I sign my name with a flourish and hand the chart to Haley, the nurse on shift tonight. “Here’s the discharge paperwork for Hopkins in 409.”
She nods and takes the binder from me. “I’ll get it all entered into the system.”
I give her a tired smile, which she mirrors. “Thank you.”
“Have a good night. Or morning rather.”
The reminder increases the ache of exhaustion. “You too.”
I head toward the elevator. The doors open to reveal it’s empty, which is a rarity, even at this hour. I press the button for the bottom floor that houses the resident locker rooms and lean back against a poster detailing STD symptoms, closing my eyes. The doors slide closed, then ding open a minute later.
A low male laugh sounds. “Long night?”
I crack my eyes open to see Ben standing before me. “Long night,” I confirm.
He yawns as he steps inside the elevator with me. “Me too. Neuro was nuts.” He presses the button to close the doors. I’ve always wondered if anyone actually did that. “Hey, you grew up here, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You ever been to Frosted before?”
I laugh. “Been? I’d make my brother stop there every morning on the way to school. Best doughnuts I’ve ever had.”
Ben smiles. He’s got a clean-cut, all-American look to him. Not bland, just straightforward. But his smile is lopsided and a little crooked. It adds more character to his face.
“Yeah, I agree. There was a doughnut place right across the street from my apartment in California. I thought theirs was the best there is…but now, I’m reconsidering.”
“You’re from California?”
“No, I grew up in Cincinnati. I ended up on the West Coast for undergrad and then medical school.”
The doors ding open. I take a step forward, only to realize we’re on the second floor, not the ground level.
Rose is standing there, yawning. She perks up when she sees me and Ben. “Hey, guys.”
I arch a brow as she steps inside. “You’re taking the elevator down one floor?”
“Don’t judge, Collins. I had to drop something off in the lab. You had the same long-ass night I did. Did you get any sleep?”
I shake my head. “None.”
Rose yawns again. “Same. I told Ellie and Sara I’d get brunch with them. Of course, they didn’t get a single code last night.” Another yawn. “You guys are both welcome to come. There will be coffee.”
“I’m gonna grab a doughnut and a nap,” Ben answers. “My brother is coming into town tonight, and he’ll want to go out.”
“Is this brother cute and single?” Rose asks, unashamed.
Ben laughs and shakes his head.
Rose makes a face, then looks at me. “Evie?”
“Uh, I can’t. I’ve got plans.”
“With the hunky soldier?”
“He’s not a soldier, but yes.”
“Are things serious between you two?”
“No. We’re just…no.”
“Uh-huh.” Rose gives me a look but doesn’t say anything else.
When she pressed me for details after Gray showed up in the cafeteria last week, I told her we went to high school together, but I didn’t delve into the brother’s best friend, next-door neighbor, chief’s son of it all. I also told her we have a firm expiration date, which Rose seems to have conveniently forgotten. Or maybe she just needs a reminder. I sure do.
When we reach the locker room, I change quickly, swapping out of my scrubs for a sundress. The temperatures are steadily rising as July creeps closer, beginning to regularly reach eighty degrees and occasionally brush ninety. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and say goodbye to the other interns in the locker room before heading out into the parking lot.
Gray’s Jeep is pulled up alongside the curb. He climbs out when he sees me approaching. The sight smacks me in the center of my chest. It feels good—right—to leave work and find him waiting for me. A soft, gooey sensation of contentment.
The sun is just beginning to rise in the sky, dappling everything in soft light. I study what he’s wearing, searching for clues about our destination. The athletic shorts and faded Colorado Avalanche T-shirt give me none.
When I reach him, he kisses me. I was expecting it. At some point, without me really realizing, it became ordinary. No less thrilling, but normal. Each stretch of time we spend together is bookended by a kiss—one at the start and one at the end. I hate how much I love it.
It turns into more than a hello peck. I haven’t seen him in two days, and it’s worrying how long a stretch of time that feels like. I thought routines took weeks—months—to form, not days. But he already feels like a permanent piece of my life here rather than a temporary one. My life revolves around work and spending time with him.
I tug Gray’s bottom lip between my teeth. He responds by sliding a hand down my back to squeeze my butt.
I start laughing, which effectively ends our kiss. “Are you seriously feeling me up in a hospital?”
“We’re not in a hospital,” he counters. “We’re outside. I’m feeling you up on a sidewalk.”
I roll my eyes as he pulls the overnight bag off my shoulder and tosses it in the backseat of his car.
“Get much sleep?”
“None,” I admit as I climb in the passenger side, yawning at the reminder of my long night. “I had four patients code.”
“Did they pull through?”
“All but one.”
Gray gives me a long, searching look from the driver’s side. “If you don’t want to—”
“I want to go,” I assure him.
I could have not slept in days, and I’d still insist on going wherever it is that we’re headed. Part of it is curiosity. We know Emmett’s and Sloane’s schedules. Sneaking around in each other’s places hasn’t been much of an issue. We don’t need to go on a trip to have sex. But still, Gray brought it up, asking if I was free this weekend. I’m pretty sure there’s more to the story, especially since he’s been less than forthcoming with details, but I haven’t pushed. I haven’t told him I had to trade three shifts to get today and tomorrow off either. Sloane thinks I’m on call again tonight. I’m not sure what Gray told Emmett about his absence.
“Okay.” The car engine rumbles, and we start moving, weaving through the hospital’s crowded parking lot.
“So…are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
Gray glances at me, then back at the road. “Beaufort.”
“Really?”
I figured it wouldn’t be far since we’re only spending one night. I assumed not far would consist of a short drive up or down the coast to one of the many small towns gearing up to be flooded with tourists in the coming months. Not a boat ride.
A noncommittal noise is my only answer. He seemed happy to see me, at ease about this trip. But there’s also an undercurrent of something else that’s evident in the lingering silence hanging between us. I let it, leaning my head back against the leather seat and looking out at the city slowly waking up.
The drive to the ferry port takes ten minutes. Crowds and activity keep me awake, but as soon as the boat pulls away from the wharf, I start fighting with my eyelids. It’s a gorgeous day. If we were flying, there wouldn’t be a cloud in sight. The sky is an endless stretch of blue, just like the water we’re floating on. The bright sunshine and wind aren’t enough to keep me awake, though. I doze off against Gray’s shoulder almost immediately.
When I open my eyes again, they’re gritty with sleep. The large mass of land that is Port Royal Island hovers in the distance, growing larger and larger with each chug of the massive engine steering the ferry along.
Once we’re close to the shore, I raise my head from Gray’s shoulder. He looks over at me but doesn’t say anything.
“You gonna tell me why we’re here?” I ask quietly.
Gray turns his gaze back toward the water. “I promised I’d visit.”
“Promised who?”
He doesn’t say anything at first. “A few months ago, I lost a good friend. We were at the Academy together. Had some of the same assignments once we graduated. Would go on trips together when we had overlapping leave. And then he was…gone.” That final word hovers between us for a minute. “I didn’t just go back to Colorado to get promoted. There was a memorial service for Sam as well. His parents were there. They own a bed-and-breakfast here, on the island. When they heard I was spending my leave in Charleston, they asked that I come visit. I was worried I’d just be a…reminder, but they insisted. Sam was stubborn as hell too.” One corner of his mouth turns up at some fond recollection.
“I’m so sorry, Gray.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m sorry too. I should have given you some more warning about what this is. A heads-up about what you’re walking into. A chance to back out. I…it’s still tough to talk about.”
“I would have come anyway.”
“I know.”
I hesitate. “Noah never mentioned…” My not-very-subtle attempt to ask him if he’s confided in anyone else.
“I didn’t tell him. I’ve kept them separate, you know. My life there and my life here.”
“How did Sam die?” I whisper.
Gray keeps his gaze forward as he answers, “His plane went down. Engine fire. They crashed…and there were no survivors.”
The ferry rocks as the boat aligns with the wharf. The speakers blare to life, spilling out reminders to gather all belongings and times to buy return tickets. Other passengers stand from the bench seats and stretch, eager to return to solid ground after the two-hour trip. Gray and I don’t move.
I’m not sure what to say. Despite my proximity to death at work, I’m fortunate enough to have never lost anyone close to me. It’s painful to lose a patient, but they’re not people I’ve interacted with outside the four walls of the hospital. The feeling of loss is different. If a stranger’s death affected you like a loved one’s, no one would ever be able to function. People die every day. Every minute.
Grief takes time to shrink to a manageable size. I know there’s nothing I can say to minimize it for Gray. But he could have come alone. He chose to include me in this. So, I reach out and tangle his fingers with mine. We’ve never held hands before. Touching is usually a prelude to something sexual between us.
I’ve held hands with other guys. I’ve kissed other guys. Both actions feel different with Gray. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m doing them with the knowledge of what doing more feels like…or if it’s because I’m doing them with him. Hopefully the former, likely the latter.
Gray squeezes my hand, then stands, slinging our bags over one shoulder and pulling me up with him. “Let’s go.”
I let him guide me down the stairs and off the ferry.
“You’ve been here before?”
“Yeah. Noah and I came with our parents when you guys were in…seventh grade, I think? I was ten.”
“Right.”
I expect to take one of the shuttles lined up on the street, but instead, we start walking along what looks like the main downtown section. My memories of my only other trip to this island are hazy, but I spot a bookstore and an ice cream parlor that both look familiar.
Charleston’s colorful charm has always looked like home to me. It’s not modern, but it feels fresh. Beaufort feels like stepping back in time. It’s overflowing with southern character, natural beauty, and rich heritage. Businesses line the street, separated by striped awning and wooden benches situated on cobblestones. They taper off into antebellum mansions situated under tall oaks dripping with Spanish moss.
“This is it,” Gray states, tugging me to the left toward a sign reading The Beaufort Bed-and-Breakfast.
The bed-and-breakfast is a three-story building that’s painted a cheery shade of light pink. The first two floors have wraparound porches dotted with hanging plants. Leaves spill over the edges of the pots and brush the railing. A white picket fence surrounds the property, which includes a quaint courtyard with wicker furniture.
I follow Gray through the open gate and up the front stairs. A couple who look to be in their sixties are sitting in two rocking chairs to the left of the front door, sipping from steaming mugs. The woman smiles at me. I give her a small wave with my free hand before we step inside.
The front hallway is cool, with a musty undertone to the air that reminds me of a library or a basement. The walls look like they belong to an art gallery with limited space. Rather than the several feet of typical spacing that separates frames at most museums, mere inches are between the many paintings. The flowered wallpaper beneath is barely visible.
Gray veers to the left of the wooden staircase. I trail after him, taking in the layout of the space. An empty fireplace encompasses most of the opposite wall. To its left is a small sitting area with a couch and two armchairs. To the right is a wide wooden desk. A woman with curly, graying hair is standing behind it, flipping through some papers.
Gray drops my hand and steps forward. “Hi, Marnie.”
The woman glances up at the sound of Gray’s greeting. Instantly, her face transforms. Creases form in the corners of her mouth, and crow’s-feet appear as she steps around the desk and wraps her arms around Gray. She says nothing, just holds him tightly.
Rather than infringe on what feels like a private moment, I look around the room more. Behind the desk is a stack of books, most of them on South Carolina history. A few guidebooks are beside it. Directly below a row of hooks is a picture frame. In uniform and in front of a plane, a handsome blond man stands between Marnie and an older man. Sam and his parents, I’m assuming. I stare at it, taking in his broad smile and twinkling eyes, absorbing the loss of someone I never met and never will.
“And who’s this?” Marnie steps away from Gray, discreetly wiping her cheeks as she glances between the two of us.
Gray clears his throat. “Um, this is Evie. My girlfriend. Evie, this is Marnie.”
I start at the title. I should have seen it coming, I guess. He obviously isn’t going to introduce me as his friend with benefits to a woman he respects.
I hold out a hand and smile. “It’s really nice to meet you, Marnie.”
Marnie brushes my hand away to give me a warm hug. She smells like vanilla and orange. “The pleasure is all mine, dear.” When Marnie pulls back, she looks me over closely. “My goodness, you’re gorgeous. You’re lucky she ever looked twice at you, Grayson.”
Gray rolls his eyes. I laugh.
“You didn’t mention you were seeing anyone,” Marnie says to Gray. Her voice has turned accusing.
“Yeah, well, it, uh…it didn’t seem like the time.” Gray fiddles with the strap of his bag.
I recall what he said on the ferry, that the last time he saw Sam’s parents was at his memorial.
A flash of sadness crosses Marnie’s voice before she recovers. “Celebrating life is part of accepting death. I always want to hear about yours, understand? It’s what Sam would have wanted.”
Gray nods. “Okay.”
“Good.” Marnie returns to the desk and pulls a key off the hook. She sets it on the counter and then pulls out a sheet of paper with a map. “You’re in room 205. Top of the stairs to the right. And here’s a map of the town. I’m sure you can pull up whatever you need on your phone. Scott insists we hand out copies to all the guests anyway.” She looks at me. “My husband isn’t one for technology.”
I smile.
“Dockside has the best food on the island. You should plan to go there for dinner. I’m happy to make you two a reservation.”
“You and Scott should join us.” I make the offer automatically. I’ve known Gray’s parents for most of my life. Yet oddly, I feel like I’m seeking out parental approval right now. It’s obvious how close Gray and Marnie are.
“Oh, no. You kids should enjoy yourselves.”
“No, really. We’d love to have the company.” I don’t look at Gray, but Marnie does.
“Okay,” she agrees. “That sounds lovely. I’ll make a reservation for seven p.m.?”
I nod. “Perfect.”
“All right. Y’all need anything before then, just let me know.”
“We will,” Gray replies. “Thanks, Marnie.”
He heads for the hallway with our bags. With one final smile, I walk out after him. There’s a middle-aged couple coming down the stairs. We wait for them to pass and then Gray starts climbing. The stairs creak with each step. The walls on the second floor have no artwork besides the same floral wallpaper. It appears every frame in the place was congregated together for a first impression.
Gray unlocks 205 and pushes the wooden door open. Yellow giraffes cover the walls in here instead of flowers. The sight draws an involuntary smile as I peer at one of the animals replicated thousands of times around the room. The furniture is all built from old, dark wood and decorated with elaborate carvings. The four-poster bed takes up most of the room. There’s also a chest of drawers and a love seat covered with pink upholstery.
He tosses our bags on the blue bedspread.
“You’re really close with his parents.”
“Yeah. They’ve got a place in Breckenridge, where they spend most of the winter. We’d travel there a lot from the Academy. And they’d always be at the base when Sam and I got back from a deployment. We’d get burgers and beers.”
“That sounds nice.” Does that mean Juliet and Henry have never shown up?
“It was. And no.” Gray walks over to the bed and unzips his bag.
“No, what?” I ask as I sit down on the love seat.
“No, my parents have never come. I can tell you’re wondering. I’ve never invited them; they’ve never asked.”
I don’t reply, just lean back. The cushions are firm, not soft, but I’m tired enough that it feels like lounging on a cloud. Gray watches me as he sifts through his bag. With absolutely no preamble, he drops his shorts and boxers before stepping into swim trunks. He leaves his T-shirt on.
“What are you doing?”
“Changing.”
“Duh. Why?”
Gray shrugs. “Figured I’d go to the beach.”
“While I do…what?”
“I don’t know…nap?” He matches my tone exactly.
“I can’t sleep now. I’ll be up all night.”
He smirks. “You’ll be up all night anyway.”
I try to ignore the way those words heat my blood. “Why don’t we go sightseeing?”
“Sightseeing?” he echoes, like the word is a foreign concept.
“Yeah. There are museums and stuff. Shopping.”
“You want to go shopping?”
“Yep.”
Gray sighs. “Okay…we’ll go shopping.” He sounds less than enthused about the prospect but doesn’t renege his agreement as we head back out onto the street.
It’s nearing noon, and the streets are busier than I expected. Maybe it’s because I barely do anything besides go to work, but it doesn’t feel like summer is in full swing to me yet. The other pedestrians on the crowded sidewalk clearly feel differently. There are kids clutching ice cream cones, teenagers giggling and flirting, older couples ambling along…and then me and Gray. He doesn’t reach for my hand the way he did earlier, but he’s walking close to me. As we approach the start of Beaufort’s downtown, our arms brush a few times, sending a shock to my system each time.
The bookstore I remember from my one and only other trip here appears up on the left side of the street. I head there first, and Gray follows me inside. The cool rush of air-conditioning feels heavenly after the hot glare of the sun.
“Don’t you already have enough books?” he asks
“I’m just browsing. I’m not going to buy anything.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
I roll my eyes and continue running my fingers along the spines. “I mean it. You never finished building my bookcase. I don’t have anywhere to put them.”
“If you want me to finish a project, you can’t climb into my lap in the middle of it.”
“No straddling. Noted.”
“I mean…we could assess on a case-by-case basis moving forward,” he says, sending me a smirk that looks decidedly dangerous.
Rather than cause concern, it makes something flutter in my chest. Not good. My reaction to Gray is supposed to be dwindling, not strengthening. He leaves in a week.
I should be starting to get sick of him.
I should be tired of sneaking around.
I should be eager to meet a guy I could have a future with.
Those are all the things I should be feeling. Instead, I’m dreading June 19—the day he leaves—like it’s my own personal doomsday. It feels like it is. Gray hasn’t just become a routine; he’s an addiction. Instead of weaning myself off, I’m chasing another high—as many hits as I can get before my supply runs dry.
The things you want aren’t supposed to be all you hoped and more. People who chase success often end up unsatisfied. People who chase money often end up unhappy. People who chase love often end up heartbroken. I would know. I didn’t expect that same guy who barely acknowledged my existence for years would one day make me feel special and seen and sexy. And then say, See ya. I thought I knew what Gray Phillips was to me—and what he never would be. That’s been rapidly rearranged and forever altered.
“What?”
I blink, and Gray’s confused face comes back into focus. I’ve just been standing here, staring at him. He looks over one shoulder, like there might be something behind him that’s more interesting.
Pretending like no staring took place and I didn’t hear him, I head toward the back of the store. The rear section houses a wide array of items marketed to capitalize on the tourism industry—T-shirts, hats, booklets, snow globes, key chains, maps, posters, stuffed animals, and an impressive assortment of postcards. Impulsively, I pick up a turtle figurine to stick in my locker at work. At the moment, it holds nothing but my stethoscope and badge. It could use some livening up.
“This stuff is for tourists,” Gray complains as he follows me down the aisle toward the postcards.
“We are tourists,” I remind him.
“We live less than two hours away.”
“But we don’t live here, which makes us tourists.” From the carousel, I grab a postcard depicting dolphins and head for the register, holding the turtle figurine I picked out in my other hand so that I’m double-fisting my memorabilia. “I’m finished looking, which means you can stop complaining.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“Yeah, you are.” I sigh. “You know, why don’t you just go to the beach? Surf or whatever you were planning to do. I’ll meet you back at the bed-and-breakfast by seven for dinner.”
“Evie…”
“Do you know when the last time I went on any sort of vacation was? Spring break, freshman year. Six years. Since then, I’ve been nowhere but Boston and Charleston. This is the first time I’ve had two straight days off since I moved back. Excuse me for trying to enjoy it.”
Before I can stalk past him, Gray grabs my arm. “I’m sorry, Evie.”
“If you don’t want me here, then why did you invite me?”
“I do want you here. I just … I’ve been dreading this. I’ve never spent time with Scott and Marnie without Sam there too. I remind them of him. They remind me of him. It’s strange, and I’m on edge about it. But I’m happy you’re here. Really. Anything else I’m feeling…it’s not because I don’t want you here. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Gray nods and reaches past me to grab a Beaufort ball cap off the rack. “You ready?”
I eye the blue hat. “What is that for?”
“To show every idiot on the street I’m a tourist.”
I bite my bottom lip, so I don’t laugh. “You don’t have to do that.”
He gives me a lopsided smile that’s half-amused, half-resigned. “Yeah, I do. And I know Sam would have preferred that I wore this around town, having fun and sightseeing with you, than wandering about, wondering if he’d been to a place or not. So…ready?”
I nod, and we head for the checkout.
I smooth down the front of my dress and dab on one final coat of lip gloss. Smack my lips together. Study my appearance in the mirror.
I’m stalling.
I’m nervous.
In my experience, reality rarely lives up to the hype. Adulthood definitely hasn’t. I don’t have any regrets about pursuing medicine, but it hasn’t been what I expected. It’s underwhelmed my expectations in some ways, exceeded them in others.
Most of the time, the way you imagine something is far superior to the actual reality.
Gray seems to be my exception.
And I’ve imagined what it might look like—feel like—to go out on a date with Grayson Phillips many, many times. Swings on the playground in elementary school. Walks on the beach in middle school. Kissing under the bleachers in high school. My expectations were low when it came to activities back then. I was more focused on the company.
That’s love, I think. Not caring what you’re doing, but who you’re doing it with.
I thought I was in love with Gray Phillips before.
I’m concerned—terrified—that the giddiness I’m experiencing right now is the real deal. Is what my seven-year-old self confused contentment while eating a Popsicle and watching him play basketball from my back stoop for.
“Evie? You’ve been in there for ten minutes. Are you almost ready?”
I roll my eyes at my reflection. Obviously, Gray has never gotten ready with a woman before. I like to think I’m low maintenance—ten minutes is nothing.
We got back from the beach twenty minutes ago, after spending the afternoon walking through a museum and touring the lighthouse. We got sandwiches and went to the beach for the rest of the day. I napped under an umbrella while Gray played volleyball with a group of college-aged guys. It was…perfect. Fun, easy, lighthearted. And I’m worried it’ll be more damaging for my heart than the who knows how many times we’ve had sex. I’ve lost track of the exact number, which is concerning as well. That’s when things become routine. And now, we’re going out to dinner.
I looked up Dockside on my phone while Gray was being athletic. It’s fancy—a far cry from the Chinese restaurant where Logan and I went for our six-month anniversary. Middle-aged strangers accompanying us or not, it feels like a date, date.
“Yep. Coming!”
I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door to walk out into the bedroom. I’m wearing the nicest outfit I brought—a royal-blue cotton sundress. It’s strapless, showing off the slight tan I’ve gained from the little time I’ve spent at the beach so far. I took the time to straighten my wavy hair, so it falls in a sheet of blonde strands.
I spin once I’m back in the room, trying to shake off the nerves. Trying to act like going out to dinner with him is no big deal at all. “What do you think?”
Gray is waiting by the door, wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a light-blue button-down. He has his phone in his hand, like he was in the middle of looking at something, but his gaze doesn’t stray from me. Less is more with Gray. He’s never the loudest or flashiest guy in the room. He’d rather sit in silence than make forced small talk. I’ve heard him share more critiques than compliments.
So, when he says, “You always look stunning, Evie,” I know he’s not just saying it. Then, like he said nothing at all, he nods toward the door. “Ready?”
“I, uh, yeah.” I grab my clutch off the bed, slip on a pair of wedges, and walk through the door he’s holding open. “You look nice.” God, I sound awkward. Breathy.
Gray chuckles as we walk down the hallway. “Thanks.”
Marnie and her husband are waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
Marnie beams when she sees us. “What a good-looking couple you two are.”
Gray smiles as he shakes the man’s hand. “Good to see you, Scott.”
Scott claps Gray on the back. “I’m so glad you came, son. Means a lot to us.”
Both of their expressions turn grim for a moment before the heaviness disappears.
“This is Evie.”
Scott turns to me. He has the same genuine friendliness as his wife does—it simply exudes without saying a word. His tan, wrinkled skin suggests he spends plenty of time outdoors. “It’s lovely to meet you, Evie.”
“You too, Scott. Thank you for hosting us.”
He shakes my hand with a weathered palm. “Our pleasure.”
The walk from the bed-and-breakfast to the restaurant is only a few blocks. Gray and Marnie walk ahead. Scott and I amble behind. I ask him a few questions about the bed-and-breakfast. His descriptions of the family history behind the business and the upkeep he takes care of on the grounds last the whole walk. He’s still talking about the magnolias he’s cultivating when we’re led to a four-person table overlooking the water. His enthusiasm reminds me of Henry’s love for his garden. That’s the only similarity I can find between the two men Gray seems to have paternal relationships with.
“Scott!” Marnie scolds as we sit down. “That’s enough. The poor girl doesn’t want to hear about pruning and mulching.”
Scott holds his hands up in acquiescence and leans back in the wicker chair.
“It was interesting,” I insist.
Marnie’s bracelets jingle as she waves my words away. “No need to be polite, dear. I zone out every time.”
I smile at that.
“Now, how did you two meet?” Marnie takes a slice of bread from the basket on the table and spreads butter on it, waiting expectantly.
I glance at Gray, letting him take the lead.
“We’ve known each other for a long time,” he answers. “Evie grew up next door to me.”
“My goodness, isn’t that sweet?” Marnie smiles as she looks between the two of us. “You just started dating recently?”
“Yep.” Gray takes a sip of his water.
“There was always a spark, though?”
“I guess.” Another sip.
Marnie doesn’t take the hint that this isn’t Gray’s first choice of conversation topics. “There must have been a moment, right? When you realized there was something there?”
Gray gives me a look that could be loosely translated to, A little help here?
I avert my eyes and grab a roll for myself, buttering with slow, deliberate strokes. Not only am I terrible about coming up with lies on short notice, but anything I might say along the lines of love at first sight would also hit embarrassingly close to home.
“Uh, yeah. Probably.”
A romantic, Gray is not.
Marnie disagrees.
“How special.” She demonstrates an accurate impression of a Victorian era swoon.
I chew my bread and bite back the urge to smile. Honestly, you can’t pay for this sort of entertainment. I’ve never seen Gray put on the spot before. He usually just ignores questions he doesn’t want to answer.
“What was it?”
I perk up for a whole new reason. Is he going to make something up? Manufacture some moment where our eyes locked across the middle school cafeteria?
Gray shifts in his seat. Clears his throat. “Oh. Just…you know, lots of little things.”
“Like what?” Marnie homes in on Gray’s vague response like a human polygraph machine. There’s nothing but eagerness in her nosiness. She’ll never have the chance to interrogate her son about the woman he’s dating.
I never met Sam. His name hasn’t even been spoken tonight. But I can feel his presence hovering in her hopeful questions, searching for the light in life rather than its darkness.
I think Gray hears it, too, because he actually answers her. “Well, the neighborhood we live in did all these celebrations growing up. Most of it was stupid. Caroling at Christmas and leprechauns for St. Patrick’s Day. The only event I ever enjoyed was the Fourth of July. There would be a big cookout in the afternoon, and then everyone would set up chairs in the street to watch the fireworks. Anyway, one year—I think I was in seventh or eighth grade—they passed out sparklers. Once the fireworks started, that’s what everyone was focused on. Everyone except Evie. She ran around the front yard, waving those sticks around the whole time. Every time one ran out, she’d light up a new one right away. I missed the whole show and watched her instead.”
This time, when Marnie swoons, I have to resist an urge to do the same.
“Oh my word, isn’t that just the sweetest story? I—”
“Can I get you folks any drinks or appetizers?” A waiter appears beside the table, cutting Marnie off.
His timing couldn’t have been better. I drop my eyes to my menu, which I haven’t even glanced at, and everyone else does the same. The paper gives me a necessary excuse to hide my expression. I don’t want anyone at this table scrutinizing my response to Gray’s patriotic little anecdote. Now, I wish he had spun some ridiculous story—the less believable, the better.
Because that moment he described, about the sparklers? He’s not making it up. It happened. I can remember it clearly—the humid air, the fizzle as the coating burned away, the explosions in the sky. But I don’t remember him—had no idea he was watching.
Were there other moments I missed?
Was my interest in him not as pathetically one-sided as I thought?
Does it matter either way?
I’m suddenly grateful for Scott’s and Marnie’s presence. It keeps me from dwelling on those questions—or even worse, asking them.
Marnie doesn’t ask any more questions about me and Gray. She and Scott converse with the comforting ease of a couple who not only know each other well, but have also lived through the hard times along with the happy. We sip wine, slurp oysters, and savor entrées as Sam’s parents share stories about the bed-and-breakfast. They pelt me with plenty of questions as well, asking all about my life in Charleston.
When we finish dinner, Marnie and Scott insist on paying for the meal, then send us to “the best bar in town.” Since they were right about Dockside—the food was incredible—I’m inclined to believe them. I’m running on fumes after a long day and limited sleep, but I feel wide awake as we walk along the same street as we did earlier. The only difference is, it’s dark now, and the people out and about are almost exclusively our age.
I’m wearing wedges tonight, which are more comfortable than heels. I wince as I watch one woman navigating the cobblestones in stilettos. A sprained ankle would have been a sure outcome if I’d attempted the same. She teeters but stays upright, thanks to the long umbrella she’s holding. I glance up at the inky, clear sky in confusion. Maybe she brought it as a walking stick?
There’s no question which building is our destination. Noise and music spill out into the street, audible even when we’re still half a block away.
Gray rests his hand on my lower back when we walk inside the bar. The possessive touch sinks through the cotton dress I’m wearing and sears my skin, branding the flesh about as subtly as an iron. I’ve never come to a bar alone with a guy—just me and him. I’ve had nights out with other women. Logan and I would go for drinks but always with our group of friends.
I catch a few guys glancing at me. No one approaches. Gray’s presence by my side is a powerful deterrent from any lewd comments or suggestive offers. He keeps his palm pressed against my back, guiding me through the crowd and over to the tiled counter that spans the bar. Heat spreads from the few inches where he’s touching me, dancing along the surface of my skin and sending tingles everywhere. Rather than become accustomed to his proximity, I feel like I’ve become more attuned to it. I’m always aware of exactly how close he is.
“What do you want?” Gray asks when we reach the counter.
“Tequila shot.”
He smirks. “That kind of night, huh?”
“I just want one.”
I don’t tell him I associate tequila with him—because he tasted like salt and lime the first time we kissed. The white wine we had with dinner is buzzing through my bloodstream. More alcohol is probably a bad idea. But it’s too late. We get served immediately—female bartender—and so I follow through. Gray watches with a smirk as I lick the salt, down the shot, and make a face as I bite into the tart wedge. He kisses me as soon as I toss the lime, stealing the last drop of sour juice from my lips.
My feet stumble on absolutely nothing as he pulls me away from the counter, giving me no time at all to recover from that display of oral aptitude.
“Want to play pool?” Gray asks when we reach the corner of the bar, as if he didn’t just melt my insides into a puddle of goo.
I strive to match his nonchalance. “I don’t really know how to play.”
“I’ll teach you,” he declares, confident as ever.
I watch as he sets a plastic triangle in the center of the green felt and starts filling it with colored balls, then grabs a couple of long wooden sticks.
He takes a sip of the beer he ordered and then beckons me over. “Come here.”
Saying no never seems to be an option with him. I comply, coming to stand at one end of the table. He moves in behind me, bracketing me between his arms and brushing up against my back. I doubt he can hear my breathing accelerate. “Rocket Man” is blaring in the background, mixing with the loud chatter, but I don’t think he’s oblivious to how my body is vibrating with awareness. He murmurs instructions in my ear, talking about cues and racking and breaking. I don’t absorb a single word. Instead, I memorize how he feels pressed against me and process how he smells like sandalwood and hops—a surprisingly arousing combination. Then again, I’d happily kiss Gray if he’d eaten garlic and I hadn’t, so maybe it’s not all that surprising.
“Ready?”
My time to daydream is up.
I turn in his arms, so I’m facing him. “If you want me to focus on anything you’re saying, you can’t stand this close.”
“So, of that, you got…”
“Nothing,” I finish.
One corner of his mouth rises, forming a lopsided smile. “Maybe that’s part of my winning strategy.”
“You’ve played before, and I haven’t. I think that’s all the strategy you need.”
“We’ll find out, huh?” He hands me a stick. “Here’s your cue.”
“What are we playing for?”
One eyebrow rises. “You mean, what am I winning?”
“That’s awfully presumptuous.”
“Not really—unless you’re lying about playing before.”
“I’m not,” I assure him. “Just trying to keep things interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
I pretend to think about it. “If I win, I’ll give you a blowjob when we get back to the room.”
Gray has a hell of a poker face. I make a mental note never to play cards with him. “You realize that will require me to lose?”
“Yep.” I pop the P. “Gentlemen first.”
He narrows his eyes at me, like he’s trying to figure out what my end goal is. Good luck to him because I don’t know either. I feel light and loose, thanks to the alcohol and easygoing ambiance. Thanks to him. Being around Gray makes me overthink less. Ironic for two reasons.
One, I used to second-guess everything I did around him in hopes of impressing him.
Two, Gray is one of the most serious guys I’ve ever met. Together, we should be uptight, not playful.
I never find out if my incentive had any effect on Gray’s competitive side. One of the rules I should have listened to spelled out which balls I was supposed to send into the pockets and which I wasn’t. Gray doubles over, laughing, when I start celebrating as I hit his in instead of mine, thinking I’m winning.
After he officially wins our game, we leave. The bar is becoming rowdier and rowdier as it grows later, and neither of us is in the mood to drink more. I wouldn’t mind grinding up against him as payback for the pool lessons, but I’d rather do it in the privacy of our room, followed by sex and sleep.
“Want to walk back along the beach?” Gray suggests as we step outside.
“Yeah.”
Rather than head straight along the street, we turn toward the sound of the surf, stepping onto sand after a couple hundred feet. I kick my wedges off and sink my toes into the sand. The waves are twice the size as they were when we were here earlier. They’re huge, aggressive. They pound the shore like they’re trying to prove a point, sending drops of spray flying. Salty wind swirls my hair and dress. Tiny birds run from each new swell, flying across the wet sand as fast as their little legs will carry them.
I laugh. When I look over, Gray is smiling at me.
“What are you laughing at?”
“I don’t really know. I’m just…happy?” I say the statement like a question. Like happiness is a confusing concept.
Isn’t it, though? It means something different to everyone. How do you know when you’re truly happy?
Is it knowing you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, with anyone else? If so, then, yeah, I’m happy.
“Are you?”
“In general, or right now?”
I hope he’s happy all the time. But what I really want to know is whether he’s happy around me. “Right now.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Good.”
“I love storms,” Gray says, watching the swell overtake the sand and slide away. “The devastation is terrible, but it’s also breathtaking. That sort of power…it’s so raw. I used to stay up and marvel at it when I was a kid.”
I sink down into the sand. He takes a seat beside me.
“I know. You wanted to be a weatherman for a while.”
“Right. I did.”
“What else do you love?”
Gray glances at me. “What, you want a list?”
“Sure.” I lean back on my palms.
“I don’t know. Little things, I guess.”
Little things. That’s what he told Marnie made up our spark.
But the list he rattles off doesn’t have anything to do with me.
“Waking up without an alarm. Surfing when the water is flat. Seeing the stars at night. My mom’s peach pie. The feeling when I lift off the runway.”
“That’s a good list.” I stare out at the churning sea.
He lets the topic drop. “I’m going to miss this view.”
“The water looks different down here. Boston was always bleak and busy, it felt like. Plus, there was never any…” I look over at him and lose my train of thought.
Gray isn’t looking at the surf or the palm trees or the white sand. He’s looking at me. In an intense, focused way that makes me think that he didn’t change his focus when I started talking. In a way that makes me think he might have been already looking at me before I said a word.
I love the way he’s looking at me. Like, out of everything on this beach, I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. I want to photograph this moment and tuck it away to pull out when I’m tired and stressed and questioning every decision I’ve ever made. But right now, I’m suddenly grateful for them all. Every choice that led me to this exact spot, here with him.
He breaks eye contact before I can decide if I’m brave enough to ask. “Did you ever consider staying in Boston?”
“No. Do you ever consider leaving?” It’s something I’ve always wondered about.
His life here feels very temporary. He shares a loft with Emmett. His room sits empty most of the time.
“Yeah.”
My heart sinks at his answer.
“I feel stuck in Charleston. I’m disappointed when we hit the runway at the joint base.”
“Oh.”
“It’s always been that way. I love flying. I love my job. I just saw the ugly side—the scary side—of it right before coming back. That can make you question choices.”
The sky chooses this moment to suddenly open up. A deluge of water drops, immediately soaking everything in sight.
“I guess this is why people had umbrellas,” I shout.
Gray laughs before he grabs my hand and pulls me upright. We start running down the beach in the direction of the bed-and-breakfast. The sand we’re kicking up sticks to my calves in wet globs. And the rain keeps falling in thousands of tiny drops that have the effect of an aimed hose. My dress can’t absorb any more water. It starts slithering off the fabric in endless rivers, forming tiny valleys in the malleable sand.
The only structure in sight is one of the lifeguard huts they store equipment in. When we reach it, I sigh. The overhang is only enough to shield half my body, and there’s a padlock on the door.
Gray fiddles with it, then lets out a grumble of annoyance. “Dammit. Different lock.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You break into beach huts on a regular basis?”
He huffs a laugh as he presses his back against the locked door and turns his head, so the runoff from the roof only hits the front of his shorts and shirt. “I worked at that surf shop by Tremont Beach in high school. Those shacks all had faulty locks that would open if you jiggled them right. When we had parties, I would take, well…yeah.”
I don’t hide my smirk. “Didn’t really think that story through, huh?”
Gray rolls his eyes while also managing to appear sheepish.
“It’s fine. I know you weren’t a virgin when we hooked up.”
We stare at each other until I become self-conscious.
“We should probably just make a run for it. It doesn’t look like this will let up anytime soon.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I lean down and wring out the hem of my dress. “Ready?”
“Hang on.”
He moves out from the shelter of the overhang to press against me, so I’m caged between his wet clothes and the wooden exterior of the hut. Water pours between us like a waterfall until he leans forward and presses his wet lips against mine. His body shields mine from the downpour. He tastes like beer and rain—which I didn’t know had a taste until right now.
After a few seconds, he pulls back. “Ready.”
We start sprinting down the beach.
