Chapter 45 Sparks Between Us
Sparks Between Us
Lily-Anne
Brandon is a few metres down the shoreline, a tall, cutting silhouette against the sinking sun as he scans the shingle with that serious concentration he applies to everything.
His shirt sleeves are rolled to expose his forearms, his trousers folded up to reveal lean, toned calves, saltwater darkening the fabric.
Wind lifts his untucked shirt, the top buttons undone, revealing a peek of the flat planes of his chest, his collar crooked, his coffee-brown hair whipped into a frenzy.
It’s the most dishevelled I’ve ever seen him, rugged with the edges undone, yet there’s a coiled control beneath it, like he’s holding himself back with sheer will.
I have no such control left. Pain and time have stripped it from me, and beneath it all is the simple, unbearable truth: I want him.
He stole my breath away when he carried me into the kitchen and set me down on the counter, his arm tight around my waist, my feet dangling off the ground. An hour later, I still can’t breathe normally.
He stood between my parted legs in the kitchen, wrapping my cast in plastic with the calm efficiency of a field medic, smoothing it, then winding duct tape in neat, decisive loops to secure it.
The air in the kitchen became thick and silent, save for the crinkle and stretch of tape.
I can’t stop thinking of how sure his hands were, the heat of his palms seeping through the layers.
The way his grip tightened just a fraction on my calf as he finished the job with a rough clear of his throat.
Having him tend to me like that—neither rough nor gentle, just quietly intense—might be the sexiest thing that’s ever happened to me. And we hardly exchanged a word.
We share a similar silence now as we search the beach. My pulse hammers as I pretend to look for sea glass, every nerve tuned to him at my side. It feels like we’re drifting towards something we’ve both been avoiding—and it’s getting harder to ignore.
“See any more?” he asks, as if he isn’t clocking the near-perfect pieces I’ve been ignoring at our feet.
“No,” I lie.
‘Just one more piece,’ I said half an hour ago, my cardigan’s pockets already full. That’s one piece of sea glass that, once found, will conclude our beach walk.
The truth is, I’m not ready to go. Not when it feels as though the sea itself is holding its breath around us.
This past week has felt like a return to myself.
Writing new songs has been like coming back to life, the beginning of a new chapter. And the hope that my guitar might be repaired…I didn’t realise how much that mattered until Brandon made the suggestion.
I’m grateful to him—more than I can say.
But what I feel now…what I’ve been feeling for a long time…runs far deeper than gratitude.
All I want is him, and it’s driving me absolutely out of my mind.
A flush of warmth rolls through me as I let myself glance at him quickly—only to find I cannot look away. The setting sun catches his face, bathing his features in gold, the angles dipped in shadow.
A gentle wave flows in, and my plastic-wrapped cast sinks a little deeper into the pebbles.
Brandon catches me staring. His gaze stills, holds, and something quiet and electric charges the air.
Water swirls around our ankles, my heartbeat skittering as the seconds stretch, his deep brown eyes turned molten gold in the dusk light, drawing me in.
For a wild second, the thought of moving closer flickers. I give him a shaky smile. “How many did you find?”
He opens his hands, palms empty. “None.”
“None? You…haven’t found a single one?” I stammer.
“No.” His voice is coarse, the quiet scrape sending a blaze of heat through me. “I’m not here for sea glass.”
“Oh? So…you’ve been humouring me?”
“Yes,” he says softly. “Though I’d rather call it indulging you.”
He carefully takes my hand, thumb caressing my knuckles. He stares at it for a moment before his gaze flicks up to mine. “I’m here for you.”
Everything inside me drops as Brandon’s fingers tighten around mine.
“Lily…I can’t wait a minute longer.” He swallows hard, his dark eyes searching mine. There’s no teasing warmth left in it now, only something raw and intent, the last glimmer of light fading as night gathers around us. “You must know,” he says with a quiet rasp. “Surely you realise.”
My heart stutters. The world seems to narrow, the sea hushed, the air thick between us.
“I’ve fallen for you.” His jaw tightens, as if the admission costs him. “And I love you. Deeply.” A disbelieving breath escapes him—half-laugh, half relieved exhale. “Quite madly, in fact.” A tremor runs through him, his hand trembling in mine. “And I always will.”
Everything inside me goes still.
“I’m in love with you too,” I whisper. “I have been for a while.”
His eyes grow hooded, his other hand lifting to cup my cheek, fingers sliding into my hair, slow enough to give me time to stop him.
I don’t. My cheek tilts against his dry palm, warmth blooming in a heady rush beneath my skin.
“Was it the beige walls that swayed you?” he asks in a low voice, gaze drifting to my lips.
I huff a soft laugh. “Actually, I think it was the kazoo.”
“I knew it.”
“That was your power move?”
“That was my power move.”
“Mm. I think it’s working.”
Humour skims the moment, but it only charges the pull, the air crackling as sparks leap between us.
“I’m sorry I ever pushed you away,” he says, the words quiet and sincere. “I was a classic fool.”
“You weren’t!”
“I was,” he insists, “or I would’ve kissed you far sooner.”
My heart beats wildly against my ribs as he leans in.
“Brandon,” I begin in an unfinished plea.
The name hasn’t even left my lips before he closes the distance, his mouth meeting mine with certainty.
He’s neither tentative nor cautious. He’s deliberate, his mouth claiming mine in a slow, devastating slide. I gasp and kiss him back, matching him, giving in to the pull I’ve fought for far too long. He deepens the kiss, lips firm and warm, and the world fades away until it’s just us.
Longing surges, shocking and irresistible as I melt into him, clutching his shirt as if I’ll fall apart otherwise.
Another shallow wave engulfs our feet, the tide coming in, but I hardly notice it as I press closer, needing him, my fingers sliding up his chest to the pale skin exposed at his collar.
His hand finds my jaw, his long fingers sure, angling my mouth closer.
Then he tilts my head back, and he ducks to press his mouth to my throat, trailing searing kisses along sensitive skin.
My knees nearly buckle, desire racing in my veins, my skin feverish with hot and cold as everything narrows to the feel of him.
A secret thrill sweeps through me when I feel the sudden, unmistakable hardening of him against me.
I press closer, craving more, and he lets out a low, helpless groan.
My mind blanks, overwhelmed by the rightness of it. Of our bodies aligned and fitting together, his tall frame encompassing me, the stars blinking overhead.
My casted foot sinks deeper.
“Wait—” I gasp, laughing into his mouth, but the next wave seeps through the plastic to my toes.
I lurch sideways, losing my balance as I grab onto Brandon in a panic. Suddenly, we’re stumbling, tangling, laughing as we topple into the water.
Pebbles press into my back, cold water soaking my clothes and drenching my hair, gasping in shock, Brandon laughing beside me.
I start to sit up, but he slides an arm beneath my neck, guiding me down into the water, his body following mine, weight lowering, his chest against mine as he captures my mouth.
The contrast hits me—icy water at my back, his heat—and it’s incredible.
I kiss him back, dizzy, my fingers trailing his back, skimming his soaked shirt where the fabric clings to muscle.
“Lily,” he murmurs against my lips.
I love the way he says my name. It’s ridiculous how easily his smooth, velvety voice undoes every coherent thought I have, rumbling in my ears and waking my senses.
His mouth returns to mine, deeper this time, like he’s finally letting go of whatever he’s been holding back.
The drag of wet clothes, the press of shingles beneath my back, his frame settling over me more surely, strength and solidity pressed close—it’s too much and not enough all at once.
A tremor of longing rushes through me, fierce and aching, as if every nerve has been waiting for this exact moment.
Then another wave rushes over us, damp between my toes.
“Oh no.” I jerk upright. “My cast just filled with water.”
Brandon rises in one smooth motion and pulls me up with him, lifting me effortlessly. We’re both breathing hard, lips swollen, hair dripping.
“Looks like the wrapping tore on the pebbles,” he says, his tone still husky. “Come on—let me carry you.”
My foot is sore from walking, and I don’t protest when Brandon crouches and lets me climb onto his back. His hands steady my legs; mine settle instinctively on his shoulders.
The night air bites at my wet clothes, water sloshing in the plastic wrapping around my foot, but I feel incandescent. As we near the cottage, the neat row of houses rises in silhouette against the darkening sky, their roofs etched in the last streaks of blue and fading orange.
Ellenor and Mum are out. We have the whole place to ourselves.
Brandon doesn’t put me down until we reach his bedroom.
He lowers me onto the edge of the bed—gently, but I wince as a random flash of pain shoots through my leg.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
I nod, trying to peel away the damp plastic wrapping. It’s taped down tight, and my fingers are clumsy and shaking. “Can you help me with this?”
He kneels down and removes it within minutes, leaving me to wonder—what next?
We could so easily keep going. I want to.
The mere sight of Brandon is appealing beyond reason. His soaked shirt clings to him, outlining every line of muscle. His hair is a wet mess, brow furrowed, chest rising and falling with each breath.