Chapter 9
GRACE
Three days stretch longer than any three days have a right to. I wake each morning reaching for him before my eyes open, fingers curling into empty sheets that still carry the faint ghost of his cedar-and-ocean scent.
I tell myself the silence is what I asked for. I wanted space and time to think. Time to breathe, but breathing feels harder with every hour he isn’t here.
I miss him desperately.
The ache sits under my ribs like a bruise I can’t stop pressing. I lie in bed at night and trace the faint red marks his beard left on my inner thighs, marks that are fading faster than I want them to, as if my body is already erasing evidence of how completely I let him in.
I’m terrified of how much I want him back.
This morning I woke to gray light pressing against the windows and the low growl of thunder rolling in from the sea. Rain taps the roof in a steady drum. I make coffee I don’t drink, open my laptop, stare at the blinking cursor until my eyes burn.
I close the laptop. Pull on jeans, a soft sweater, and rain boots. The cottage feels too small to hold all the restlessness inside me. I need air. I need motion. I need to stop thinking in circles.
The town is quiet under the drizzle. Tourists stay inside cafés and rental houses.
Locals move with the ease of people who know where they’re going.
I walk Main Street without a destination, hands shoved deep in my pockets, hood up against the mist. The hardware store window displays new paint swatches and galvanized buckets.
The bakery window shows trays of cinnamon rolls still warm from the oven. I keep walking.
Liv steps out of the coffee shop two doors down, paper cup in one hand, phone in the other. She spots me immediately, a smile breaking wide and warm across her face. No hesitation. No judgment. Just the same open welcome she gave me at the bonfire.
“Grace.” She crosses the sidewalk in three easy strides. “You look like you could use a dry place and a good cup of coffee.”
I laugh despite myself, small and surprised. “That obvious?”
“Only to people who’ve been there.” She tilts her head toward the shop. “Come on, my treat.”
I follow her inside as the bell chimes softly.
Warmth wraps around me immediately: coffee, cinnamon, the faint sweetness of fresh pastries.
We claim a small table by the window. Rain streaks the glass in slow silver trails.
Liv orders for both of us without asking me what I want.
She gets two lattes and one cinnamon roll to share.
When the barista walks away, she leans forward on her elbows.
“I talked to Jake,” she says simply. No preamble. No fishing. Just a fact.
My heart stutters. “He told you.”
“He didn’t have to.” She shrugs one shoulder. “I know my brother. When he’s hurting, he gets quiet. When he’s hurting over someone he loves, he gets dangerously quiet. He’s worried about you. Not angry. Not giving up. Just… worried.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes before I can stop them.
I blink hard. “I’m scared, Liv. I’m so scared I can’t breathe sometimes.
He’s everything good I didn’t think I’d ever have again, and I keep waiting for the moment it disappears.
For him to realize I’m too old, too damaged, too much work.
For me to ruin it because I don’t know how to trust happiness anymore. ”
Liv reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. Her touch is warm, steady, sisterly in a way that makes my throat close.
“Grace,” she says quietly. “Happiness isn’t the problem.
Fear is. You’ve spent years believing you don’t deserve it because someone told you so loud and so long that you started repeating it to yourself.
Jake isn’t that someone. He’s the opposite.
He sees you, really sees you, and he’s still here.
He’s still choosing you, even when you pull away and even when you don’t answer his texts.
That’s not a fling. That’s a man who’s already decided you’re worth waiting for. ”
I swallow hard. “What if I can’t be what he needs? What if I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and I push him away until he finally leaves?”
“Then you’ll lose something beautiful.” Her voice stays gentle. “But you’ll lose it because you chose fear over love, not because you weren’t enough, or because you’re too old or too broken. It will be because you decided the risk was too high and you’ll have to live with that.”
The words land heavily, truthfully, but kindly. I look down at our joined hands. Hers is tanned and calloused from years of holding surfboards and ropes. Mine is softer, paler, marked by the faint white line where my wedding ring used to sit.
“I miss him,” I whisper. “How can I miss him so much after knowing him for such a short time?”
Liv squeezes once, then lets go. “Because you have feelings for him. He’s not going anywhere unless you tell him to.”
I nod slowly. “I want to see him.”
She smiles, looking relieved. “Good. There’s a bonfire tonight. It’s just a few of us, but if you want it to be just the two of you, I can make sure everyone else stays home.”
I exhale a shaky laugh. “You’d do that?”
“For my brother? For you? Yeah, I would.” She stands, grabs a napkin, and scribbles loose directions on it. “Same spot as last time.”
I take the napkin as my fingers tremble. “Thank you, Liv.”
She leans down and presses a quick kiss to the top of my head. “Don’t thank me yet. Thank him when you see him. And Grace?”
I look up.
“Choose happiness this time, even if it’s scary, maybe especially if it’s scary.”
She leaves me there with cooling coffee and a racing heart.
The rest of the day flies by. I shower and try on three different outfits before settling on jeans and a soft green sweater that brings out my eyes.
At seven-thirty, I drive to the beach.
The road to the pull-off feels longer tonight as the gravel crunches under my tires. I park, kill the engine, and sit for a full minute with my hands gripping the wheel. Then I grab the blanket from the backseat, the same one we used last time, and walk the path to the beach.
He’s already there.
The bonfire burns low and steady, flames licking at driftwood he must have gathered earlier. He stands near it, back to me, shoulders broad under a dark hoodie, hands in his pockets. Moonlight silvers the waves behind him. The sight of him alone, waiting, patient, cracks something open in my chest.
I step onto the sand.
He turns at the sound of my footsteps. For a second, he just looks at me, expression unreadable in the shifting firelight. Then relief washes over his face, raw and unguarded.
“Grace.”
I stop a few feet away. “Hi.”
He takes one step toward me, then stops. “Liv said you might come. I didn’t know if you would.”
My voice shakes. “I’ve been hiding from you, from how much I feel.”
He nods slowly. “I know.”
I look at the fire. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He closes the distance between us but doesn’t touch me. “Just talk to me. Please.”
I exhale. “The text from Mark hit every insecure place he spent years carving out. I let it in. I let it convince me that maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m too old for you. Maybe you’ll wake up one day and see it too.”
Jake’s jaw tightens. “He’s wrong.”
“I know.” I meet his eyes. “But knowing and believing are different things. I spent three days missing you so much I couldn’t breathe.
I spent three days telling myself space was safer.
I spent three days realizing I’m more afraid of true happiness than I am of being alone. I don’t want to feel that way.”
He steps close enough that I can feel his warmth through the night air. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I want to believe that.” My voice breaks.
“I do believe it in my heart, but I’m scared, Jake.
Scared of how much I already love you. Scared that if I say it out loud, the universe will find a way to take you away.
Scared that I’ll ruin this because I don’t know how to hold onto something this good. ”
He reaches for me slowly, carefully, giving me time to pull back. I don’t. His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t realize were falling.
“I love you too,” he says quietly. “I’ve loved you since you walked into my shop asking for sunscreen like you were afraid I’d bite.
I love the way you laugh when you’re nervous.
I love the way you dance barefoot like no one’s watching.
I love the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.
I love all of you, the messy parts, the scared parts, and the parts you think are too much.
I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m asking you to let me love you exactly as you are. Right now. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.”
Fresh tears spill. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You do.” He pulls me against his chest, arms wrapping around me like they were made to hold me. “We deserve this. Whatever it looks like. Whatever it takes.”
I bury my face in his hoodie, breathing him in. “I’m still scared.”
“I know.” He kisses the top of my head. “But you’re not alone in it anymore.”
We stand like that for a long time, wrapped together, fire crackling at our backs, waves whispering against the shore. The rain has stopped, and stars prick through the clouds one by one.
When I finally pull back, he cups my face again, thumbs stroking my wet cheeks.
“Stay with me tonight?” he asks softly. “No pressure. Just sleeping, talking, or whatever you need.”
I nod. “Yes.”
He smiles. It’s small, relieved, heartbreakingly tender. “Good.”
We sit together on the blanket. Jake pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me. We talk, our words quiet, honest, unhurried.
He kisses me slowly, deeply, full of promise. No rush. No demand. Just love poured into every brush of lips, every slide of tongue, every soft sigh.
We stay by the fire until the flames burn low. Then he stands and offers his hand.
We walk back to his truck hand in hand. The drive is quiet and comfortable. His fingers lace through mine on the console. When we reach his apartment above the shop, he leads me inside without turning on the lights. Moonlight spills through the windows, silvering everything.
We undress each other slowly. We’re not in any hurry. He kisses every inch of skin he uncovers, murmuring words of love against my skin. He tells me I’m beautiful, perfect, and his.
I trace the lines of his body with shaking fingers, memorizing him the way he memorizes me.
We fall into bed wrapped in each other. He moves inside me slow and deep, eyes locked on mine, whispering how much he loves me, how much he wants me, how much he needs me. I come apart under him with his name on my lips, tears in my eyes, and my heart wide open.
Afterward, he holds me against his chest, heartbeat steady under my cheek.
“I love you,” he whispers into my hair.
“I love you too,” I answer.
I feel worthy of his love now and can’t wait to spend our future making sure he knows just how much I love him.