8. Sadie
Sadie
Morning light filters through the sheer curtains in my bedroom and warms the sheets around me.
I stretch slowly, my muscles still carrying the faint ache from yesterday’s tension.
For a moment I forget where I am. Then the sound of steady breathing and rhythmic movement drifts down the hallway.
I sit up and rub my eyes. The clock on the nightstand reads a little after seven. Jace is already awake.
I slip out of bed and pull on a light robe over my sleep shorts and tank top.
My bare feet pad quietly down the hallway.
I stop at the edge of the living room and peek around the corner.
Jace works out in the open space between the couch and the sliding glass doors.
He faces away from me, shirtless, sweat glistening on his broad back and shoulders.
Every muscle stands out in sharp definition as he moves through a series of push-ups, his body lowering and rising with controlled power.
The morning sun catches the lines of his arms and the way his shoulders flex.
I know he’s good-looking. I’ve known it since the moment he leaned against his Jeep in my driveway.
But this is something else. It’s different.
It’s magnetic and I can’t turn away. Like my very own thirst trap I can’t stop staring at.
I stand there longer than I should, watching the way his body moves with such discipline.
The steady rhythm of his breathing fills the quiet room.
My pulse quickens. Heat creeps up my neck.
I should turn around. I should go back to my room and pretend I saw nothing.
Instead I stay rooted in place, eyes tracing the curve of his spine and the way sweat trails down his skin.
Jace finishes a set and pushes up to his feet in one fluid motion. He turns toward the kitchen for water and freezes when he spots me. His eyes lock on mine. A slow, knowing grin spreads across his face.
I blush hard. The heat rushes across my cheeks and down my throat. I feel exposed even though I wear a robe and stand fully covered. “Good morning,” I say quickly, trying to sound casual. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your workout. I’m going for a run on the beach. Clear my head.”
Jace grabs a towel from the back of the couch and wipes his face. His chest still rises and falls with the effort of his training. “Great. I’ll join you. I can’t let you go anywhere without me. Part of the deal, remember?”
I open my mouth to argue that I can handle a simple beach run, but the serious look in his eyes stops me. He’s right. The threats are real. I nod instead. “Fine. Give me ten minutes to change.”
I retreat to my room and close the door behind me.
My heart still races. I pull on running shorts and a sports bra, then tug a loose tank top over it.
I tie my hair back into a ponytail and splash cold water on my face.
The blush refuses to fade completely. When I step back into the living room, Jace waits by the door in a fresh T-shirt and shorts.
He looks just as good covered up. Maybe even better now that I’ve seen what lies underneath.
We head out together. The morning air feels crisp and salty.
We cross the dunes and hit the packed sand near the waterline.
Our feet strike the beach in unison as we start to run.
The ocean sparkles to our right, waves rolling in with gentle crashes.
Seagulls cry overhead and dive for their breakfast. The rhythm of our strides falls into sync without effort.
We don’t talk much. The silence feels comfortable, broken only by our breathing and the sound of the surf.
Jace stays close on my left, his presence steady and protective.
Every so often his arm brushes mine when the path narrows.
I focus on the burn in my legs and the clean air filling my lungs.
For the first time since this whole mess started, the run feels freeing instead of confining.
We cover a good distance down the beach, turn around at a rocky outcrop, and head back.
Sweat cools on my skin as the sun climbs higher.
Back at the bungalow we step inside and head straight for the kitchen.
I pull out two bowls while Jace grabs the yogurt and a container of fresh berries from the fridge.
We move around each other easily. I spoon yogurt into both bowls and top them with strawberries and blueberries.
Jace hands me a spoon and takes his own bowl to the small table on the porch.
We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes. The berries burst sweet and tart on my tongue. The ocean breeze drifts across the porch and cools my skin. Jace finishes his bowl first and leans back in his chair, watching me with that familiar spark in his eyes.
“So,” he says, stretching his arms overhead, “how do you feel about a little day drinking? Nothing crazy. Maybe a couple of beers or a frozen drink on the beach later.”
I raise an eyebrow and take another bite of yogurt.
The idea sounds tempting after the tension of the past few days.
Part of me wants to say yes to see where the afternoon takes us.
The other part remembers why we’re really here.
I set my spoon down and meet his gaze. “Day drinking, huh? You really commit to the cover story.”
Jace grins. “What can I say? I’m dedicated to my work.”
The easy banter flows between us again, but underneath it all lingers the memory of his shirtless form in the living room and the way his words on the boardwalk still echo in my head.
I push the thoughts aside and focus on the moment.
For now, the yogurt tastes sweet, the breeze feels perfect, and the man across from me keeps surprising me in ways I do not know how to handle.