Chapter 7
BEN
“Merry Christmas, Sunshine,” I say, nudging the tray onto the bed between us.
I woke up an hour ago and went in search of food and coffee, just like every single morning person in the resort.
Sol was still in her bed, sleeping soundly, her face completely relaxed like all her worries had suddenly disappeared. “I brought you coffee. And this.”
Sol blinks up at me, squinting against the morning light. Her hair’s a tangle of waves and her voice is still half-asleep and muffled by the pillow. “Where’d you get that Santa hat?”
“I found it by the pool,” I say, keeping a straight face. I bend down and kiss the crown of her head and she buries herself deeper into the sheets, sighing before opening her eyes again.
Her brow arches. “Ben. Did you just steal this from someone?”
“What? No. It was on a lounger.”
“Yeah, a lounger where people leave their belongings for the day and then come back to get them.”
I grin and set the ridiculous hat on my head. “Then I’ll return it later. Christmas emergency.”
“Christmas isn’t even for two days,” she says, feigning some sort of annoyance, but she laughs either way and sits up, sheets pooling at her waist. “You’re unbelievable.”
“That’s what they say,” I mumble around a sip of coffee.
The grin she gives me makes my chest feel too tight for something as simple as a morning-after joke.
Last night was supposed to be easy—fun, forgettable.
But nothing about it was. She’d looked at me like I was something worth reaching for, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
The air is different now; lighter, quieter, but not awkward.
More like the calm after a storm that changes the pace of things.
She looks rested. And I probably don’t judging by how little sleep I actually got.
Not because of the obvious reasons, but because I couldn’t stop watching her sleep, trying to memorize what she looked like without that constant weight behind her eyes.
“You’re staring,” she says, tilting her head.
“Observing,” I correct. “It’s for scientific purposes.”
“Right. Of course.”
“I need to understand the aftereffects of spontaneous decision-making.”
She blushes at that, and it’s so adorable I want to kiss her, maybe even flatten her on the bed and eat her out again.
“Uh-huh,” she replies, running her right hand through her left shoulder and pressing the muscle right there. Her eyes flutter closed and I see the freckles on her face, just a smattering right below where her lashes meet her cheeks. “And your conclusions?”
“Promising,” I say, smiling into my mug. “Very promising.”
She groans, but she’s smiling too. She takes the second cup as I hand it to her, fingers brushing mine. It’s nothing, a fraction of contact, but it does something stupid to me anyway.
“Big plans for today?” she asks.
I lean back against the headboard. “Rehearsal dinner later. I promised I’d show up and be charming,” I say, lifting one shoulder casually, even though I want to ask her to hang out with me all day. “It’s my only skill, really.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It’s a burden I carry, unfortunately.”
She shakes her head, smiling down at her cup. “I have to leave at about three.”
I nod, though something inside me drops a little. “Right.”
Right. I knew that, obviously. I just didn’t expect it to sound like a deadline. But maybe I can stretch it, keep her company for the rest of the day by the pool.
“I might just go to the pool until it’s time for the rehearsal. What are you doing with your extra time today?”
“I’ll join you,” she says, dropping the cup on the tray and getting out of bed.
She’s naked, and god, does her confidence turn me on.
Even without knowing her, and the little things she shared with me last night…
There’s something about her that is so intriguing.
I want to know more. “Do you mind if I leave my stuff in your room? I have to check out in an hour.”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer—instead puts on an oversized shirt and starts gathering her things, the neckline slipping off her shoulder before tugging it back up.
“I don’t mind,” I manage, trying to sound normal while my brain short-circuits.
She flashes me a smile over her shoulder. “Thanks.”
The door to the bathroom shuts, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I drop back against the pillows and the mug on the tray beside me topples over, the few drops left of my coffee slowly trickling out.
I can still smell her shampoo in the sheets—something citrusy and clean, the kind of scent that clings to every space.
I shouldn’t be this drawn in. It’s not like we talked about anything meaningful last night. I don’t even know where she lives or what she does for a living, the most normal facts to know about someone before sleeping with them.
But I can still picture her laughing at the bar, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about the dive, how she’d leaned closer when I made her laugh without meaning to.
It’s too much for something that’s supposed to be nothing.
The bathroom door opens, and she steps out wearing a swimsuit and one of those white flowy cover-ups that looks like it was made to be taken off. Her hair is wet and slicked back, and her sunglasses sit at the top of her hair, like they’re stopping the strands from falling to her face.
She looks… like vacation personified. Relaxed and untouchable.
I swing my legs out of bed and stand, trying not to look like I’m utterly obsessed with this woman, and failing completely.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” she asks again, slipping her phone and room key into her tote, then zipping up her small carry-on.
“Positive.”
Her lips twitch. “Okay.”
We walk together across the pool and into the building where I’m staying. The heat builds with every step, sunlight reflecting off the tiles, the ocean glinting in the distance. She walks a few paces ahead, her hand occasionally brushing her hair off her neck as she drags her suitcase along.
The wheels of her suitcase click against the tile, steady and rhythmic, like they’re counting down the minutes she has left here.
When we reach my hallway, she slows, glancing over her shoulder. “You’re sure this isn’t weird? I can find somewhere else to leave this for the day.”
“It’s fine, Sunshine.” I fish my keycard from my pocket and swipe the door open. “I just need to change real quick.”
The room’s the same as every other resort room—neutral, beach-proof, a little too cold from the A/C—but the second she steps in, it feels different. Smaller, but brighter.
She wheels her bag against the wall and turns toward me. “Thank you.”
Sol lingers by the doorway, fingers tracing the edge of her tote strap like she’s debating whether to stay or bolt. “Okay,” she echoes softly, glancing around the room. “Ready when you are.”
At the pool, we find two loungers half in the shade and she tosses her bag over one.
I follow, dropping my sunscreen and phone.
She’s looking around, and I can’t quite read her.
I’m not sure if she just offered to hang out to be polite, or if she’s trying to bolt.
I sure as fuck don’t want to leave her side, but I’m needy, and well aware of that.
“You don’t have to stay here all day, you know,” she says, settling back into her chair. “I’m sure you’ve got much more exciting things to do than hang out with me.”
“Psht,” I say, lowering myself onto the chair beside hers. “This is my idea of a relaxing vacation. Sitting poolside in silence, while avoiding the sun as much as I can.”
She laughs, and puts on her sunglasses, and I stare again. At the fine lines covering her arms and part of her torso and legs. At how she seems to be relaxed at moments, but then overthinking at others. At her brown hair drying wildly around her.
“Your friend doesn’t have anything planned for today?”
“Just the rehearsal dinner,” I say casually. Although there was mention of some activities but, even before her, I had chosen to opt out, both because I came here alone and because I don’t know anyone besides the groom.
For a while, we just sit there—the two of us, the soft shuffle of music from the bar, the splash of water somewhere close. The sun warms the air around us, and I close my eyes, letting myself pretend that this is normal. That this isn’t the last few hours I’ll get to see her.
When I open them again, she’s turned on her side, propped on one elbow, her sunglasses dangling from her fingers.
“What?” she asks when she catches me looking. Her green eyes are on me, and the slow smile she gives me is nothing short of devastating.
“Nothing.”
She hums, clearly not believing me. “You’re terrible at lying.”
“Not true,” I say, but I’m smiling back, because she’s right. “I’m actually a professional consultant. Lying convincingly is partially part of the job description.”
“What else are you lying about?” she asks dryly, lying back.
I laugh under my breath. “Absolutely nothing. I promise.”
The breeze picks up, carrying the scent of sunscreen and food, and I feel that same quiet pull in my chest, the one I keep trying to ignore.
She’s leaving in a few hours. That should make this simple.
It doesn’t.
Because when she shifts slightly and glances at me again, I can’t help but think that I want more of this.
Not just the sex, not just the easy—albeit limited—conversation or the way she teases me like she’s known me longer than a night.
I want to know what her laugh sounds like when she’s really happy.
What her mornings look like when she’s not on vacation.
And that’s the problem.
I always want more.