Chapter 21
OSCAR
Another hour in the hotel room turns into two, the minutes ticking dangerously close to the time we need to leave San Diego. Which also means leaving this perfect little bubble we’ve built around ourselves, and to my shock, I discover I don’t want to go back to Seattle at all.
I want to stay right here. With Alice. For as long as possible.
"We should probably start packing," she murmurs, though she makes no move to leave the tangled sheets. "Our flight leaves in a couple of hours."
I trace my fingers along her collarbone, savoring the shiver that runs through her at my touch. An idea forms in my mind, something I've never considered before — not with any woman, and certainly not when I have meetings scheduled and deals to close.
"What if we didn't go back today?" I ask, surprising even myself with the suggestion.
She turns to look at me, her brow furrowed. "What?"
"Let's stay," I say, the idea taking firmer shape as I speak it aloud. "Let's extend our trip a few days. Just you and me."
She pushes herself up on her elbow, studying my face as if checking for signs that I'm joking. "Are you serious? We have so much work waiting for us in Seattle. The facility needs to be—"
I silence her with a kiss, soft and persuasive. "All of that will still be there next week," I whisper against her lips. "When was the last time you took a real vacation?"
She pulls back, considering. "I can't even remember."
"Exactly. Neither can I." I cup her face with my hand, struck by how right this feels. "We've earned this, Alice. A few days away from everything."
I can see the internal struggle playing out on her face — a mirror of what I was feeling a minute ago. Now, though, I’m sure. The world won’t fall apart if we take off for a few days. My staff are highly capable, every single one of them, and they can pick up the slack for a bit.
"I don't know, Oscar…" She bites her lower lip. "Everything is still so crazy since the acquisition, and–”
"All of that craziness can be handled remotely if absolutely necessary," I cut in. "Or postponed." I prop myself up, looking at her intently. "When did we become these people, Alice? So consumed by work that we can't take a few days for ourselves?"
Something in my words seems to reach her. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Says the workaholic himself."
"Who's trying to reform," I counter with a grin. "Starting now."
She laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. "Three days," she finally says. "We can stay three more days."
Victory surges through me. I reach for my phone on the nightstand, already making plans. "I'll cancel our flight."
"And I need to call Sydney, let her know I'm not coming back yet." She stretches, the sheet slipping down to reveal more of her perfect body. "God, she’ll love this. She’s been insisting that I’m not over you since you showed up."
“And was she wrong?” I ask with a teasing grin.
I send a quick email to my head assistant, instructing her to clear my schedule for the rest of the week. As I hit send, another thought strikes me. "We shouldn't stay in the hotel."
Alice raises an eyebrow. "No?"
"No." I pull up an app on my phone, scrolling through luxury vacation rentals in the area. "We need somewhere more private. More special."
I turn the screen toward her, showing her a stunning beachfront property with floor-to-ceiling windows and a private stretch of sand. Her eyes widen.
"Oscar, that looks incredible, but—"
"Money isn't an issue," I say gently, knowing her hesitation. "And I want to create the perfect space for us to be together. No distractions."
She studies the photos, her expression softening. "It is beautiful."
"And available starting today." I place a finger on the 'Book Now' button, waiting for her approval. "What do you say?"
She hesitates only briefly before nodding. "Let's do it."
A few hours later, we’re arriving at the beach house via rental car, a bag of groceries in hand and the next few days unfurling like a red carpet before us, full of cinematic possibility.
The beach house is even more spectacular in person, perched right at the edge of the ocean, with tall fences on each side providing privacy from neighboring homes.
Inside, an open floor plan showcases views from every room.
A floating staircase connects the three levels, leading up to a master suite with its own terrace, and down to a private beach.
"This is unbelievable," Alice breathes as we step inside, dropping her bag in the entryway. She moves to the wall of windows, gazing out at the endless blue of the Pacific. "It's like something from a dream."
I come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder. "Better than the hotel?"
She turns in my embrace, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Definitely. Though I haven't seen all the rooms yet."
"Allow me to give you the tour," I say, taking her hand. "Let's start upstairs."
We only make it halfway up the floating staircase before Alice stops, turning to face me. The sunlight streaming through the windows illuminates her face, making her look almost ethereal. I'm about to ask why she's stopped when she presses her body against mine, backing me against the railing.
"I've always had a thing for staircases," she whispers, her hands sliding under my shirt.
Heat floods through me as her fingertips trace my skin. "Here?" I manage to ask, though I'm already pulling her closer.
"Here," she confirms, her lips finding mine.
What follows is a blur of sensations — her body pressed against mine, the cool metal of the railing at my back, the warmth of her skin under my hands as I lift her, turning so that she's the one against the wall.
Her legs wrap around my waist, and I'm lost in her — the taste of her mouth, the sound of her gasps as I trail kisses down her neck, the way she whispers my name like a prayer.
We don't make it to the bedroom for a long, blissful while.
Afterward, she decides to unpack and shower while I figure out dinner arrangements.
Instead of calling for reservations at a restaurant, I order gourmet takeout — fresh seafood, artisan bread, local wine — to be delivered.
While waiting, I explore the property, discovering a garage stocked with beach essentials: chairs, umbrellas, towels, and — perfect for my impromptu plan — a stack of firewood and a portable fire pit.
Carrying the supplies down to the beach, I set up a cozy arrangement at a safe distance from the water.
The sun is beginning to set as I arrange the firewood, creating a perfect pyramid structure.
By the time I've got the fire started, the food has arrived, and I catch a glimpse of Alice in a bathrobe through the window.
I quickly arrange the meal on a small table I've set up near the fire and open the wine to breathe. Everything is ready just as Alice emerges onto the deck above, wearing a simple sundress that takes my breath away.
"What's all this?" she calls down, her expression a mix of surprise and delight.
"Dinner," I reply, gesturing for her to join me. "With a view."
She makes her way down the wooden stairs to the beach, her bare feet leaving imprints in the sand. The golden light of sunset bathes her skin, making her glow. It’s a simple moment, but also perhaps the most perfect one in all my life, watching her make her way towards me.
"You did all this while I was in the shower?" she asks, approaching the fire with wonder in her eyes.
"I'm efficient," I say with a smile, pulling out a chair for her. "Wine?"
"Please." She settles into the chair, looking around at the setup with appreciation. "This is incredible, Oscar."
I pour two glasses of wine, handing one to her. "To new beginnings," I toast, raising my glass.
"To new beginnings," she echoes, clinking her glass against mine. "And to not wasting any more time."
We eat as the sun disappears below the horizon, sharing the delicious meal and talking about everything but work. College memories, favorite books, places we've traveled, dreams we once shared. It feels both familiar and entirely new — like we're rediscovering each other after all these years.
After dinner, I excuse myself briefly to run back to the house, returning with something I spotted earlier — an acoustic guitar, either left behind by a previous guest or provided by the owners.
"No way," Alice laughs as I settle beside her with it. "You still play?"
"We're about to find out," I reply, strumming the strings experimentally.
It's been years since I've held a guitar, let alone played one.
The instrument is slightly out of tune, and I spend a few minutes adjusting the strings by ear, muscle memory from my high school and college days gradually returning.
"Remember when you used to play at those coffee shop open mics?" she asks. "You were actually pretty good."
"I was mediocre at best," I correct her with a smile. "But sure, I had heart."
I attempt a song we both used to love, my fingers fumbling over the frets, producing sounds that can only charitably be called music. Alice bursts into laughter as I hit a particularly discordant chord.
"I'm sorry," she gasps between giggles. "But you should see your face! So serious, but what's coming out sounds like a cat caught in a garbage disposal."
I pretend to be offended, but her laughter is infectious. "I'd like to see you do better."
"No chance," she holds up her hands. "I know my limitations."
I try again, this time with a simpler song, and manage to produce something recognizable. Alice's laughter subsides, replaced by a soft smile as she watches my fingers move across the strings.
"I always loved watching you play," she says quietly. "Even when you messed up. Especially when you messed up, actually. It was the only time you weren't perfect at everything."
I set the guitar aside, moving to sit next to her on the blanket I've spread by the fire.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the flames and listening to the rhythm of the waves.
I can't remember the last time I felt this content, this at peace.
There are no emails demanding my attention, no calls to return, no one to ingratiate — just this moment, this woman, this feeling of coming home.
"What are you thinking about?" Alice asks, looking up at me.
I meet her gaze, struck by the openness in her expression. "That I'm falling for you all over again," I admit. "Harder than I did the first time."
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't look away. "That's a big statement after one day together."
"It's not just one day," I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It's years of comparing every woman I've met to you and finding them all wanting. It's knowing that even when we weren’t talking, you were still the most important person in my world."
She doesn't respond immediately, and I don't push. Alice has always been more cautious with her heart, more deliberate in her emotions. And while that’s frustrating sometimes, it’s also something I can respect.
Eventually, she reaches up to touch my face, her fingers tracing my jaw. "I'm scared," she whispers. "This feels too important to mess up."
"We won't," I promise, turning to kiss her palm. "We're not the same people we were before. We were kids then. We're smarter now. Wiser."
"Speak for yourself," she says with a small smile. "I still made a fool of myself trying to run away this morning."
"And I still chased after you in hotel slippers and a bathrobe," I remind her, making her laugh. "Maybe we're not that much wiser after all."
She kisses me then, slow and deep and full of promise. I pull her closer, overwhelmed by the feeling that this — her, us, here — is what I've been searching for all these years, through all my successes, setbacks, and achievements.
And now that I’m finally here, relishing the achievement that is the two of us, you’d have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands before I would ever let it go.