Chapter 15
Ellery
Thisweekend has been pure magic.
A dream that I never want to wake up from.
Not only did Beckham rent out my old family beach house, but he has dedicated most of the trip to relearn everything we thought we knew about each other. (His words.) We may remember how we were growing up, but a lot has changed between then and now.
So, in the spirit of reconnecting, we have gone to all of our favorite haunts, and done many of our favorite activities. For instance, watching the sunrise and looking for seashells along the shore. Or, having breakfast at our favorite beachfront diner. We even ride bikes to get ice cream.
In between reminiscing, Beckham has also taken plenty of time to show me the romantic parts he planned for this little getaway.
Today has been no exception. After spoiling me with some retail therapy at Shelter Cove Harbour, Beckham treated me to lunch at a cute French bistro along the waterfront. Then he brought me back to our bungalow. We spent the afternoon there between the sheets, completely wrapped up in each other.
But now we have come to the end of our quick escape. I am watching, dejected, while Beckham loads up the back of his SUV. Once everything is packed up tight, he comes up beside me.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders. Together, we stare up at the house we made our temporary home over the past couple of days. This place has given me so many lovely memories over my life. The ones made this weekend I will cherish most of all.
“Ready to go, shortcake?” he asks.
“No.” I sigh and lean my head against his shoulder. “I’m not.”
“Honestly, neither am I.” When I turn to look at him, he tilts his head toward the beach. Then, he reaches out toward me. “Want to delay the inevitable a little longer?”
Taking his hand in mine with a smile, I reply, “Yes, please.”
That is how I end up tucked under Beckham’s arm while we stroll along the beach one last time. Waves gently lap at our feet. Every so often, Beckham stops me for a kiss. He can’t seem to help himself. And, I get it. The taste of him on my tongue only makes me want more.
I guess I can’t get enough of him, either.
We are lost in a world of our own, he and I. Nothing around us for miles but sand and water. Caught beneath a setting sun that casts beautiful jewel tones across the sky with its fading light.
“What’s your favorite color?” I ask.
My question slices through the silence so abruptly that Beckham has to stop and think for a second. I don’t mind. I already know exactly what he’s going to say.
He shakes his head, chuckling. All weekend, I’ve been peppering him with random questions like this one. He must finally be growing accustomed to them.
“Black,” he replies. “What about you?”
“Hmm… Yellow, I think.”
With a snort, he parrots, “‘I think?’ You mean, you don’t know?”
“Yes. Yellow. Final answer.” I poke him in the side, inwardly smiling when he tries to squirm away. “I’m an artist, brat. It’s hard to have a favorite.”
“Is that why you kept going through those ‘color phases’ as a kid?”
Color phases. That’s what Dad liked to call it whenever I changed my mind about something that I had spent months beforehand obsessively curating my entire personality around. Color phases, or band phases, or book phases. He would say things like, Ellery is in her Jane Austen phase (I may have forced them to buy me a corset and petticoats. That lasted about a week), or I can’t wait until Ellery is out of her neon green phase (three words: green hair dye).
My smile is a bit wistful when I answer Beckham. “Yeah. It is.” Then I clear my throat and squint up at him. “Okay, next question: worst food you’ve ever eaten?”
“I made the mistake of trying haggis in Scotland once.”
He mimes gagging. I make a face and then burst into laughter. “Okay, you win that one.”
We walk for a minute or two in silence, until Beckham picks the next topic. “Where’s a place you’ve always wanted to visit?” he asks, looking down at me.
“Italy. Hands down.”
“Wow, okay. Didn’t even need to think about it.”
“What’s to think about? All that history and art,” I say dreamily. “Not to mention the wine.”
“Italy is beautiful,” he agrees. “One of my top five.”
“You’ve been to Italy?” I shake my head. “Of course, you’ve been to Italy. Okay then, Navy man, what made the top of your list?”
He stops to think a moment.
“If I had to choose… probably Japan. Or maybe Hawaii. Lots of culture. Great food. Amazing scenery.”
“Ugh. I kind of hate you right now.”
He chuckles and presses his lips to the top of my head. Not gonna lie, it makes me feel infinitely better.
Damn him.
“Someday, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” he says with a squeeze of my shoulders. “Hell, everywhere you want to go. We’ll travel the world.”
Someday...
Such a little word to hold so much promise. Beckham has no idea how badly I want that: a future with him. One where we have all these adventures together. The way he says it—filled with such simple conviction—and with the way he is looking at me right now is dangerous.
Because I am starting to believe him.
For never having been in one, Beckham is surprisingly adept at this whole relationship thing. I shouldn’t be surprised. The man excels at nearly everything he sets his mind to.
But I never knew it could be like this.
Not just our chemistry—which is explosive—but also our intimacy. The ease of being together when there is nothing to hold us back. No secrets to keep. No lies to tell. Just him and me.
And the humor. I think I’ve laughed more this weekend than I have in a long time. My stomach is sore from it. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
Beckham makes me feel safe. Seen. Beautiful in a way no man has before.
He makes me so blissfully happy.
And I’m scared to trust it.
With that sobering thought, I break out of his hold while my brain scrambles for a safer topic to steer the conversation to. “What about…?” After skipping ahead a few paces, I spin back toward him with an evil grin. “Oh! I know. Are you still deathly afraid of clowns?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation, “because clowns are fucking terrifying.”
“No, they’re not!” I can’t help but laugh. “Clowns are silly. They’re funny and—and, I don’t know. Ridiculous.”
Beckham just glares at me.
“Okay,” I concede. “They can be pretty creepy.“
“Total understatement,” he mutters.
Beckham doesn’t ask anything in return. He must sense the sudden shift in my mood because, with a sigh, he reaches out to me. I let him take my hand. He tugs me back under his arm and quietly then turns us back the way we came. Even if he doesn’t know why, exactly, he knows what I was trying to do because he stays silent on our walk back. Lost in his thoughts while I struggle not to get lost in mine.
Step by step, we are coming closer to the end. Closer to the real world that is waiting outside this magical little bubble we have hidden in. I’m dreading the thought of going back to how things were.
I wonder if he is, too.
By the time we reach the bungalow, the sun has dipped below the horizon, leaving a pale, dusky blue sky in its wake. Beckham stops and stares out at the water. In turn, I watch him. When his gaze once again meets mine, his eyes are a harsh glacial blue, swirling with a dozen different emotions. He looks so solemn that my heart gives a tiny lurch in response. I have to fight to force down the knee-jerk reaction.
This isn’t like before, Ellery. Things are different now.
But then he says the last thing in the world I expect.
“I want to tell Simon,” he says, clearing his throat, “about us.”
My heart lurches again. “Are you sure?” I ask once I can form words. His expression softens when he hears the tremor in my voice.
“One hundred percent.” He gathers me close. “This thing with you… I don’t want it to end when we get back home. I don’t want to go back to pretending like we mean nothing to each other.”
“Good.” I am smiling like a loon. “Because I feel the same way.”
For a while, we stay just like this: holding onto each other, staring out at the ocean with my head snugly tucked underneath his chin. His warmth cocoons me, melting away the tension in my muscles. His steady heartbeat pulses under my ear. I feel the gentle rise and fall of each breath he takes.
In his arms like this, I feel invincible.
“Simon will probably disown me.” My voice is tinged with humor as I continue, “He is most definitely going to kill you.”
Beckham chuckles. The sound of it trickles over me, settling into the cracks of my armor like rushing water. More of my carefully constructed walls wash away.
“He can try,” he says, “because I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’ll be dead, though, so…”
Beckham’s hands lash out, tickling my sides. I shriek with laughter and try to pull away. He just tugs me closer.
“Get used to being haunted, then.” He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. “Like I said. I’m not going anywhere.”
The laughter dies on my lips.
He says it again. Gently. “I’m not going anywhere, Ellery.”
My eyes start to burn.
His soften.
“I know I’ve hurt you in the past. Left when I should have stayed. But I’m here now, and I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere.”
With a whimper, I bury my face in his neck. Not to block out his words. To let them sink in.
“I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
And fall just a little bit more in love.