Chapter 28
Willow
If this is what all dates are like, then I've been seriously missing out. I mean, I’m only twenty, and honestly, I don't even know if people my age actually date.
From what I've seen and heard, their idea of a date seems to be a pint down at the pub, followed by a quickie in an alley or the back of the car—even if the guy has a car.
I get the impression that the only reason it feels special is because of Elijah. He didn't fidget once, didn't roll his eyes or complain. He sat through the entire show, fully present, and I couldn't miss the way his eyes kept finding me, tracing me like he wanted to memorise every detail.
And honestly? I'm not complaining. Not even a little. Makes a girl feel special, to be honest, and I love his attention.
Now we’re walking hand in hand, the warmth of the coffee in my grip, hot chocolate in his.
The sun is dipping low, painting the sky in bruised oranges and pinks over a tiny, weathered beach.
Not as pretty as the one near my old home, but the soothing crash of the waves is familiar, calming.
It's nice being in our own little bubble without worrying that someone will see us.
“I have a question.”
He takes a careful sip of his drink, letting me meet his gaze over the rim, that lazy, amused glint in his blue eyes.
“Tell me… what animal do you think is actually a human in disguise?”
It's random, I know, but the thought had stuck with me after a doom-scrolling session the other day.
He blinks, eyebrows quirking up like he's trying to guess if I’m serious or just playing a game.
“You're actually serious.”
"Of course I am. It's an important question.
He twists his lips, thinking. “Sloths?”
“Sloths?” I shiver as a gust of wind sweeps over us. “That’s the first animal that came to mind?”
“They're my favourite,” he says with a shrug.
I love learning things about him, no matter how small they are.
He wraps me in his arms, hugging my arm gently—goosebumps rising across my skin. I know I should put on my cardigan, but I like being here, pressed against him, feeling the warmth of him around me.
“Well, what do you think then?” he asks, tilting his head down so our faces are close.
“Birds.”
He looks at me in amusement. “And why is that?”
“Think about it. Parrots can mimic perfect English. Penguins promise with special rocks, and swans are obsessed with mating dances. It's obvious that they're humans in disguise. Just tiny, feathery humans.”
He laughs, throwing his head back, and I can't help but join him. This is so easy. Everything is so much easier with him, and he lets me talk about shit without thinking I’m weird.
“I love your brain,” he remarks with a lazy smile. “But you do make a very good point.”
“Why is your favourite colour green?”
“Your eyes,” he replies without hesitation, like it's the simplest answer in the world.
I swallow.
I've never liked my eyes. Or my hair. They're the same as Rose’s—same shade, same colouring, like proof stamped across my face that I came from her. For years, I've hated looking in mirrors unless I had to, because all I could see was a version of her looking back at me.
But Elijah looks at me like those things are my best features because they belong to me. And annoyingly, he's starting to make me believe it too.
Still, that tiny, spiteful voice in the back of my head won't stay quiet.
What if he doesn't see me when he says that?
What if he just sees the same green… as hers?
“Is that why you're wearing this green dress?” he grazes the fabric at my waist.
“Amongst other things,” I reply, tilting my head, giving him a look that is anything but innocent.
I watch the way he looks me over, eyes darkening. He understands exactly what I meant.
“Oh yeah? Can I see?”
I lift my cup to my lips, hiding my smile behind it. “No can do. You'll have to be a good boy and wait till later.”
A low, gravelly growl rumbles from him. “Beautiful brat.”
Sipping my drink, I let the warmth spread through me while I breathe him in, shifting even closer. I try not to laugh when I feel him harden against me, enjoying the effect I have on him.
He pulls back. “Just need to grab something from the car. Give me a sec.”
Before I can argue, he jogs down the path toward the car park where we parked. Looking back at the beach, stepping toward the shore, the sand was mostly hidden by rocks. I’d love to dive in, feel the cold bite of the water against my skin, but this isn't the right beach for that.
Still, the sky is beautiful.
A pang of nostalgia hits me as I think of home. I miss those late nights lying on the sand, watching the stars shine overhead. My dad always knew where to find me—if I wasn’t at the dance studio, I’d be at the beach.
There's a quiet click that breaks the quiet, and I look to the side to see Elijah standing there, camera in hand. I didn't even hear him come back. Also, why does he look effortlessly perfect holding a camera? Honestly, I think I've decided he looks good doing anything.
He steps closer, slow and deliberate, his presence calming. The strap swings lightly as he leans down, wiping away the lingering tear I didn't even realise was there. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” I breathe, though my voice cracks slightly. “Just hard sometimes, especially in a place like this.”
A shadow crosses his face, a flicker of worry in his eyes. “We can leave if it's too much.”
I take his hand, holding it firmly. “No. I don't want to leave just yet.” I nod toward his camera. “Did you take a picture of me?”
He lifts the camera, angling it toward me. “I did. I want all my pictures to be of you.”
A warm pulse spreads through my chest down to my stomach, a quiet flutter that has nothing to do with the sea breeze. I grin, teasing. “I was wondering when I’d see you in action.”
He freezes mid-frame, eyes glinting with amusement. “My mam told you, didn't she?”
“I suppose we both know each other's guilty pleasures now.”
He lowers the camera just enough to wink at me before snapping another shot. I break into a laugh, covering my mouth as he takes shot after shot. I swipe my hand over the lens, shaking my head.
“I think you have enough.”
“Enough? I’ll never have enough. Just give me one more smile.”
I roll my eyes. “Nope.”
His gaze sharpens, that quiet, don't-test-me look I know too well, and my heart beats faster. I push off, sprinting away, my laughter echoing across the rocks. His long legs make up ground effortlessly, but I zigzag, twist, and dodge, letting the thrill of the chase wash over me.
Just as I near the water, I feel him wrap an arm around my waist and pull me back.
I shriek, half in surprise and half in delight, twisting to look at him. His grin is wild, pearly teeth on display, and he looks ridiculously pleased with himself. My hands fly to his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
“Gotcha.”
I get lost in his blue eyes, endless and calm like the ocean.
I take in every single detail: the dark stubble tracing his jaw, the way his hair flutters in the wind, the faint lines beside his mouth, the perfect curve of his lips, and a tiny freckle on the edge of his nose.
My chest seizes as I realise I’m falling—hard, completely, irrevocably.
Our breaths mingle, ragged in the salty air, and in that moment, I know I want him to hold me like this forever.
“I don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he says, tucking a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. His camera is slung over his shoulder. “But I know I can never let you go. No matter the consequences, no matter what comes, I’m not letting you go.”
I wet my lips, my voice softer than the waves beside us. “Then don't. I'm all yours.”
That's all it takes.
He kisses me like he's been holding back all day. The faint taste of chocolate lingers between us, warm and sweet, and despite the sun lowering and the cold creeping into the air, heat spreads through me from the inside out. I don't feel the chill.
I only feel him.
The man I spent most of my life resenting has claimed half of my soul, and the thought of giving him the rest makes me dizzy with both fear and longing.
But I focus on the kiss, on the way he cradles me like I’m everything he’s been waiting for.
His hands, his mouth, his very presence—all of it tells me that I’m wanted, I’m safe, and I’m seen.
Guilt claws at the edges of my mind. This could hurt the one person we both love most in this world, and my dad would hate this. He'd despise Elijah for looking at me as anything more than a friend. But none of that matters right now.
Because Elijah is the one who pulled me out of the dark hole I thought I’d never climb from. He stays with me when I fall back in, when the walls close in, and I’m suffocating in my own sadness.
I let go.
I kiss him back with every piece of me he’s already claimed, allowing him to anchor me to the light when the darkness threatens to pull me under.
In that moment, with the tide at our feet and the sun bleeding out of the sky, I know—he's my calm, my home, the only place I've ever wanted to be.
We barely make it through his bedroom door before his mouth is on mine again.
I stumble backwards, laughing softly into the kiss, my hands fisting the sleeves of his shirt as he crowds me against the wall. The entire drive here felt like a fever dream, too slow, too tense, every second stretched thin by the need to touch him and be touched by him.
I've been waiting for this.
Waiting through the teasing looks, the times he used his talented tongue and fingers on me, but nothing more. Finally, we don't need to hold back anymore, for a full weekend, he's mine.
My pulse is wild, my breath unsteady, and I can't stop smiling against his lips. I slide my hands up his arms, feeling the strength there, anchoring myself as if I might actually melt into the wall behind me.
“I swear,” I murmur between kisses, a breathless, sarcastic edge slipping through. “If you stop now, I will never forgive you.”