Chapter 14
BEN
The restaurant is buzzing with that post-holiday glow.
It’s the first time I’ve ever been in the heat for Christmas and it makes everything feel different.
More hopeful. The wedding party is over and I skipped the last few events they had planned, a farewell brunch this morning, and just found Jaime in the resort somewhere to thank him for the invitation. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
A trio in linen shirts plays slow festive songs on guitar near the entrance, and every table is covered in flickering candles and red-and-white flowers. It smells like grilled fish and sunscreen and a little bit like perfume—hers, probably.
Sol sits across from me in a red dress, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she scans the menu, even though she already told me she’s ordering whatever comes with the coconut rice.
She looks calm, but there’s this looseness to her tonight that I haven’t seen in the past few days.
Her shoulders aren’t tense, her voice isn’t clipped. She’s smiling.
And it’s uninhibited and addictive.
It feels exactly right and completely wrong at the same time.
“You see those people there?” She glances toward a nearby table where a group of older couples is watching us with approving smiles. “We probably look like a honeymoon couple. You’ve got that dazed expression.”
The waiter decides to drop off our drinks at that exact moment, and I don’t have time to react to what she said. But something inside me stirs in that oh-so-familiar way. The dangerous territory I’ve been trying to avoid so much this year.
“How does your family do Christmas?” she asks. “I mean, if you want to tell me.”
“It’s nothing like this.” I gesture around us. “Quiet dinner, background music, even conversations.”
She tilts her head, considering.
“The Connecticut suburbs are very quiet. Very white, too. It’s my mom, my sister, her husband and their kids. They have a set of twins who will be three next month. They’re amazing.”
“And your dad?”
I shake my head because even twenty years later it still stings a little. “He passed when my sister and I were teenagers. Leukemia.”
Sol doesn’t say anything right away, just reaches for her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass like she’s giving me space to breathe. There’s no pity in her expression, only quiet understanding, and somehow that feels even more intimate.
She clears her throat lightly. “Is that the sunscreen dealer?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Yep.” I laugh softly, swirling the condensation on my glass with my thumb. “She’d love you. Probably start planning vacations with matching outfits immediately.”
The words are out before I can catch them. Too easy and familiar and I know it’s a mistake before even looking at her reaction.
Sol blinks, surprised, like she’s not sure what to do with being imagined in my family’s orbit, even as a joke. She tips her head and smiles, but there’s hesitation in it. “That sounds nice.”
“Yeah,” I saw quickly, forcing a chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “She’s a menace, but she’s great.”
I drain the rest of my drink just to have something to do. The wine’s warm, and suddenly so is my face. What the hell am I doing, pulling her into a version of my life that doesn’t exist? She’s leaving. This is supposed to be simple.
Across the table, she looks away, tracing the rim of her glass with one finger, and the moment—whatever that almost was—slips quietly between us.
I clear my throat, trying to make it light again. “Anyway. You’d have to survive my mom’s cooking first. That’s the real test.”
She smiles, but her eyes linger on me a little too long, and I can feel the shift. The realization that this stopped being just fun somewhere between last night and this exact moment.
When the plates are cleared, we walk out to the beach.
The sun has long slipped behind the horizon, but the air is still thick and warm.
The light catches her skin in a way that makes her glow, and for a split second, I imagine what this would look like if it weren’t a vacation thing.
Two people who get to do this whenever they want.
It’s the most dangerous thought I’ve had in a while, and I know I’m letting my futuristic, hopeful self romanticize something that is absolutely not.
I want to reach for her hand but stop halfway, my fingers twitching like they’re second-guessing me.
“What’s got you smiling like that, Sunshine?”
Sol blinks and touches her lips with the tips of her fingers, just barely so, like she can’t believe the words that came out of my mouth. She laughs, and I swear I can feel it under my skin.
“I…” The sound of waves swells and fades around us and she stops walking where the water barely reaches our toes. “This is probably the wildest thing I’ve done in my life.”
She says it to the water, without looking at me. There’s a slight shift of her lips, and I’m hoping that means she doesn’t regret this. “Yeah?”
“I mean, moving to the United States was already pretty wild. I’m from a tiny town so my parents definitely thought I was rebelling.”
I smile, picturing it. I want to say something, anything, but all that comes out is, “And now?”
She shrugs, still looking at the ocean. “And now they think I’m crazy for staying. They wanted me to move back after the divorce, but I couldn’t.”
Her voice doesn’t crack, but something in it softens, like she’s not used to talking about this out loud.
“I didn’t want to start over somewhere I already knew too well and where everyone knew my secrets, you know? It’s easier to reinvent yourself when no one’s watching.”
I nod, even though she’s not looking at me. “Yeah. I get that.”
“Do you?”
“Sure.” I kick at the sand, watching it crumple under my foot. “I grew up in Connecticut and New York was never too far, but when I moved there after grad school, I thought it would be temporary. I’m still there and still figuring it out. Even though I travel so much, I consider it home.”
She finally glances at me, eyes narrowed. “Do you like it?”
“The figuring out part?” I huff a laugh. “Not really. It’s wildly uncomfortable. But I think I’m good at pretending.”
That earns me a small smile from her, and it feels like winning even though this is not a game or a competition.
The water laps closer, catching her ankle, and she steps back when she feels waves at her feet. I can’t stop staring.
She turns slightly, facing me now, arms crossed against her chest. “So, what happens after this, New Yorker?”
I blink. “After what?”
“This,” she says, gesturing between us. “You go back. I go back. You keep pretending you like figuring things out, and I keep pretending I’m not bone tired of life.”
It’s meant to be light, I can tell. But it lands heavily anyway.
For a moment, we just stand there, under the moonlight, wrapped in that strange cocoon of vacation air—soft breeze, salt, laughter floating faintly from the direction of the bar. Somewhere behind us, the band shifts into something slower and intimate.
Sol tugs lightly on my hand. “Dance?”
I laugh, quiet and low. “Here?”
“Why not?”
She steps closer before I can think of a reason to say no. Her hands find the way up to my shoulders, fingertips resting at the base of my neck, and I slide my palms to her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.
The sand gives under our feet as we start to move—barely a sway, just enough for the music to catch us. Her forehead grazes mine, and for a second, I forget to breathe.
And here, in this small patch of sand where no one else is watching, it feels almost like home.
“Merry Christmas, Sunshine.”