Chapter 4
JAKE
The sun has barely cleared the dunes when I park my truck at the edge of the gravel path leading to her cottage.
The little white rental sits tucked between sea oats and a weathered picket fence, porch light still glowing softly against the pale morning sky.
I cut the engine, grab the two to-go cups from the holder, and step out.
The air carries that fresh, sea salt smell that only exists right after dawn on the coast.
I walk the short path, boots quiet on the crushed shells, and climb the three steps to her porch. The screen door is unlatched like she’s expecting me.
I knock twice, light but firm. A moment later, the inner door swings open, and there she is. Her hair mussed from sleep, wearing an oversized T-shirt that hits mid-thigh and bare legs that make my body go tight. Her eyes are still heavy-lidded, but they brighten the second they land on me.
“Morning,” she says, voice husky with sleep, a small smile curving her lips.
“Morning.” I hold up the cups. “Coffee delivery.”
She steps back, holding the door wide. “You’re a saint.”
I follow her inside. The cottage is small, bright, and filled with soft morning light pouring through sheer curtains. A half-read book lies open on the couch, a throw blanket draped over one arm.
She closes the door behind me and turns, leaning against it for a second like she needs the support. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up this early.”
“Told you I would.” I hand her the cup with two sugars, keeping the black one for myself. Our fingers brush. She doesn’t pull away immediately, and neither do I.
We move to the tiny kitchen island. She hops onto one of the stools, legs swinging slightly, and takes a long sip. Her eyes close in pure pleasure. “God, this is perfect. How did you know exactly how I take it?”
“I pay attention.”
She looks at me over the rim of the cup, studying. “Are you always this thoughtful?”
“Only when it matters.” I lean against the counter opposite her, close enough that our knees almost touch. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better than I have in months.” She sets the cup down, fingers tracing the cardboard sleeve. “No nightmares. No waking up wondering if I’m going to have to defend my choices over breakfast. Just the sound of the waves.”
I nod, letting the words settle. “That’s what the coast does. Strips everything else away until you’re left with what’s real.”
She meets my gaze. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not always.” I take a sip of my own coffee, buying a second to find the right words. “But it gets easier when you stop fighting what feels right.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, then she closes them again, exhaling softly. “I’m trying.”
“I know.” I reach across the island and cover her hand with mine. Her skin is warm from the cup. “That’s why I’m here. No pressure. Just coffee and company.”
She turns her hand over, lacing her fingers through mine. The simple connection sends a slow heat through me. We stay with our hands entwined, the only sounds the distant roll of waves and the faint tick of a clock somewhere in the living room.
Finally, she speaks. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Whatever you want me to be doing.”
A small laugh escapes her. “Smooth.”
I squeeze her hand once, then let go so I can lean forward on my elbows. “There’s a bonfire party down at the south end of the beach tonight. Locals mostly. Good music, cold drinks, firelight. Nothing fancy. Would you like to come with me?”
Her brows lift. “A party?”
“Not a wild, drunken night of debauchery, if that’s what you’re thinking. More like sitting on blankets, listening to someone strum a guitar, watching sparks drift up into the stars. Casual. Easy.”
She bites her lip, considering. “I haven’t been to a party in forever, unless you count the fireworks the other night.”
“Then it’s time.” I keep my voice steady, giving her the out if she needs it.
“We can go for an hour, or we can stay until the fire dies down. Your call. But first,” I pause, letting a slow smile spread.
“How about we take a walk at sunset? Just you and me. No crowd. No expectations. We walk, we talk, we see where the night takes us. Then, if you’re still feeling it, we head to the party together. ”
She searches my face, eyes soft and uncertain and hopeful all at once. “You really want me there? With your friends?”
“I want you wherever I am.” The truth slips out, simple and bare. “But only if you want to be there too.”
She exhales, a shaky little sound. “I do. I want that.”
Relief floods through me, warm and bright. “Then it’s settled. Sunset walk with the party after. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. Wear something you don’t mind getting sandy.”
A real smile breaks out on her face. “I think I can manage that.”
I push off the counter and step around the island until I’m standing between her knees. She tilts her head back to look up at me. I brush a strand of hair from her cheek, thumb lingering against her skin.
“You look beautiful first thing in the morning,” I murmur.
Her cheeks flush. “I look like I just rolled out of bed.”
“Exactly.”
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating between us. I lean down, press a slow kiss to her lips, nothing demanding, just a promise. When I pull back, her eyes are closed, lips parted.
“Six-thirty,” I say again, voice rougher now.
She nods. “I’ll be ready.”
I force myself to step away before I do something stupid. “Finish your coffee. Text me if you need anything before tonight.”
“I will.”
I head for the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. “Grace?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
She smiles again, softer this time. “Me too.”
I step outside, the screen door creaking shut behind me. The morning air feels sharper, the sun brighter, everything edged with anticipation.
Six-thirty can’t come fast enough.
The rest of the day drags by slowly. I spend the day stocking shelves, helping tourists find the perfect boogie board, and answering the same questions I’ve answered a thousand times.
By six, I’m back at my place, showered, wearing clean jeans and a navy t-shirt. I grab a light jacket for her in case the wind picks up and drive to the cottage.
She steps out onto the porch right on time, wearing a soft white sweater over a sundress, hair loose and wavy. She looks like summer itself. She’s impossible to look away from.
I meet her at the bottom of the steps. “You look gorgeous.”
She slips her hand into mine without hesitation. “Thank you, Jake.”
We walk in comfortable silence at first, the path winding down to the public beach access. The sun hangs low, turning the sky into a watercolor wash of orange and pink. Waves roll in steady and gentle, foam hissing against the sand.
When we hit the shoreline, we turn south, away from the pier lights. The beach stretches empty ahead of us, just us and the water and the fading day.
She swings our joined hands lightly. “Tell me something about tonight’s bonfire. Who’ll be there?”
“Friends mostly. A couple of guys I surf with, their wives or girlfriends, and a few locals who bring guitars and coolers. It’s low-key. No one expects you to perform or be anything other than yourself.”
She glances up at me. “I’m still figuring that out.”
“Then you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” I squeeze her hand. “No one’s judging. They’ll just be glad you’re there.”
She exhales, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For someone to ask why I’m really here, or how long I’m staying, or what my plan is.”
“Let them ask.” I stop walking, turning her to face me. The last sliver of sun gilds her hair, her skin. “You don’t owe anyone answers. Not even me.”
Her eyes search mine. “But I want to give them to you.”
My heart kicks hard. “Then I’m listening.”
She takes a breath, looks out at the water, then back at me. “I’m scared I’ll get comfortable here, and then August comes, and I have to go back to a life that doesn’t fit anymore. I don’t know how to stay open to possibilities and protect myself at the same time.”
I lift her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
“You don’t have to figure it out tonight.
Or tomorrow. We take it day by day. If August comes and you need to leave, I’ll hate it, but I won’t try to keep you here against your will.
If you decide you want to stay longer, I’ll be right here waiting to see what that looks like. ”
Tears shimmer in her eyes, but she blinks them back, smiling instead. “You make it sound like you’ll want me here forever. You don’t know me well enough. I might drive you crazy after a week of knowing me.”
“I know what I feel, and I don’t think I’ll ever want you to leave. I don’t think you could ever drive me crazy, except in the very best way,” I wiggle my eyebrows, and she laughs just like I want her to.
The sun slips below the horizon, leaving the sky bruised purple and the first stars pricking through. We start walking again, slower now, her arm looped through mine.
When we reach a quiet stretch backed by dunes, I stop. Turn her toward me. The firelight from the distant bonfire flickers faintly down the beach, but here it’s just starlight and her.
I cup her face with both hands. “Grace.”
She rises on her toes, meeting me halfway.
The kiss starts soft, lips brushing, testing, savoring.
Then she sighs against my mouth, and everything shifts.
I angle her head, deepen the connection, tasting salt and coffee and the sweet heat that’s only her.
She presses closer, hands sliding up my chest to my shoulders, fingers digging in like she needs the anchor.
I walk her backward until her back meets the smooth curve of a dune, sand cool against the night air. My hands slide down her sides, settling at her waist, pulling her flush against me. She gasps softly when she feels how much I want her, and the sound sends fire through my veins.
I kiss her like a starving man. Her tongue meets mine in slow, deliberate strokes. My hands roam her back, slipping under the hem of her sweater to trace bare skin. She arches into the touch, a quiet moan vibrating against my lips.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, she rests her forehead against mine.
“I feel alive,” she whispers. “Really alive. Like I’ve been asleep for years, and I’m just waking up.”
I brush my thumb across her swollen lower lip. “Good. I’m not done waking you up.”
She smiles against my mouth, kissing me once more. This kiss is soft, lingering, full of promise.
Down the beach, the bonfire glows brighter, laughter drifting on the wind.
I take her hand again. “Ready to join them?”
She nods, squeezing my fingers. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
We walk toward the firelight together, the night stretching out ahead of us, full of possibility and heat and the kind of quiet certainty that doesn’t need words.