Chapter 26 Alex
ALEX
Iscrolled through email on my laptop, deleting most of the spam without really reading it—roof supplies, property tax reminders, a newsletter I didn’t remember signing up for. The only one I didn’t trash was the Whitlock Golf email about the annual fall tournament.
I stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
Golf was one of the only sports I actually enjoyed. You were outside. No noise. No crowd screaming in your ear. And at the end of the day, you weren’t competing against anyone but yourself. Your swing. Your patience. Your ability to stop overthinking something that should be simple.
That felt relevant lately.
I checked the digital clock in the corner of the screen. 9:35 a.m.
Too early.
I leaned back in my chair and ran a hand over my face, exhaling slowly.
I’d already showered. Already had coffee.
Already reorganized a tool drawer that didn’t need reorganizing.
I’d even made the bed, which should’ve told me something was off.
I didn’t make beds unless I was trying to convince myself I had control over something.
I was going to go see New York today. Just… not yet.
It was still too early. Ten a.m. felt reasonable.
Late enough that the inn wouldn’t be crowded, early enough that the day hadn’t gotten away from her.
I’d walk in like it was intentional, ask to speak to her privately, explain what an ass I’d been, and wait for her reaction.
It could go either way. She might tell me to fuck off or she might not. I was still going to do it.
I should’ve talked to you, I said the words in my head. I shouldn’t have decided for you. I left because I didn’t trust myself to stay halfway.
The truth landed heavy, but it was still the truth. And I was done avoiding it.
I closed the laptop and stood, stretching my shoulders. I was halfway to the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
I stopped. Who the hell is at my door this early?
Frowning, I checked the clock again out of habit and then walked toward the front door, already running through possibilities that didn’t include the one waiting on the other side.
I opened it.
New York stood on my porch.
I stopped short, like my body had gotten the message before my head did.
She stood there, her jacket pulled close and hips set like she meant to stay put, keys clenched in her hand. My eyes registered her body first—curves, warmth, presence—before lifting to her face. She was determined, and unapologetic, like she’d come here on purpose.
“Can I talk to you?” she asked.
My mouth opened a fraction of a second before my brain caught up. “Yeah. Yeah. Of course.”
I stepped back automatically, giving her space while still trying to figure out how she was here when I’d been planning to go to her.
“How did you…” I started but then stopped. “How did you find my house?”
She lifted her chin slightly. “Becca gave me the address.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
She stepped inside, and the door closed behind her, the sound final and loud in the quiet house.
“Would you like something to drink?” I asked, still a half second behind the reality of her standing in my house. “Coffee?”
New York’s eyes flicked straight to the Styrofoam cup on the counter.
The cheap lid. The stain on the side. The evidence of a man who drank his coffee standing up and didn’t linger.
“No thanks.” She glanced around, taking in the clean lines, the neutral colors, the lack of anything personal.
“Nice place,” she said. “Very modern. Very… you.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t sound like a compliment or an insult. Just an observation, which somehow felt worse.
“Sit,” I said. “Please.” I gestured toward the living room.
She crossed over and sat at the very edge of the couch, her posture alert, like she’d already mapped her exit. Like she’d come here with purpose, not comfort in mind.
“Listen,” she said, drawing in a breath. “I know you’re busy with…” She made a vague motion with her hands, encompassing work, life, my entire avoidance strategy. “Stuff. So I won’t take too much of your time.”
I stood there for a second longer than necessary before sitting across from her, my forearms braced on my knees. I couldn’t stop looking at her. I didn’t try. She was flushed, her eyes bright and dark hair pulled back like she’d done it quickly without checking a mirror.
She was fucking sexy—real, present, and impossible to ignore.
Suddenly, the rules I’d lived by for years felt thin and inadequate.
Because standing there, looking at her, I could see it clearly—a real future with her. The kind of future you didn’t daydream about but that you recognized when it was right in front of you.
Her at the inn in the mornings, coffee in a real mug instead of a paper cup. Me fixing things that didn’t actually need fixing because I liked being there. The place fuller, louder, alive in a way it hadn’t been before.
I could see us older, too. That surprised the fuck out of me the most. Rocking chairs on the porch. The ocean doing what it always did. Her still talking with her hands, still calling people out on their bullshit. Me still listening.
Staying.
The thought didn’t scare me the way it should have.
It steadied me.
All those rules: Don’t start what you can’t finish. Don’t stay where you can’t commit. Don’t build where you won’t remain. They’d been built to keep me safe, to keep my life clean and manageable.
But New York didn’t make things messy.
She made them matter.
And for the first time, I understood that the reason the rules were failing wasn’t because they were wrong.
It was because she was the exception.
She looked up at me then, her eyes sharp and honest, and whatever she was about to say, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
I wasn’t going to walk away from this again. Ever.
“Why are you smiling?” New York asked after a moment.
I hadn’t realized I was. My face hadn’t gotten the memo that this was supposed to be tense and uncomfortable and handled carefully. I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, but it was too late.
“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” I said.
Her lips parted, just slightly, like the words had caught her off guard before she could swat them away. She flung a finger at me. “Flattery will get you nowhere, buddy.”
She shifted on the couch.
So yeah. It landed.
I leaned back a fraction, letting myself actually look at her this time. Not the way I had at the inn—half-distracted, half-guarded—but really look. The way she held herself like she was braced for impact. The way she’d come here ready for a fight, not reassurance.
She wasn’t here to be convinced. She was here to be heard.
“I came because,” she started but then stopped, correcting herself like precision mattered. “When we kissed… when I kissed you, you kissed me back. And for a second, I felt something. And I know you felt it too.” She stared at me, her eyes locked, waiting to see if I’d dodge it.
“I did,” I said, not going to lie about that.
Her shoulders loosened just a hair. “So I’m not crazy.”
“You’re not.”
She let out a short breath and shook her head, like she was clearing static. “Then why did you leave?” Her gaze sharpened. “Are you married?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
I huffed a laugh before I could stop myself. “Definitely no.”
Her mouth twitched despite herself. Good. Humor meant she was still with me. But underneath it, I could see the real question waiting.
If nothing was tying me down… Why wasn’t I there?
I leaned forward, my forearms on my knees again, grounding myself in the posture. “I didn’t leave because of someone else.”
New York didn’t look relieved. She looked more confused.
“I left because I thought I was doing the right thing,” I continued. “And because I don’t have a great track record with… staying.”
That got her attention.
She tilted her head, studying me now the way she did the inn when something wasn’t quite lining up. “That’s not an answer.”
I nodded once. Fair.
“I didn’t trust myself to stay halfway,” I said carefully. “And I didn’t think you deserved halfway.”
There it was—the truth I’d been circling for days.
She didn’t interrupt. She just watched me, her eyes sharp, taking it in.
I shifted my weight. “I don’t start things I can’t see through.
And with you… I knew if I stayed, it wouldn’t be casual.
It wouldn’t be temporary. And I didn’t think I had the right to step into your life unless I could do it properly.
” I paused and then added the part I hadn’t said out loud yet. “So I decided for you.”
Her jaw tightened, and those beautiful cheeks of hers darkened. And, yeah—there it was. The part I deserved. Here it comes…
New York leaned back slightly, her arms crossing. “You don’t get to do that. I’m a grown-ass woman. I can make up my own mind.”
“I know,” I said.
The silence stretched between us, heavy but not hostile. I could feel it shifting, like something unstable finally settling into place.
I watched her breathe. Watched her think. And for the first time since she’d walked in, I wasn’t trying to manage the outcome.
She studied me for a long second, like she was recalibrating. Like she’d come here ready for a fight and instead found… clarity. Or at least something close to it.
“So now what?” she asked finally. “You’re staying.”
It wasn’t a question, not really. It was a line drawn in the sand.
I didn’t dodge it. “Yes.”
Her eyes flickered, searching my face for hesitation. She wouldn’t find any.
“If you want me to,” I added. “I’m not assuming. I’m not deciding for you again. But, yes. I want to stay. I want to be here with you.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “You don’t get to say that lightly.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I don’t do light.”
That got a breathy laugh out of her, short and disbelieving. “God, you’re exhausting.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’ve been told.”
“You’d be a great character in my next book,” she said. “The Exasperator. Six-foot-something. Good jawline. Ruins lives.” She shook her head, smiling even as she sighed. “You know I didn’t come here for a grand declaration.”
I exhaled through my nose, my jaw locking. “I know. You came to tell me off.”
She cocked her head to the side. “I was very prepared. I had points.”
I nodded, watching her closely. “I figured. You look like someone who rehearsed in the car.”
She opened her mouth to say something, to clarify or to add footnotes, but I didn’t give her the chance.
I stood and crossed the space between us in two strides, reaching for her hand and pulling her gently but decisively to her feet.
She gasped, more surprised than alarmed. “What are you doing?”
I held her tightly in my grip. She was warm, solid, and real. I noticed she didn’t try to yank out of my hold. Good.
“You talk too much, New York,” I said quietly.
Her eyes darkened. “It’s how I’m wired.”
I leaned in and kissed her, taking her mouth like I already knew where I belonged.
She froze for half a heartbeat, and then her hands fisted in my shirt as she kissed me back. Hard.
I pulled back just enough to see her face. Her pupils were blown wide, her breath shallow and lips parted like she’d forgotten what she was about to say. I saw heat there, real, unmistakable desire, clear and unfiltered.
It matched what was burning through me, steady and sure.
Yeah. She was mine.