying to get a glimpse of the view she’s so amazed by. “My mom would kill me if I skipped class. She’s a big reason why my sisters and I are such sticklers for school.”
“You never skipped class in high school?” She gawks, like she doesn’t believe it.
“Of course I did, but it would always piss my mom off more than anything else. But it didn’t really bother me because I was still getting good grades—which was also the only reason I got let off the hook most of the time.”
Lina cups her hands around her mouth, trying to warm them up. I quickly pull the pair of gloves in my pocket out, holding them out to her.
“Thanks,” she sighs gratefully. “Anyway,” she gestures to me to continue.
“When she died, I stopped skipping class. Even though I didn’t really get in trouble when she was alive, it still felt wrong doing it knowing she wasn’t waiting at home to give me some kind of lecture about how important my classes are.”
Her face softens. “That’s really sweet, Grant.”
She tugs the gloves on, her fingers clumsy with the cold, and then steps closer, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine.
“You’re kind of a softie,” she teases, voice quieter now.
“You know the rules.”
“I know, I know,” she drags, like it’s a hassle. “It’s my secret, just to spare you your reputation.” She grins up at me, her cheeks red from the wind. For a second, it’s stupidly easy to imagine staying like this forever.
“Come on,” I say, nudging her with my shoulder. “You’re going to turn into a popsicle. Let’s go back inside before you lose a toe.”
She starts walking back up the beach, and I trail a few steps behind her, my heart pounding so loud it almost drowns out the roar of the sea.
* * *
Of course, before coming inside, Lina convinced me to take her on a tour around the property, arguing that she wasn’t that cold.
Yet, now she’s sitting directly in front of the fireplace with one of the biggest blankets from the couch wrapped snugly around her shoulders, waiting for me to finish cooking.
“Are you almost done?” she asks, sounding as impatient as ever.
“Almost,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at her.
She’s sick of waiting, though, because within a few seconds she’s standing from her spot on the floor and trudging over to the kitchen. “What are you making?”
I take a half-step to the right, letting her stand next to me in front of the stove and get a look at the grilled cheese sizzling in the pan on one burner and tomato soup heating up in the other.
“Wow,” she jokes. “You’ve been taking forever. I thought I was getting a five-course meal.”
“This is going to be the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Trust me, you’ll be dreaming of it for nights to come.” I poke her in the side. Not hard, but just enough to make her back away with a giggle.
She keeps the skeptical look on her face as she hops onto the counter behind me, swinging her legs far enough to kick me in the back. “We’ll see.”
Whipping around, I grab both her ankles with one hand, trapping them in my grasp.
She lets out a startled sound, her hands bracing against the counter behind her, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans in slightly with a daring grin.
“What are you going to do now?” she teases.
I don’t move right away. Just hold her there, feeling the buzz of electricity crackling in the inches of space between us. Her legs are swinging less now, slowing until she’s resting them against my arm.
Dropping her ankles slowly, I let my hands trail down her calves before stepping into the space between her knees.
I don’t think she even realizes that she parts them without a second thought, her legs framing my hips now, her body so close I can feel the heat radiating off her skin through the layers we’re both wearing.
“I thought you were hungry,” I say, my voice raspier than I mean for it to be.
“I am,” she whispers, eyes locked on mine, her meaning so obvious it nearly guts me.
My hand finds her knee, thumb stroking over the denim of her jeans. Her whole body tenses, like she’s holding her breath, like she’s waiting for something to happen.
Like she wants it to happen.
“Food’s going to burn,” I say, my forehead nearly touching hers now.
“Let it,” she murmurs, barely audible.
And God help me , I almost do.
But the sizzling of an almost burnt grilled cheese takes both of our attention off each other. A minute later, I’m sliding two bowls of tomato soup and two plates of sandwiches onto the kitchen island. She’s already there, hands wrapped around her bowl like she’s been starving for days.
The first bite she takes, she freezes, eyes going wide.
I lean my elbows on the counter, smug. “Told you.”
She lets out a ridiculous, dramatic groan, like the food is so good it’s physically painful. “You’re my hero.”
My lips rise, unable to tear my eyes away from her. “Yeah?”
She looks up at me through her lashes, a wicked little smile playing on her lips. “For now.”