Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Sienna
The kitchenette smells like heaven this morning—freshly brewed coffee, buttery scrambled eggs, and the faint, salty tang of ocean air drifting in through the half-open deck doors.
I shuffle into the living area barefoot, still rubbing sleep from my eyes, my hair twisted into a messy knot atop my head. I’m wearing the world’s least flattering oversized shirt and shorts that ride up with every step.
Milo stands at the counter, laptop pushed aside, his forearms flexing as he stirs the eggs with focused precision. A pot of coffee and fresh orange juice already sit on the table. My stomach does a slow, treacherous flip.
Who knew the man whose pants I baptized four days ago could look this good playing domestic? It’s annoyingly heart-fluttering.
Leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed, I try to play it cool even though my heart’s already doing traitorous things. It takes me thirteen seconds to shake off the daze before finally stepping forward.
“Morning, roomie,” I say with a grin, adding extra bounce to my step as I walk over. “You trying to bribe me into pretending last night never happened?”
Milo glances up from the pan, and that almost-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—the one that’s quickly becoming my secret weakness.
His eyes give me a quick, polite sweep. He doesn’t linger, but I catch the subtle bob of his throat and the way his fingers tighten around the spatula for half a second.
“Figured a decent breakfast might earn me a few forgiveness points,” he replies, his voice low and a little rough. “After I apparently scared you off.”
I drop into the chair across from him. “Scared me off? Please. I don’t get scared. I strategically retreat when conversations get a little too… existential.”
He plates the scrambled eggs, then slides them across the table toward me with a soft chuckle, along with a bowl. I stare down at the neatly arranged pineapple chunks, my stomach doing another unwelcome flip.
“Existential,” he repeats, amused. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”
I spear a piece of pineapple and twirl the fork between my fingers. “Glad you agree with me. Also, you remembered the pineapple?”
He shrugs, but a faint flush creeps up his neck. “You’ve had it every morning.”
The simple observation hits harder than it should. He actually noticed what I eat?
Heat prickles my cheeks. I don’t know what to say, so I stay quiet, popping a piece of pineapple into my mouth instead. Milo closes his laptop with a soft click, pours himself a cup of coffee, and leans back against the counter.
Our eyes meet over the rim of his mug. Neither of us looks away fast enough. The air between us thickens until the silence feels dangerously comfortable.
He’s the first to break the silence. “You sleep okay?” he asks, cradling the mug in both hands like it’s a shield between us.
I shrug and shove another chunk of pineapple into my mouth, buying myself a second.
“Mostly. Weird dreams. Falling off cliffs, chasing something I couldn’t quite catch.
” I don’t tell him the something had his shoulders, or that I woke tangled in warm sheets, reaching for a hand that wasn’t there. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Mostly,” he replies, taking a slow sip of coffee. “No dreams. Just… thinking.”
My mouth opens to respond when both our phones buzz against the table at the same time. I reach for mine first and see a new group chat notification. Aria has created the chat and added the wedding party members who are already here.
The Cole’s Tropical Wedding
Aria:
Good morning, everyone! Wedding week activities kick off at 10 a.m. sharp in the main beach pavilion.
Aria:
Bring your game faces, your sense of humor, and zero expectations of normalcy. Big reveal today—don’t be late!
I groan loudly. “Is she serious right now?”
Milo chuckles. “Were you expecting anything less from her?”
I slump back in my chair and stab my fork into a fluffy pile of eggs. “No, but I was really hoping this vacation would be drama-free. She never mentioned anything about wedding activities. And she tells me everything.”
“Clearly not everything,” Milo responds with amusement threading through his voice.
“Yeah,” I mumble around a mouthful of eggs. “Clearly not.”
Milo presses his lips together, visibly fighting back a laugh. I can see how badly he wants to let it out.
“Silence. Eat your breakfast, Milo, before it gets cold, and I have to pretend you’re not trying to win me over with your domestic skills.”
He lets out a soft laugh, but his eyes remain warm, almost fond. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence, broken only by light jabs and subtle flirting.
Every time our fingers brush as we reach for the fruit bowl, a spark shoots up my arm.
By the time we finish eating, the earlier awkwardness has melted into something warmer. Something far more dangerous.
When we finally head off to shower and get changed, I close the bathroom door behind me and lean back against it, heart racing. It takes every ounce of willpower not to let my hand drift south at the memory of him—his voice, his almost-smile, the way he looked at me over the rim of his coffee mug.
God help me. It’s only been four days. This is ridiculous.
Why do I suddenly feel like a teenager with her first crush, with no idea how to act normal?
Stepping off the shaded path, the noise hits me first—bright laughter and overlapping conversations. There are only about twenty wedding guests on the island so far, scattered around the open-air pavilion at circular tables overlooking the turquoise ocean.
Aria spots us the moment we step closer. She looks beautiful in a flowy white sundress, her blonde hair loose and beachy. She barrels toward me with open arms, pulling me into a tight hug that smells of strawberries and pure excitement.
“You look glowy,” she says, pulling back with a grin. “Is that from the sun, or from—” She cuts herself off with a dramatic eyebrow wiggle, her gaze darting pointedly toward Milo behind me.
My cheeks warm as I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s from the sun, obviously. Nothing else.”
Aria laughs, turning to Milo. “And look at that—she hasn’t murdered you yet. Honestly, given her track record, that’s surprising. So… you two ready for the chaos to begin?”
Milo’s mouth curves into a half-smile. “Define ready.”
She grins wider. “Perfect answer.”
I open my mouth to ask Aria what kind of chaos she’s planned for the wedding-week activities when my mom’s voice cuts through the chatter.
“Sienna! Milo!” she waves enthusiastically from one of the tables. “Over here, you two!”
Aria mutters something about last-minute details, then slips away with a quick wave, leaving Milo and me standing there. I draw in a deep breath, then start toward my parents. Milo follows close behind—so close I can feel the warmth radiating from his body with each step.
The moment we reach the table, Mom stands and pulls me into a hug. “There’s my girl,” she murmurs into my hair. “You look rested. Did you sleep okay, honey?”
“Mostly,” I answer, nodding. I don’t mention that I’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling, replaying the slow brush of Milo’s thumb across my knuckles and the way my heart had stumbled over itself.
She pulls back just enough to study my face, gently chewing her lower lip. “You’re not still mad about last night’s conversation, are you?” Her voice is soft, almost apologetic. “You know we only said those things because we love you. We just… want the best for you.”
The familiar ache blooms behind my ribs.
I know they mean well. Every worried glance, every gentle push toward “settling down,” every quiet sigh when I mention another trip or another city—all of it comes from love.
They’ve watched me bounce across continents like a pinball for years, never quite landing anywhere, and it terrifies them.
They still see the little girl who used to cry when she couldn’t find her favorite stuffed bear. They just want to make sure someone else will always know where to look for her.
But God, it’s exhausting.
I’ve built a life that’s loud, bright, and entirely mine, yet every time they look at me with those concerned eyes, I feel like I’m failing an invisible test I never agreed to take.
They might never fully understand why I need to keep moving, why the idea of “settled” feels like a cage closing in. But they love me anyway. And that’s what always stops me from bolting when these conversations circle back.
I force a small smile and shake my head. “I’m not mad, Mom. I promise.”
Her shoulders relax instantly. She cups my cheeks with both hands, her thumb brushing my skin gently before pressing a kiss there. “Good. As long as you’re happy—that’s all we want, honey.”
Dad steps in smoothly, steering the conversation to safer ground, and I’m silently grateful.
He claps Milo on the shoulder with a friendly grin.
“Morning, son. Too early for a scotch, or I would’ve poured you one myself.
But the coffee is fresh and stupidly strong.
I’ve got a feeling we’re all going to need it for whatever Aria and Ethan have planned. ”
Milo nods, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Morning, Gregory. Appreciate it.”
Mom’s eyes sparkle as she glances between us. “Come sit. I’ll pour the coffee.”
Milo reaches past me and pulls out my chair with that effortless courtesy that makes my pulse stumble. His fingers brush the small of my back as I sit. The contact is brief, yet it leaves a trail of warmth across my skin.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
He settles beside me, close enough that I catch a faint whiff of his cedarwood cologne. I immediately reach for the cup of coffee Mom poured and take a long gulp, cursing myself as I burn my tongue.
“You’re such a gentleman, Milo,” Mom comments, grinning so wide her eyes crinkle.