Chapter 6
POV: AMBER
The hotel looks exactly the way I remember.
Small.
White walls sun-faded by years of salt air, blue shutters framing every window, the smell of sunscreen and ocean drifting in through the open lobby doors.
For a second, it feels like stepping back in time.
And I hate how easily the memories start creeping in.
Alexander walks in beside me like he belongs here.
Like this town didn’t break us both in half.
The girl at the reception desk looks up with a bright smile.
“Welcome! Reservation name?”
“Scott,” I say quickly. “Three rooms. It should be under Ethan Clarke.”
She types something into the computer.
Her smile slowly falters.
Then she types again.
And again.
My stomach tightens.
“Is there a problem?” I ask.
She bites her lip.
“Um… I’m not seeing three rooms.”
I blink.
“What do you mean you’re not seeing three rooms?”
Alexander leans casually against the counter beside me, arms crossed, watching quietly.
The girl clears her throat.
“There’s one reservation here. One room.”
“One room?” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“No, that’s not right.” I shake my head. “We booked three.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. This is the only reservation under that name.”
I pull out my phone and dial Ethan.
Straight to voicemail.
Of course.
I hang up and try again.
Still nothing.
“He’s probably still at the hospital,” I mutter under my breath.
The receptionist shifts nervously.
“We do have one room available,” she says quickly. “But everything else is booked.”
“How booked?” I ask.
“Completely. The surf championship is this weekend.”
That makes something in my chest twist.
Of course it is.
The same competition Alexander used to compete in when we were teenagers.
The one where half the town used to show up to watch him ride waves like he was born in the ocean.
I push the thought away quickly.
“That’s fine,” I say, already shaking my head. “Just give us two rooms.”
“I’m really sorry,” she says again, looking genuinely apologetic. “There aren’t any.”
My patience starts to crack.
“No rooms in the entire hotel?”
“There’s one left.”
She hesitates.
“It has two beds.”
“What kind of beds?”
“One queen… and one single.”
I stare at her.
Then I shake my head.
“No.”
Alexander exhales a quiet breath beside me, like he’s been expecting this reaction.
“I don’t care about bed size,” I say firmly. “I want two rooms.”
“I understand, but we don’t have—”
“There must be another hotel.”
“They’re all booked for the championship.”
My jaw tightens.
Alexander finally pushes off the counter.
“Amber.”
I turn toward him.
“We’ll take the room,” he says calmly.
My eyes widen.
“No.”
He looks at me steadily.
“It’s temporary.”
I cross my arms.
“I am not sharing a room with you.”
One corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
“Relax. It’s not like we’ve never shared a room before.”
Heat flashes through my chest.
“Don’t go there.”
His smile widens just enough to be infuriating.
The receptionist clears her throat awkwardly.
“I promise I’ll try to find another room,” she says quickly. “Sometimes guests cancel.”
I rub my temple.
“Fine.”
Alexander nods once.
“We’ll take it for now.”
The room is exactly as uncomfortable as I imagined.
Two beds.
One queen.
One narrow single.
My bag lands on the single immediately.
Territory claimed.
Alexander glances at it and chuckles softly.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You always did like dramatic statements.”
“I like boundaries.”
The room smells faintly like ocean and old wood.
Sunlight spills across the floor from the balcony doors, waves glittering in the distance.
And the worst part is how familiar everything feels.
Too many memories in places like this.
I grab my makeup bag and turn toward the bathroom.
“We have the yacht meeting in an hour,” I say.
“Right.”
“I’m going to get ready.”
He leans against the dresser.
“Take your time.”
The bathroom door closes behind me with a soft click.
I stare at my reflection.
Why does this feel so much harder than I thought it would?
Twelve years.
Twelve years of distance.
Twelve years of building a life where Alexander Fitzgerald didn’t exist.
And now we’re sharing a room again like the universe decided to play some cruel joke.
I splash cold water on my face.
Get it together, Amber.
This is work.
Nothing more.
When I walk out twenty minutes later, he’s already dressed.
Dark shirt rolled at the sleeves.
Sunglasses in his hand.
He glances up when he hears the door open.
And for a split second something in his expression changes.
Something softer.
Then it disappears.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yes.”
We leave the hotel together.
The marina we drive to isn’t the old one.
This one is larger.
Modern.
Rows of sleek yachts rocking gently in the water.
Investors are already gathered near the dock.
I pull out my phone just as it buzzes.
Mr. Sterling.
I answer quickly.
“Amber.”
“Everything alright?” he asks.
“Yes, sir. We had a small issue with the hotel reservations, but we’re sorting it out.”
“Good.”
His voice is sharp as always.
“The investors are already there?”
“We’re about to board the yacht now.”
“Excellent. I expect footage and preliminary notes tonight.”
“You’ll have them.”
The line clicks dead.
I lower the phone slowly.
Alexander is already walking ahead toward the dock.
The ocean stretches endlessly behind him.
Blue.
Restless.
Alive.
My stomach tightens.
God.
I hate boats.
The closer we get to the yacht, the more my nerves start buzzing under my skin.
The gentle rocking of the water.
The hollow creak of ropes against wooden posts.
The smell of salt and diesel.
Memories I try very hard not to think about.
Investors greet Alexander enthusiastically the moment we reach them.
He shifts effortlessly into command mode.
Confident.
Focused.
Explaining camera angles for the footage.
Talking about aerial shots of the coastline.
Giving quiet instructions to the crew.
I watch him for a moment.
The way people naturally listen when he speaks.
The way he moves like the ocean belongs to him.
Just like it always did.
Then someone gestures toward the yacht.
“Shall we?”
The group starts moving toward the gangway.
My pulse spikes.
I slow my steps slightly.
Trying to breathe normally.
Trying not to show it.
Trying not to remember the cold water closing over my head years ago.
Alexander steps onto the dock first.
Then he turns back toward the group.
And his eyes land on me.
Just for a second.
Something sharp flashes across his face.
Recognition.
Memory.
He knows.
Of course he knows.
He remembers.
And suddenly I’m not sure if my fear is worse…
or the fact that he still remembers it.