Chapter 2
JAKE
The last firework dies in a shower of silver sparks, and the beach crowd starts to thin, voices drifting away like smoke.
Grace stays seated on her blanket, knees drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them, staring at the dark water as if she's trying to decide whether the night is over or just beginning.
I don't move either.
I sit beside her on the cooling sand, close enough that our shoulders nearly touch, close enough that I can smell the faint coconut of her sunscreen mixed with the salt on her skin.
Every time she breathes, the thin strap of her sundress shifts against her collarbone, and I have to force my gaze back to the ocean before I do something stupid like reach out and trace that line with my fingertip.
She finally stands, brushing sand from the back of her thighs with slow, deliberate movements. The motion pulls the fabric of her dress tight for a second, outlining the curve of her hips, and my throat goes dry.
I rise too, offering my hand without thinking.
She looks at it, then at me, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I’m already standing, Jake."
"I know." I keep my hand extended anyway. "But I like touching you."
Her laugh is soft, surprised, and she places her palm in mine. Her skin is warm, softer than I expected, and the simple contact sends a jolt straight through me. I let my thumb stroke the inside of her wrist once before I release her.
We walk in silence for a few steps toward the path that leads back to the cottages. The bonfire is down to glowing embers behind us, and the waves keep their steady rhythm, louder now that the music has stopped.
"Thank you for the company," she says quietly. "The fireworks were better with someone to watch them with."
"Anytime." I glance sideways at her. "You heading straight home?"
She nods. "Early start tomorrow. Pitches to send, coffee to drink, pretending I'm not distracted by a certain surf-shop owner who won't stop staring."
I grin. "Guilty. I can't help it, Grace. You're distracting."
She stops at the edge of the boardwalk and turns to face me fully. The string lights overhead catch in her hair, turning the strands to warm gold. "Jake..."
"Yeah?"
She hesitates, searching my face. "This, whatever this might be, it's just for the summer. I'm here for three months."
I step closer, not crowding her, but close enough that she has to tilt her head to meet my eyes. "I heard you the first time. No complications. No strings."
Her gaze drops to my mouth for a heartbeat before flicking back up. "I’ve never done something like this, especially with a man so much younger than me."
"Never," I repeat, letting the word hang between us. "Is there room for exceptions?"
She exhales a small laugh. "You're trouble."
"Only the best kind." I reach out, tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against the shell of it. Her breath hitches, just barely, but I hear it. I feel it. "Get some sleep, Grace. Dream about me, I won't mind."
Her lips part, but no words come out. Instead, she gives me one last long look, then turns and walks away down the path to Oceanview Lane.
I watch until she's out of sight, hands shoved in my pockets to keep from following her.
Sleep doesn't come easily that night. I lie in my bed above the surf shop, windows open to the sound of the surf, replaying every second of the evening.
The way her eyes lit when she laughed. The way her body leaned toward mine during the fireworks.
The way she didn't pull away when my fingers grazed her skin.
By morning, I'm restless, wired, and already counting the hours until I can see her again.
I open the shop at nine, rolling up the garage door to let the salt air flood in. The place smells like wax, neoprene, and coffee. My sister Liv shows up ten minutes later with a bag of muffins from the bakery down the street.
She takes one look at my face and smirks. "You look like you didn't sleep. Hot date?"
"Hot almost-date." I grab a muffin and tear off a piece. "Met someone at the bonfire. Her name is Grace, and she’s renting on Oceanview."
Liv's eyebrows shoot up. "The pretty brunette in the green dress? Everyone was talking about how you two were glued together during the fireworks."
"Small town," I mutter.
"Very." She leans against the counter, crossing her arms. "She's older, right? Like, significantly."
I meet her eyes steadily. "Doesn't matter."
Liv studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Okay, just be careful, little brother. She looks like she's carrying some history."
"I can handle history."
She snorts. "Famous last words."
I spend the morning restocking boards and rinsing wetsuits, but my mind is elsewhere. Every time the bell over the door rings, I look up, hoping it's her.
Around eleven-thirty, I can't take it anymore. I grab my keys, tell Liv I'm running to the café for lunch, and head down the boardwalk.
Grace sits at a corner table under the striped awning, laptop open, sunglasses perched on her head, a half-finished iced latte sweating beside her.
She's wearing a white tank top today, thin straps over sun-kissed shoulders, and her hair is twisted up in a messy knot secured with a pencil.
She bites her lower lip while she types, completely focused, and something in my chest squeezes hard.
I order two iced lattes, walk over, and set one in front of her without a word.
She startles, looking up, and her whole face softens when she sees me. "Jake."
"Hi, Grace." I slide into the chair across from her. "You looked like you could use a refill and maybe some company."
She closes the laptop slowly, one eyebrow arched in that way that makes my blood heat. "And you volunteered for both?"
"Guilty." I lean forward, forearms on the small table, close enough to catch the faint scent of coconut. "Couldn't stop thinking about you last night. Kept seeing your face in the firework light. Kept wondering what your mouth would feel like under mine."
Her breath catches audibly. A flush creeps up her throat, slow and pink, and I want to follow it with my tongue.
"You're not subtle," she murmurs.
"Don't want to be." I let my gaze drop to her lips, then drag it back up to her eyes. "Tell me to leave, and I'll go, but I don't think that's what you want."
She studies me, fingers tightening around the fresh coffee cup. "I'm not looking for anything, Jake. I told you that."
"I remember." I keep my voice low, steady. "I'm not asking for anything. I just want to spend time with you."
She laughs, the sound soft, husky, and it lands low in my gut. "You're impossible."
"Persistent," I correct. "Big difference."
Silence stretches between us, thick with possibility. Her eyes trace my shoulders, my jaw, the way my T-shirt pulls tight across my chest from leaning forward. I let her look. I want her to picture it. My hands on her again, this time without anything between us.
"Fine," she says at last. "One lesson. But I'm warning you, I'm terrible at anything athletic."
"I don’t believe you’re terrible at anything you put your mind to." The words come out rougher than I intend, loaded. Her pupils flare, dark and hungry.
We finish our coffees in charged quiet, every glance feeling like foreplay. Then we walk the short distance to the shop side by side. Our arms brush with every step, electricity snapping along my skin.
Inside, I grab a beginner shortboard and lead her out to the private stretch of beach we use for lessons.
The water is calm today, with gentle rollers instead of crashing waves. Perfect for a first-timer.
I wade in with her, board under my arm, watching the way her cover-up clings to the wind that catches it. She peels it off, revealing a simple black bikini that ties at the hips and neck, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from groaning out loud.
"First thing," I say, voice a little hoarse, "pop-up position on the sand so I can correct your form."
She drops to the board on the beach, lies flat, then pushes up with her hands. Her back arches, ass lifting, and I step behind her, hands going to her hips to guide her.
"Like this," I murmur, pressing her hips down slightly, thumbs brushing the bare skin above her bikini bottoms. "Chest up, look forward, not down."
She follows my instructions, body moving under my hands, warm and responsive. Every adjustment feels intimate, my palms sliding along her waist, my chest brushing her back when I lean over to check her stance.
"Good," I say against her ear. "Now in the water."
We paddle out together. She struggles a little getting over the small waves, laughing when water splashes her face. I stay close, one hand steadying the board when she needs it.
The first few tries, she pops up too fast, loses balance, tumbles into the foam with a yelp. Each time I pull her up, her body slick and pressed against mine in the water, her laughter turns breathy when my hands linger on her waist.
"You're getting it," I tell her after the fifth fall. "One more time, slowly. Feel the wave lift you."
She nods, determination in her eyes, and paddles into position. The wave comes, gentle but perfect. She pushes up, slow and controlled. For one glorious second, she's standing, arms out, smile wide and triumphant.
Then the board tips, and she's in my arms again, laughing, legs wrapping around my waist instinctively as I catch her.
Our faces are inches apart, water dripping from her lashes, lips parted.
"You did it," I say, voice rough.
"Because of you." Her hands slide to my shoulders, fingers digging in slightly.
I could kiss her right here. I want to so badly, but I don't. Instead, I carry her closer to shore, set her down gently, and let my hands trail down her sides before I step back.
"See? Not terrible at all."
She looks up at me, eyes dark, chest rising and falling fast. "Thank you. That was amazing."
"Anytime." I brush wet hair from her cheek. "You want to go again?"
She shakes her head slowly. "I think I've had enough for today. I’m going to end with a win."
I nod, even though every part of me wants to keep her in the water, keep my hands on her.
We walk back up the beach, board under my arm, her cover-up draped over her shoulders. The sun is dipping lower, painting everything gold.
At her cottage steps, she turns to me.
"Jake..."
"Yeah?"
She hesitates, then steps closer, rises on her toes, and presses the softest, briefest kiss to my cheek.
"Thank you for today," she whispers.
Before I can respond, she's gone, door closing softly behind her. I stand there a long moment, cheek tingling, body hard and aching, smiling like an idiot.