Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Skye
I don't know how long we're out here, but eventually I notice the light changing, the blue sky deepening into something richer, more profound.
Harper and I swim until our fingers turn pruney and our muscles feel pleasantly fatigued, then we collapse on our towels on the sand, stretching out as the warmth seeps into our tired bodies.
We lie there, watching as the sun begins its slow, majestic descent toward the horizon, painting the world in golden light.
"This is the best part," Harper says, propping herself up on her elbows, her wet hair catching the fading sunlight like copper wire.
The sunset unfolds like something from a dream—colors I didn't even know existed in nature bleeding across the vast canvas of sky.
Vibrant oranges melt into deep purples, with streaks of pink and gold reflecting off the water, transforming the ocean into a mirror of liquid fire.
I've seen sunsets before, back in Pennsylvania, but nothing like this.
This is the kind of sunset that makes you believe in something bigger than yourself, something magical and endless and perfect.
I'm completely transfixed, my breath caught somewhere in my chest as I watch the sun sink lower until it kisses the horizon line.
The moment stretches, impossibly beautiful, the world suspended in this perfect balance between day and night.
And then it's gone—the sun disappearing and leaving behind a watercolor masterpiece that's already beginning to fade, colors shifting and changing with each passing second.
"I want it to come back," I whisper, not even realizing I've spoken aloud, my voice small against the vastness of the ocean. "I want to see that every night for the rest of my life."
Harper smiles at me, understanding in her eyes, the fading light catching the freckles scattered across her face. "California does have its perks."
We lie there for a few minutes longer, watching as the sky transitions from dusk to early evening, stars beginning to peek through the darkening canopy above us. My stomach growls loudly enough for Harper to hear, breaking the peaceful silence between us.
"I'm starving," she announces, sitting up and shaking sand from her towel, little grains cascading back to the beach.
"Me too," I agree, suddenly aware of how ravenous I am after all that swimming. The salt air has given me an appetite I wasn't expecting.
"Come on, let's go find dinner." She stands and grabs her towel, wrapping it around her waist, covering the bottom half of her perfect figure.
I do the same, draping my towel over my arm and grabbing my empty water bottle to take with me, feeling the pleasant exhaustion of a day well spent settling into my bones.
The walk back up the stairs is much harder than coming down.
My legs feel like jelly from swimming, muscles protesting with each step.
I'm exhausted, my skin tight from the salt water drying on it, leaving behind a fine crystalline residue.
I notice the stairs are lit with soft red lights embedded in the stone—lights I didn't even notice were there on the way down when the sun was high in the sky.
I'm thankful for them now, though. This walk could be dangerous without them, the stone steps steep and unforgiving in the gathering darkness.
The closer we get to the top, a mouth-watering aroma wafts down to us, rich and savory, making my stomach growl again with renewed intensity. The scent of grilling meat and spices makes my mouth water involuntarily.
"I guess Dad is already cooking," Harper says, quickening her pace slightly.
A minute later, we step into the backyard, and I see her dad with two other men standing around a massive built-in grill, deep in conversation, drinks in hand.
All heads turn to us when we appear, and I'm suddenly hyper-aware of how little I'm wearing, my damp bikini clinging to my body.
I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest, feeling exposed under their collective gaze.
"Who's that?" I ask quietly, leaning closer to Harper.
"Those dipshits are my dad's best friends since college," Harper says with obvious affection coloring her tone. "Ethan is the one with the dark hair—he's in cyber security. Total tech genius with that whole mysterious, dangerous vibe going on. Those eyes miss nothing."
I look at the dark-haired man—tall, with sharp features and intense eyes that seem to be cataloging everything they see, analyzing and storing information. His presence feels controlled but somehow dangerous, like a carefully contained storm.
"And the blonde god next to him is Logan—he's a chef.
Owns like three restaurants in San Francisco.
Total player but so charming you don't even care.
" The blonde man is gorgeous in a completely different way—golden tan, easy smile, the kind of relaxed confidence that makes you instantly comfortable, like you've known him forever.
"Oh," I say, and suddenly wish I had on more clothes. When we get close, I feel like I'm surrounded by modern-day Greek gods who stepped off Mount Olympus and decided to have a barbecue. Next to them, I feel small and insignificant, like a sparrow among eagles.
"Hey, Harp," the blonde one—Logan—says with a warm smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners.
"Hey, Logan." Harper walks up to hug him, and they seem close, comfortable in a way that speaks of years of familiarity. "Hey," she says to the other one, Ethan.
"Hey, trouble maker," he replies with a fond smirk, dark eyes warming slightly at the sight of her.
"Oh, hey, this is my friend Skye," she says, and all eyes turn to me. I can feel each gaze like a physical touch, making my skin prickle with awareness.
"Hi," I say, trying my best not to seem as intimidated as I feel standing almost naked in front of these three gorgeous men. My voice comes out smaller than I intended.
"Hi Skye, nice to meet you," Logan says, walking closer and holding out his hand. I shake it, noticing how warm and firm his grip is. "I'm Logan, and this less attractive guy behind me is Ethan."
I laugh despite myself, relaxing a little at his easy humor, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly.
Ethan steps up, playfully pushing Logan out of the way. "Hi," he says, taking my still-outstretched hand. His grip is different from Logan's—cooler, more controlled. "I'm definitely the hot one," he adds with a wink that makes my cheeks flush.
I smile at him, feeling my face heat up. "Nice to meet you." Then I quickly add, "Both of you," not wanting to seem like I'm playing favorites.
Mr. Grayson clears his throat and pulls Ethan back by the shoulder. "She's nineteen, fuckheads," he says in a low, warning tone that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine, his voice like gravel wrapped in velvet.
"I'm making steaks and baked potatoes if you girls want to go change and come back down," he says, turning back to the grill, effectively dismissing the moment.
"Yes, thank God, we are starving," Harper says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward an outdoor shower tucked discreetly into the side of the house, partially hidden by climbing jasmine.
She turns the water on and pulls me in with her. I yelp at the first contact with the cold water hitting my sun-warmed skin, and she laughs at my reaction, the sound bright in the gathering twilight.
"I told you they were dipshits," she whispers once we're under the spray, rinsing off sand and salt, the water creating rivulets down our bodies.
"Yeah, but they're hot dipshits," I whisper back, my voice barely audible over the sound of running water.
"Yep," she agrees, reaching for a bottle of citrus-scented shampoo. "I've had a huge crush on Logan since I was like twelve. He's so pretty."
"They're all pretty," I say before I can stop myself, the words tumbling out unbidden as I think about the three impossibly attractive men standing just yards away from us.
I grab the bottle when she's done and wash my hair too, the cool water cascading down my scalp is delicious after hours baking under the sun and being tossed around by salty waves.
"Is this normal to wash your hair out here?" I ask, working the shampoo through my tangled strands, the fragrance rising around us in the steam.
"Well, sometimes if I'm not taking a full shower when I go change I will, but if I'm going to shower then no," Harper explains, playfully elbowing me for better position under the spray, water droplets flying between us.
"Ah, that makes sense," I say, tipping my head back to rinse my hair and deliberately nudging her aside to claim more water. We keep battling for the spray, laughing and shoving each other like we've done a thousand times before, our giggles echoing against the wooden slats.
"Okay, let's go change and meet back down here," she says finally, stepping away from the outdoor shower, water streaming down her perfect curves.
"Okay," I agree and shut off the water with a squeak of the handle. She hands me a clean towel and I realize her dad must have brought them out for us because we definitely didn't bring them. The thoughtfulness of that small gesture catches me off guard.
I dry off some and then wrap the towel around me, following Harper inside, our wet feet leaving dark footprints on the deck.
We go our separate ways at the stairs, and when I get to my room, I shut the door and dig through my suitcase for clothes, scattering items in my usual chaotic fashion.
I find my old Pixies t-shirt – worn thin at the edges, black faded to charcoal – and a pair of sleep shorts, so I grab those real quick and duck into the bathroom to finish drying off.
When I'm fully dry, I slip on the clothes I brought in, not bothering with underwear at the moment—I'll still need to shower when I come back to my room anyway to wash away all the remaining salt and sand. The soft, worn cotton of the shirt feels comforting against my skin.
When I'm dressed, I dry my hair some more with the towel, squeezing out the excess water before throwing the towel over the shower wall.
I make my way back out into the house, padding through the hallway, but I don't see Harper anywhere.
I start to walk outside when a deep voice calls my name, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn my head toward the kitchen and see Ethan in there with the fridge door open, the cool light illuminating his sharp features – the angular jaw, those dark eyes.
"You want something to drink?" he asks, his voice casual but somehow making my throat go dry.
"Uh, yeah," I say, walking into the kitchen, my bare feet silent against the polished floors that feel cool and smooth beneath my toes.
He starts listing off drinks, and I walk up to peek inside the refrigerator, the chill air washing over my sun-warmed skin.
I spot Miller Light bottles and grab one of them, twisting the top off and taking a drink that turns into downing half the bottle in one go, my thirst suddenly overwhelming.
When I pull it away from my lips, he's smiling at me, his dark eyes amused in a way that makes my cheeks warm.
"Sorry, I guess I was really thirsty," I say, feeling a little embarrassed at my eagerness, running my thumb along the condensation on the bottle.
He chuckles, the sound low and warm, vibrating through the kitchen. "The ocean will do that to you. Here, I'll take that and you can get a new one," he says, taking my beer from my hand, our fingers brushing momentarily.
"Thanks," I say and grab another cold one from the fridge. The glass is cool against my palm, condensation already forming on the bottle, beading like tiny crystals.
He shuts the fridge door with a soft thud and holds out his hand. I look at it, confused for a moment, distracted by the strong lines of his fingers.
"The tops," he says, nodding at the bottle caps with a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Oh," I say and hand them over, feeling slightly stupid for not understanding immediately, my cheeks flushing again.
He opens a cabinet and tosses them in the trash with practiced ease, the metal pinging against other discarded items. "Come on, let's get you fed."
I follow him out onto the patio, the evening breeze catching my still-damp hair, and as soon as we step outside, Mr. Grayson looks over from his position at the grill.
His expression darkens instantly, jaw tightening as his eyes move from me to Ethan and back again.
He looks pissed, though I can't imagine why—I didn't do anything.
The intensity of his gaze makes me clutch my beer bottle tighter.
I don't see Harper anywhere, so I walk over and take a seat beside Logan.
Ethan sits down on my other side, effectively sandwiching me between them, their tall frames making me feel small but strangely safe.
The evening air feels cool against my skin, still warm and slightly pink from the day's sun.
"To summer," Ethan says and holds up his beer.
I click mine against his, the glass making a satisfying sound that seems to hang in the air between us. "To summer," I echo, taking another sip of my beer, feeling very aware of Mr. Grayson's eyes still on us, dark and intense like gathering storm clouds.