52
The ferry cut across the water in a long, steady glide, its wake feathering white against the deep blue.
Claire stood at the rail in front of Noah, wearing a sundress that was flapping in the wind.
Noah’s hands were placed gently on hers, keeping her in place.
The air was sharp with salt and kelp and something older, almost wild, and untouched.
“There,” Noah said softly, nodding toward the distant sweep of dunes and the cedar-and-glass house perched above them. “That’s home.”
Claire followed his gaze. It was beautiful in a way that felt honest. Not manicured. Not curated. Just… there. Solid against the elements.
“You built it?” she asked.
“With my dad,” he said. “Mostly him. I just carried timber and thought I was useful.”
She smiled at that.
By the time they stepped onto the wharf, Noah’s shoulders had gone subtly rigid. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and reached for hers with the other, as if grounding himself. He grabbed her hand with his free hand.
“You ready?” he asked.
Claire squeezed his fingers. “I think so.”
The front door barely had time to open before his mother appeared, wiping her hands on a linen towel.
“Noah–”
She stopped short when she saw Claire.
There was a single heartbeat of stillness.
Then warmth.
“Oh,” his mother said softly, eyes lighting. “You must be Claire.”
Claire blinked. “Yes, ma’am–”
“Come here,” she said, already pulling her into a hug that was gentle and grounding all at once. She smelled faintly of lavender and sea air. “Welcome.”
Noah exhaled. A little sigh of relief. This was a good start.
“You ended up bringing me a doctor after all,” she whispered to her son with a cheeky smile.
His father stood behind her, arms crossed, studying Claire with the same quiet intensity he’d once used on opposing packs. Then he nodded once and opened his arms wide for a hug.
Retirement hadn’t softened him, only settled him.
His shoulders remained broad, chest thick, arms dense with the kind of strength earned through decades of contact and labor rather than vanity.
The sharp edges of youth had rounded, but nothing had diminished; he moved with deliberate economy, as if his body remembered it had once been a weapon.
His hands were massive and calloused, scarred across the knuckles, the hands of a man who had packed down in scrums, hauled timber, lifted children, and built a house with his son.
Silver threaded his closely cropped hair; a permanent crease etched between his brows from years of sunlit fields and reading play before it unfolded.
Inside, the house buzzed to life.
Mara appeared first, eyes widening. “Oh. You’re real.”
“Real?” Claire asked, smiling nervously.
Isla circled her like a curious cat. “You’re prettier in person.”
“Isla,” Noah warned.
“I’m just saying,” she shrugged. “The internet does you dirty.”
“The internet?” asked Claire.
“We googled you, remember?” said Noah embarrassingly. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh my God,” Claire said with a flush that crept across her cheeks. She remembered what it was like trying to go to the grocery store in Los Angeles and having a man chase her down for a picture.
Noah pulled Claire next to him and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Sorry,” he repeated.
“Noah has never really brought home a woman before,” Maya announced.
“That’s it for me,” he said. “I’m just going to die right here, right now.”
Claire could only smile and enjoy what it was like to have siblings.
Dinner was served on the deck as the sun began its slow descent. The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the railing, waves breaking in soft, rhythmic crashes below. Lanterns glowed overhead. The air cooled, carrying the scent of grilled fish and rosemary.
Claire sat between Noah and his mother; hands wrapped around a warm mug as conversation flowed around her. His mother told stories of Noah as a boy, rugby mishaps, Mara’s work, Isla’s latest drama. It was a family comfort that wasn't elusive to Claire, but it did make her wish she had siblings.
“So,” his mother said gently, turning to Claire, “how are you finding New Zealand?”
Claire hesitated. Then smiled. “It feels like the breath of fresh air that I've been needing my whole life.”
Noah’s knee brushed hers under the table and his hand found hers on her lap. His hand moved to her thigh. A gentle confirmation that this is going well.
After dinner, they were shown their sleeping arrangements.
“You guys can sleep in Noah’s old room,” she said walking down the hallway to an unassuming door.
“Together?” asked Noah.
She arched her brow. “You’re thirty-three. You can sleep in the same room.”
Claire bit her lip to keep from smiling.
Noah’s ears burned.
His childhood room was not at all what Claire expected.
Every wall was covered.
Posters from early club matches. Team photos.
Framed magazine spreads. Newsletters pinned in neat rows.
A life-sized cardboard cutout of Noah in his first national jersey stood in the corner, frozen mid-grin.
Dozens of photographs crowded shelves: muddy boyhood smiles, teenage scrums, victories, losses, arms slung around teammates.
And in the middle of it all – A bed.
It was like a Noah shrine that was forced to become a guest bedroom.
Claire turned slowly. “This is… intense.”
Noah groaned. “I’ve asked her to take some down.”
“Absolutely not,” she said, stepping closer to a photo of a teenage Noah, bruised and beaming. “This is… something.” Claire was amused at the dedication.
He watched her trace the edge of a frame.
When the door closed behind them, the ocean beckoned outside the window, calling them to come closer.
“Let's go take a night walk,” Noah said to Claire.
They walked in comfortable silence at first, the tide whispered in and out beside them, moonlight painted silver paths across the water.
The beach was empty – just dark sand, pale surf, and the wide, endless sky.
Noah slipped off his shoes and carried them, toes digging into the cool grit.
Claire followed, laughing softly when a wave chased her ankles.
They stopped where the dunes curved inward, a pocket of shelter from the wind. Noah shrugged out of his jacket and spread it on the sand, and they sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the ocean breathe.
“This is where I used to come when I couldn’t sleep,” he said quietly. “When everything felt too loud or I needed to recover.”
Claire leaned into him. “It’s… beautiful,” she murmured. “Like the world pauses here.”
She remembered his medical file: Do not ask about sleep.
He studied her profile, the moonlit curve of her cheek, the way the breeze lifted strands of her hair, and something tender settled deep inside of him.
“You belong in places like this, not in LA” he said, not thinking.
“You know I think I liked you the first day I saw you.” She turned, eyes shining.
For a moment neither of them spoke. “I liked that you wanted to help immediately, even if you didn’t know that he wasn’t actually hurt. ”
“That’s pretty embarrassing actually,” Claire said. “Now it all seems so silly.”
“It wasn’t,” he replied. “It told me everything about you, but at the same time, I needed to learn more.” He hesitated, then admitted, “I didn’t love the way you gave everyone attention, though. I think I was jealous.”
Her smile softened, something warm and understanding in it. “You didn’t even know me.”
“I know,” he said, not offering her anymore.
She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his.
“I thought you were pretty,” he leaned in.
“You don’t think I’m pretty now?”
“Stunning.”
Claire’s cheeks flushed and butterflies went wild in her stomach. “You were kind to me when you didn’t have to be,” she said. “You made a strange place feel safe. It’s crazy now to look back on all those months."
Then Claire stood, walked to the water, and dipped her toes in.
“Do people ever swim at night?” she asked.
Noah smiled slowly. “Only the brave ones.”
She glanced back at him, mischief and trust braided together. “And are we brave tonight, Noah?”
They left their clothes in a small pile on the sand and stepped naked into the sea.
The water was cold enough to steal her breath, and she gasped, gripping his hand.
He waded beside her, steady and warm, until the chill became exhilaration instead of shock.
They swam beneath the stars, quiet and free, their bodies cutting through moonlight.
Claire’s fingers were still wrapped in his, but she stepped closer, until the space between them was nothing but the tide.
Noah lifted his free hand, knuckles brushing her cheek as if asking permission without words. She answered by leaning into his touch.
His mouth found hers slowly, reverently at first – just a brush, a question. Salt and night and something unmistakably him. Claire’s breath hitched, her lips parting on instinct, and he followed that opening with quiet intent. The kiss deepened.
Noah’s mouth was warm against the cold air, steady and searching, as though he was learning her in pieces.
He kissed her again, longer this time, drawing her in, his lips coaxing hers open, his breath mingling with hers.
Claire rose onto her toes, hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his damp hair.
She kissed him back with equal hunger, no hesitation now.
Her mouth softened, then pressed, then opened, meeting him stroke for stroke.
The world narrowed to the slow, deliberate rhythm of their lips, the way he angled his head to fit her better, the faint sound she made when he pulled her closer and kissed her neck.
The ocean moved around them, gentle and relentless, and Claire realized she wasn’t cold anymore. Every nerve in her body was awake, alive beneath his mouth. She kissed him like she meant to stay.
She felt the long length of him push up against her thighs as he held her in place. Lapping up and down with the gentle waves of the water. Their bare chests touching in an embrace.
He didn’t even ask for permission. He didn’t need to. Claire wrapped her legs around his waist, and he entered her with a thrust, allowing the night to fuel their intimacy.
When they finally broke apart, they were drained of energy. Their foreheads touched and their breath mingled, the space between them felt charged with assurance.
The sea kept whispering. And neither of them moved away.
They lay naked and wet from the ocean, on his jacket, skin still tingling, the ocean murmuring a private lullaby.
Noah brushed damp hair from her face. Claire traced the line of his jaw.
Words felt unnecessary. The night held them, and when they finally rose and disappeared toward the house, the beach kept their secret, salt, starlight, and the promise of what came next.