Chapter 3
GRACE
The morning sun spills across the boardwalk in golden ribbons, warming the weathered planks beneath my sandals as I step out of the rental cottage.
Salt air fills my lungs, carrying the faint sweetness of sunscreen and distant fryers from the food stands lining the shore.
I pause for a moment on the porch, letting the breeze tug at the hem of my white sundress.
The fabric is light cotton, dotted with tiny yellow flowers that catch the light like scattered sunshine, and it feels like a small act of rebellion against the gray months I left behind in the city.
No more heavy coats weighing me down. No more arguments echoing off apartment walls, leaving bruises on my heart that no one could see.
Just me, this endless stretch of coastline, and a summer to rediscover who I am without someone else constantly defining it for me.
I walk down the boardwalk toward Jake’s store.
I smile at the hand-painted sign that swings above the door: “Shoreline Supply – Everything You Need for Sun and Sand.” Nothing flashy or pretentious, just like the man who owns it.
I push the door open, and a little bell chimes overhead, announcing my arrival with a cheerful ring that cuts through the quiet hum of the fan inside.
Cool air greets me immediately, scented with coconut lotion, rubber flip-flops, and a hint of salty sea mist clinging to everything.
Shelves line the walls, overflowing with colorful beach towels in vibrant stripes and patterns, boogie boards stacked like colorful shields, plastic buckets and shovels for building sandcastles, and rows upon rows of sunscreen bottles in every SPF imaginable.
The wooden floor creaks softly under my steps, worn smooth by years of sandy feet coming and going. A fan whirs lazily from the ceiling, stirring the air without really cooling it much, and the whole place feels cozy, lived-in, like a secret haven from the bustling world outside.
Behind the counter, Jake straightens from where he was restocking a display of wide-brimmed straw hats, their ribbons fluttering slightly in the breeze from the open door.
His gray T-shirt stretches taut across his broad shoulders as he turns, and those blue eyes find me immediately, lighting up with a recognition that sends a flutter through my stomach.
A slow grin spreads across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that makes him look boyish and irresistible.
“Well, look who decided to come back for more trouble,” he says, his voice warm and teasing, carrying that easy drawl that hints at lazy summer days spent by the waves.
I laugh, the sound lighter than I expected, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside that had been locked away for too long. “I need beach essentials. You promised expert advice, remember?”
He rounds the counter with that confident stride of his, wiping his hands on a rag before tossing it aside onto a nearby shelf.
Up close, he smells faintly of salt and something woodsy, like cedar mixed with the ocean breeze, a combination that makes my head spin just a little.
His hair is still damp from what must have been a morning swim, curling at the ends in unruly waves that beg to be touched.
“Expert advice coming right up. What’s first on the list? ”
“Sunscreen,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “I burn faster than I care to admit. Fair skin and all that.”
He nods seriously, though his eyes sparkle with amusement, like he’s already picturing me slathered in lotion under the sun. “Smart choice. Follow me.”
We move down the narrow aisle lined with bottles, our arms nearly brushing as we navigate the tight space.
He picks up a few options, reading the labels with the same focused intensity he probably gives everything in his life, from tying knots on fishing lines to stealing glances at passing strangers like me.
“This one’s good for sensitive skin. Reef-safe, too, so you’re not harming the ocean while you protect yourself.
No white cast, either, it absorbs right in.
” He hands it to me, his fingers brushing mine just long enough to send a tiny spark up my arm, warm and electric.
I take the bottle, pretending to study the ingredients while my pulse settles from that brief contact. His touch lingers in my mind, replaying like a slow-motion scene, and I wonder if he feels it too. “You know a lot about this stuff,” I say, glancing up at him.
“Been running the shop since my dad retired five years ago,” he explains, leaning casually against the shelf beside me, his arm close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“Learned the hard way what works and what doesn’t.
Tourists come in all the time with lobster-red burns, swearing they’ll never forget sunscreen again. I try to save them the pain upfront.”
“You planning to spend all day out there?” he asks, his gaze drifting over me in a way that feels appreciative without being overt, like he’s memorizing the curve of my shoulder under the sundress strap.
“Most of it,” I admit. “I brought a book, a towel, and have zero plans. There has to be some fun and not just work all the time.”
He tilts his head, studying me with those piercing hazel eyes. “No agenda? Dangerous territory. The ocean might decide to keep you if you’re not careful.”
I meet his gaze, feeling a pull that tugs at something deeper than flirtation. “Maybe I’d let it,” I reply, my voice softer than intended, the words hanging between us like a challenge, playful but edged with something real, something unspoken.
He doesn’t look away. Instead, he reaches past me for another bottle on the higher shelf, his arm brushing my shoulder in the process.
The contact is brief, but the heat of him lingers on my skin like a promise, making my breath hitch just a fraction.
His proximity is intoxicating, the way his body fills the space, close enough that I can see the faint stubble along his jaw and the way his shirt clings to the muscles earned from years of carrying crates and surfing waves.
“Try this one too,” he says, his voice dropping a fraction lower, rougher around the edges. “Water-resistant for when you inevitably go for a dip. Lasts through swims and sweat.”
I take it from him, our fingers touching again.
This time, he doesn’t pull back right away.
His thumb grazes the inside of my wrist, slow and deliberate, tracing a path that sends shivers racing up my arm despite the warmth of the shop.
My breath catches audibly, and I see the corner of his mouth twitch in response, like he knows exactly the effect he’s having.
“You’re staring again,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, but I don’t step away.
“Can’t help it,” he replies, his eyes tracing my face with unhurried intensity, then lowering to the sundress clinging lightly to my curves in the gentle breeze from the fan.
The compliment lands warm and direct, no games or hesitation, wrapping around me like the salt air outside. My cheeks flush despite the air conditioning, a heat that spreads from my face down my neck.
“Smooth talker,” I tease, trying to lighten the moment even as my heart pounds harder.
“Honest talker,” he corrects, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.
He steps a fraction closer, the space between us shrinking until I can feel the subtle rhythm of his breathing.
“You’re glowing, Grace. Not just from the sun.
From the inside. It’s like you’ve been waiting to shine, and now that you’re here, nothing can dim it. ”
I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how small the aisle feels, how the shelves seem to close in around us, creating a private world just for this moment.
“You don’t even know me,” I say, but the words lack conviction, because in this instant, it feels like he does.
It feels like he sees through the layers I’ve built up over the years.
“I know enough to see you needed this trip,” he responds softly, his hand lifting as if to touch my cheek, then pausing mid-air, waiting for permission. “And I know I like the way you look when you smile. You’re doing it a lot more today than you were the night of the fireworks.”
I glance down at the sunscreen bottles in my hands, the labels blurring slightly as memories flood back. “It was the divorce,” I confess quietly, the admission slipping out before I can stop it. “I’m still figuring out what comes next, who I am without all that noise.”
He nods slowly, his expression shifting to one of quiet understanding, no pity or judgment, just empathy that feels genuine and rare.
“I get that more than you know. My ex left three years ago. Said the shop and the small-town life weren’t enough excitement for her.
She wanted the city lights, the fast pace, more than what I could give.
I wanted the waves crashing at dawn, the quiet mornings stocking shelves, the chance to build something bigger someday.
Maybe add a surf school out back, rent boards to tourists, teach kids how to ride their first wave.
Dreams don’t have to be huge to matter. They just have to be yours. ”
I look up at him, drawn in by the vulnerability in his voice, the way he shares without holding back. “I like that you didn’t let her convince you to move to the city. I can’t even imagine you there.”
“Roots run deep here,” he replies, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
Something in his tone pulls at me even stronger now, steady and grounded, the opposite of the chaos I escaped from the city. “I envy that,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. “Knowing exactly where you belong. Feeling like you fit.”