Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
The beach. I always thought better on the beach.
I grabbed a light jacket and headed out into the early evening air. The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in watercolor washes of pink and gold. The temperature had dropped with the approaching sunset, but it was still warm enough to be comfortable in just jeans and a sweater.
My bare feet hit the sand, and I immediately felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. This had become my sanctuary over the past six weeks—the endless stretch of ocean, the rhythm of the waves, the way the problems in my head seemed smaller against the vastness of it all.
I walked south along the waterline, letting the cold sand squish between my toes and the salt breeze tangle my hair. A few other people dotted the beach—a couple walking hand in hand in the distance, a fisherman casting his line from the pier, a woman jogging with her golden retriever.
Normal people living their normal lives, blissfully unaware that my entire world had shifted on its axis in the span of a few text messages.
What am I doing?
The question had been plaguing me since Kit left this morning. Was I making the right choice, or was I just falling back into old patterns? Was this love, or was it just the familiar comfort of wanting him?
But even as the doubts circled, I knew the answer. It had been there in the way my heart had started beating again the moment I saw him on my doorstep. In the way his voice saying “I love you” had felt true and right and mine.
This wasn’t some schoolboy crush or misplaced hero worship. This was love—messy and complicated and absolutely terrifying, but real. Adult love between two people who’d finally stopped running from each other.
I paused at the water’s edge, letting the frigid waves wash over my feet as I stared out at the darkening ocean. Kit’s house was somewhere behind me, up the beach and tucked among the dunes. I’d avoided walking this direction for weeks, afraid of the memories it would stir up. But now…
Now I found myself turning around and walking toward it, wanting to be close to something that embodied him.
The house came into view gradually—first the weathered cedar shingles of the roof, then the wide windows that faced the ocean, finally the sprawling deck where I’d spent so many afternoons reading while the tide moved in and out. It looked exactly the same as always, which somehow surprised me. As if it should have changed along with everything else.
My feet were too cold to stay out here much longer, so I turned around, still thinking of Kit, the beach house, the night I’d made my drunken confession that had changed things between us.
I was so lost in memory that I almost didn’t see the figure walking toward me along the beach from the direction of the beach access closer to my own cottage.
Dark hair catching the last rays of sunlight. Tall frame moving with that familiar, confident stride. Hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.
My heart stopped.
Then it started beating so hard I could hear it over the sound of the waves.
Kit.
He was here. Not in New York, not in some fancy hotel preparing to meet with shareholders and discuss quarterly reports. Here, walking toward me on the beach like something out of a dream.
I stood frozen for a moment, convinced I was hallucinating. That my obsessive wanting had conjured him out of thin air. But as he got closer, I could see the exhaustion in his posture, the rumpled state of his clothes, the stubble darkening his jaw.
Real. He was real, and he was here.
He’d put me first, just like he’d said he would.
Something cracked wide open in my chest—all the careful control I’d been maintaining for weeks, all the walls I’d built to protect myself. They crumbled like sand castles hit by a rogue wave.
My legs moved before I could think. Before the ache in my chest could stop me. Before I remembered all the reasons this wouldn’t be easy or neat.
My feet kicked up sand as I sprinted toward him, not caring how desperate I looked, not caring about anything except closing the distance between us. Kit’s stride faltered, like seeing me knocked the breath out of him, but he didn’t stop walking. If anything, he picked up his pace.
I hit him like a freight train, throwing myself into his arms with enough force to stagger him backward. His arms came around me immediately, crushing me against his chest like he was afraid I might disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough.
“You’re here,” I gasped against his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with salt air. “You’re here, fuck.”