Chapter 31 Luca
LUCA
I find the fire pit on the side of the house, half-buried under sand and dead beach grass, behind a stack of plastic Adirondack chairs. Prefab metal bowl on legs, rusted at the rim. Good enough.
I drag it out to the sand and spend twenty minutes scrounging driftwood and old newspaper. The wind kills my first three attempts at a flame. On the fourth, I hunch over the pit like I’m shielding a state secret, and the fire finally grabs.
Natalia’s inside. After everything earlier, I gave her some space. She goes quiet when something big hits.
I borrow her car and drive to the mini mart two miles up the road. Graham crackers, marshmallows, two chocolate bars, a bottle of red that costs less than the gas I used getting there.
By the time I get back, the fire’s burning low and orange, shadows jumping across the sand. I grab the gun from where Natalia left it by the back door and tuck it into my waistband before settling into one of the chairs. Just in case.
My eyes sweep the dunes, the edge of the deck, the dark stretch beyond the house. Nothing but wind and surf.
She steps onto the deck a few minutes later in an oversized sweater, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and I lose the thread of whatever the hell I was thinking.
She sees the fire and stops.
“What’s this?”
“A fire.” I hold up the grocery bag. “And supplies.”
She comes down the steps slowly, and when she’s near enough to see inside the bag, her brow furrows.
“Are those marshmallows?”
“They are.”
“Why?”
“We just agreed to do something that might get us both killed. I figured that earns us a snack.”
A small smile touches her mouth. She drops into the chair beside mine, and the firelight catches the wet ends of her hair and turns them copper.
I hand her a marshmallow and one of the sticks I snapped off the driftwood pile.
She eyes the marshmallow like it might require instructions. I spear mine onto my stick and hold it over the glowing embers.
“The trick is patience. You want it golden, not charred.”
Natalia copies me, leaning forward a little, eyes narrowed in concentration.
The fire catches hers almost immediately.
“Shit.” She jerks it back and blows on it, eyes wide. The marshmallow is a charred lump, smoking on the end of her stick.
I bark out a laugh.
“Oh my God, don’t laugh.”
“You set it on fire in under three seconds. That’s impressive.”
She’s trying to look offended. Her mouth keeps betraying her. “Give me another one.”
I hand her a fresh marshmallow and watch her try again. She rotates the marshmallow carefully, brow furrowed, until it turns golden and a little puffed at the edges.
“Perfect,” I say. “Now you’ve earned the next phase.”
I break a graham cracker in half and show her how to stack the chocolate and the marshmallow before pressing the top down.
She takes a bite. Her eyes close.
She makes a soft sound that goes straight to my cock, and I have to look away for a second—like that’s going to do a damn thing.
“Good?” I ask, clearing my throat.
She opens her eyes and stares at the s’more in her hand with a look of betrayal.
“How have I never had this?”
“Criminal negligence.”
“I’m serious.” She takes another bite, chocolate at the corner of her mouth. “This is absurd. This is obscene.”
“It’s a marshmallow and chocolate and a cracker.”
“Don’t diminish it.”
The wine is awful.
We drink it anyway.
At some point I notice Natalia curled half into herself under the blanket, shoulders inching tighter every few minutes. I take the bottle out of her hand, set it in the sand, and tug her over into my lap. Then I wrap the blanket around both of us before she can argue.
The ocean is a dull, steady roar beyond the dunes. The fire pops and settles. For the first time since she walked out of that hotel room in Vegas, I’m not crawling out of my own skin.
Nothing’s fixed. She’s just here, leaning against me, and right now that’s enough.
Three marshmallows in, she goes quiet. She’s staring at the fire with the bag in her lap, fingers still.
“What is it?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
Then, without looking at me, “You remembered.”
I don’t say anything.
“My list.” Her grip tightens on the bag. “The stuff I said I wanted to do.”
She swallows. “You remembered.”
I look at her for a second, I ease the bag out of her hands before she crushes it flat and toss it into the sand beside us.
“What, you thought we were done after the ocean?” I pull her in a little closer against me. “Not a chance.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then, “I’ve had more fun with you than I’ve ever had with anyone.”
She says it like she means it. I have to look at the fire for a second before I answer.
“Same,” I say. “And now that I remember my whole life, I can say that with authority.”
Her mouth twitches. But her eyes are bright, and she’s blinking more than she needs to.
“Well,” she says, voice a little unsteady. “That’s a very nice thing to hear.”
I look at her for a second. Then I say, “I care about you, Nat.” There’s no point dressing it up more than that. “A lot.”
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, like she needs something solid under her hand to make sure the words are real.
“I care about you too, Luca.”
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she said it.
The words land and stay there, warm as the fire, and I want to give her the rest of them, too.
The big version. The real one. It sits heavy at the base of my throat, and I swallow it down because it’s too soon, too loaded, and she deserves to hear it somewhere that isn’t crowded with war plans, fathers, and everything still trying to tear us apart.
So I kiss her temple and pull the blanket tighter around us while the fire burns low.
Tomorrow is coming either way. Tonight, I let myself have this.