Chapter 28
Whispering Waves
Lena came for the chocolate. Or because she was curious. Or because there’d been something endearingly clumsy in David’s one-line unpunctuated invitation via text:
Meet me at the beach I made sweet snacks and questionable decisions
She’d laughed out loud in her empty suite like some kind of rom-com protagonist—flipped him off via emoji, and then spent thirteen whole minutes deciding what earrings matched a vibe between casual and don’t-freak-out-I’m-suddenly-feeling-things.
She’d chosen small silver hoops. Safe. Understated.
A choice that wouldn’t betray the way her pulse kicked up whenever his name appeared on her phone.
Now, sitting next to him under a constellation of geeky, glowing drones he insisted were ‘mosquito deterrents,’ Lena’s internal chaos reset.
The beach stretched out before them in shades of charcoal and midnight blue, the waves whispering secrets to the shore in rhythmic pulls.
The sand still held the day’s warmth beneath her bare feet, and overhead, David’s ridiculous drones hummed a gentle electric lullaby, casting pools of amber light across the blanket spread with surprising care.
He had an entire array of food. Exquisite chocolate truffles arranged in an elegant glass container. Two thermoses—one with coffee that smelled like heaven, the other with refills of the rum punch in her hand. Cloth napkins, for god’s sake. The man had brought cloth napkins to the beach.
“This looks suspiciously romantic, Jones.” The breezy tone she’d aimed for landed closer to nervous.
“Does it?” He peered down at his setup like he was seeing it for the first time. “I thought… you like chocolate. And the beach. So, I combined variables.”
“You combined variables,” she repeated, fighting a smile as she accepted a coconut shell drink from him.
“Is that not how normal humans approach social interaction?”
“David, literally nothing about you screams ‘normal human.’”
He grinned at that—that rare, unguarded smile that transformed his entire face and made her stomach do something inconvenient and fluttery as they continued to banter.
David was complicated in all the wrong ways—or all the right ones.
Brilliant, awkward, and intense in a way that made her remember why she stopped trusting soft-spoken men.
Men who looked at you like you mattered, like they saw past the performance to the person underneath; those men were dangerous.
They made you hope, and hope was the most treacherous thing Lena had ever let herself feel.
But he saw her. Not the shiny, zero-chill version she showed to tourists or the biting sarcasm she wielded like armor, but the worn-down girl who hadn’t unpacked the emotional turmoil of being falsely accused, arrested, humiliated in front of her coworkers and neighbors…
and then handed the keys to a resort reception desk weeks later like history magically reset.
He’d seen her shake during that first staff meeting. His eyes had tracked her trembling hands as she’d gripped her coffee cup too tightly, knuckles white, smile frozen in place. He’d given her hand that quick, reassuring squeeze under the table.
He’d never mentioned it. Never made her feel weak for it. But he started showing up more often at the front desk, tablet in hand, asking questions about guest preferences and system integrations that she suspected he already knew the answers to.
“You keep staring at my necklace like it’s transmitting secret messages,” she tipped her chin toward him with heavy-lidded eyes. Her fingers found the tiny seashell pendant at her neck, a nervous habit she’d never quite broken.
David blinked, caught. A faint flush crept up his neck, visible even in the dim drone-light. “I was debating asking.” His voice was subdued. Uncharacteristically so. “But I didn’t want to stumble into a minefield.”
Lena smiled, bitter and sweet, tasting both emotions on her tongue like the dark chocolate she’d swallowed. “It’s not booby-trapped. Just haunted.”
She touched the tiny shell again, tracing its familiar ridges with her fingertips.
Smooth in some places, rough in others. Like her.
Like everyone, if you looked close enough.
“My mom gave it to me when I was eleven. It’s cheap.
Was probably part of a keychain she picked up at some tourist trap.
But she told me it was good luck. Said it would always bring me home. ”
The words came easier than she expected. Maybe it was the darkness, the way it enveloped them like a protective barrier. Or the patient way David listened—no interruptions, no platitudes, only presence.
“She sounds worth remembering,” he said quietly.
Lena’s throat tightened. “She died when I was sixteen.” The customary heartache bloomed, duller now than it used to be but never truly gone.
She shrugged, tried to smile again, and failed.
Failed spectacularly, because her lips were doing that trembling thing they did when she was trying very hard not to cry.
“Chester—my previous boss—called it trashy. Said it ‘clashed with the company image.’ One of the many leadership insights he offered before calling the cops on me with fake theft charges.”
She heard David’s sharp intake of breath, saw his jaw tighten in her peripheral vision.
“I read the case notes,” he said, his voice rough with contained anger.
“I wanted to punch a wall.” He frowned, his expression both fierce and earnest on his usually smiling face.
“Well, to be accurate, I wanted to punch him, but he wasn’t available, so the wall had to stand in.
Nick talked me out of it. Said broken knuckles wouldn’t improve the resort’s cybersecurity infrastructure. ”
Despite everything, a laugh bubbled up from her lips. “Practical.”
“He has his moments.” David’s expression softened as he looked at her. “You didn’t deserve any of that. The accusations, the arrest, the—”
“You want the real kicker?” she interrupted, because she couldn’t bear the sympathy in his eyes, couldn’t handle the way it made her feel both precious and fragile.
“I stayed quiet. I didn’t fight back, not publicly.
’Cause I already knew how those stories go.
Girls like me don’t get the benefit of the doubt—we get belittlement and bad options. ”
The truth of it sat heavily between them. She’d learned young that the world cared little about fairness when you were an orphan with a resume full of gaps. You learned to keep your head down, your mouth shut, your expectations low.
Except with David, she kept forgetting to do any of those things.
Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The waves continued their eternal conversation with the shore. The drones hummed overhead, casting shifting shadows across the sand. In the distance, night birds called to each other in voices that sounded almost like music.
David reached out, his fingers trailing through her hair before pushing it behind her ear with a gentleness that made her breath catch. His touch was warm, fingers callused—probably from all his keyboard work—and unbearably tender.
“That’s not who I see.” The conviction in his voice cracked something open inside her.
Something caught there, a fishhook of emotion she couldn’t name, pulling tight. She blinked, but nothing about the look in his eyes faded. They were so dark in this light, serious and searching and focused on her as if she were the only person in his world.
David shifted closer. Near enough to catch a whiff of his cologne—understated and clean with a hint of citrus. Near enough to see the individual lashes framing his eyes, the slight stubble that suggested he forgot to shave this morning.
She didn’t move back. Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t do any of the things she normally did when someone got too close, when her protective walls thinned.
She wet her dry lips, and his gaze tracked the movement, something flaring in his eyes that sent heat cascading through her body.
“You always do this?” The question came out breathier than she intended, want and uncertainty tangled together in two syllables.
“What?” His own voice dropped an octave, rougher around the edges.
“Lean in like you’re rebooting my whole personality.”
His mouth tilted in that almost-smile that drove her crazy. “Only for people who probably taste like sarcasm and truffle.”
Their faces were terrifyingly close now. The warmth of his breath ghosted across her lips. Close enough that if she just leaned forward a fraction of an inch—
She closed her eyes, surrendering to the inevitable, to the want that had been building between them for weeks. Her heart sped up.
His warm hand grazed her jaw, and—
BEEP.
His tablet chirped to life with a pulsing red icon, the sound sharp and jarring in the intimate quiet.
David swore, jerking back so abruptly that Lena’s eyes flew open in confusion.
The spell snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight, tension draining faster than red wine into white carpet.
Lena shivered, skin chilled now that it was bereft of his warmth.
Annoyance flashed. She wasn’t some Victorian maiden to be sitting here with her eyes closed and her lips parted waiting for a kiss.
“What is it?” she said, her voice still thick with whatever had been about to happen, with all the words unsaid and touches unmade.
“Shit. System breach.” David grabbed the tablet, his fingers flying across the screen, all business now.
The transformation was jarring—from almost-lover to CTO in the space of a heartbeat.
“It’s the generator firewall again. Same access pattern as the last one—someone’s tripping internal code from inside the boundary. ”
Lena’s gut twisted, arousal curdling into anxiety. “Tonight?” She pushed herself upright, brushing sand from her palms. “They’re taking bigger risks.”
“Getting bolder.” His jaw clenched as he scanned the incoming data, the tablet’s glow painting his features in harsh blue light.
“This is more sophisticated than before. They’re learning our patterns.
I have to go trace it before they break something vital.
” He was already standing, shoving his feet into his sandals with jerky, frustrated movements.
Still stunned, still reeling from the whiplash of almost-kiss to emergency, Lena nodded. She brushed invisible sand from her shins more out of a need for movement than anything else, her hands needing something to do that didn’t involve reaching for him.
“Go. I’ll bring this stuff back to the house.”
David paused at the tree line, one hand braced against a palm trunk, and turned back. The light from his tablet illuminated him from below, casting dramatic shadows across his face. “We’re not done,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
Lena raised an eyebrow, reaching for her armor of sarcasm because it was easier than admitting how much she didn’t want to be done, how much she wanted to finish what they’d started. “That a line?”
“It’s a fact.” His gaze searched hers, intense across the distance, even with half his attention on whatever crisis was unfolding in his digital world. “I’m just re-routing.”
When he disappeared into the shadows, tablet lighting the path ahead of him like some kind of technological torch, Lena blew out a breath. It shuddered out of her, taking with it some of the tension that coiled in her shoulders.
She looked at the flopped-open container of truffles, at his carefully arranged picnic, at the drones keeping their mosquito vigil overhead. One truffle was half-melted from her nervous fingers earlier, glistening like something sacred in the amber light.
She popped it in her mouth and closed her eyes as the flavor exploded across her tongue—dark chocolate with a hint of chili, complex and surprising and perfect.
“Worst timing ever, but damn… still good,” she whispered to the empty beach.
The waves whispered back their agreement, and overhead, the drones hummed on, waiting patiently for someone to tell them it was time to go home.