“One week. No rules, no limits, just us. I can save you from this unrequited love of yours. And you…you can save me from myself.”
5.
22 Beach Lane
I almost turn back half a dozen times, but as the city disappears in the twilight behind me, I feel a weight lift; resolve crystalizing in my veins with every passing mile. I’m used to mapping my life out on the pages of my day planner in neat columns, scheduling everything months in advance. Now, I have no plan but the road ahead of me, a hastily-packed weekend bag in the backseat, and an address I programmed in my GPS. This might be the first unpredictable thing I’ve ever done.
Not the first, I correct myself. The first reckless thing was that kiss in the alley with Dex, lighting a fire of curiosity, awakening a part of me that’s been numb and waiting for so long. Now, that same spark drives me on down the distant highway, twisting my stomach with nerves and anticipation as I wonder what lies in store at the end of the road.
I don’t know what’s going to happen next, and the thought thrills and scares me in equal measure.
The hours melt away with dusk until the light is hazy and clear. I turn off the main highway and onto the ocean road, rolling down the windows to inhale the tang of salt and feel the evening breeze whipping around me. I know my problems can’t melt away overnight, but I feel lighter already, seeing the county line marker loom into view.
Welcome to Beachwood Bay.
What?
I swerve suddenly, pulling off the side of the road with a screech of the brakes. I clutch the wheel, panting for air. It can’t be. I must have taken the wrong route, gone off track. But when I check the address on the GPS again, cross-reference it with my phone, it’s right there.
Dex’s beach house is just a couple of miles outside town.
The same town where Hunter and Brit live.
I let out a hollow laugh. The universe is taunting me, it has to be. The one place I go to try and get away from Hunter, and I wind up right on their front doorstep.
I sit there, paralyzed, wondering if this is a sign I should forget the whole crazy plan. But slowly, my panic fades and I’m able to think straight again. Hunter’s in the city, I saw him there just today, and he didn’t mention any plans to head back to the ranch here. In fact, with wedding arrangements and Brit’s work in the design studio, they’ll probably be there for days. Weeks, even.
I’m safe.
I give myself another minute before starting the engine again. I feel foolish at having such a scare, but I guess that shows how desperately I need to get through this heartache and stop acting as if Hunter is the sun around which my whole life revolves. I force myself to take a deep breath, turning back onto the highway towards town.
No excuses, no backing out. You’re here for a reason.
I look around curiously at my surroundings as I cross the bridge into town. Hunter has mentioned the small beach town often, and it lives up to his affectionate descriptions. There’s a quaint Main Street lined with local stores and an old-fashioned diner; boats bobbing on the tide down at the marina, and everything feels sleepy and soaked in suntan oil; sand blowing into the road as the gulls swoop lazily overhead. A picture postcard brought to life.
It’s the last place on earth I’d picture an edgy rocker guy like Dex.
The GPS directs me onwards, out past town and along the shore as the sun sinks lower, finally dipping behind the hills in a blaze of fiery orange and neon pink. The last sunbathers are packing up their things on the beach, trekking back to their car and brushing sand from their toes.
As I get closer to my destination, two emotions are at war inside me: the beachy relaxation all around me, and the sharper, skittering anticipation of seeing Dex again. My night with him was all neon city lights and adrenaline; hard edges, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Now, I’m thrown off balance, not sure what to expect seeing him in a setting like this.
Finally, I drive alongside an empty stretch of golden sand, and pull into the driveway of a huge, modern house, set on the edge of the shore.
Wow.
I get out, looking up at the house in amazement. I’d been picturing a quaint, clapboard place like the rest of the houses in town. I should have known Dex would do things differently. This is stark and modern, looming above me, a series of white cubes stacked together facing the ocean. As I slowly make my way up to the front door, I see that several of the walls are made of sheet glass, offering jaw-dropping views of the beach beyond.
I pause by the entrance, looking around for a bell or way to announce my presence. But I don’t need to. Before I can lift my hand to knock, the door swings open, and suddenly he’s standing right there in front of me.
Dex Callahan.
I inhale in a rush. Memories are one thing, but they couldn’t come close to capturing the raw physical presence Dex wears as easily as the black jeans slung low around his hips. He’s got a faded black T-shirt on, revealing the dark ink of his tattoos twisting up his arm, and a dusting of dark stubble across his angular jaw.
But it’s his eyes that wipe all coherent thought from my mind, sending my pulse racing in a nervous rhythm. His gaze is as dark as the midnight ocean, hiding untold dangers in their depths as they slowly sweep over me from head to toe.
I shift, self-conscious, wishing I’d taken the chance to change from my conservative office outfit.
“You made it.” His lips curl in a victorious smile. “I wasn’t sure if you’d change your mind and hightail it back to the city.”
“I’m here.” I try to sound decisive, even though I grappled with the same temptation for most of the drive. “Hi.”
5.
22 Beach Lane
I almost turn back half a dozen times, but as the city disappears in the twilight behind me, I feel a weight lift; resolve crystalizing in my veins with every passing mile. I’m used to mapping my life out on the pages of my day planner in neat columns, scheduling everything months in advance. Now, I have no plan but the road ahead of me, a hastily-packed weekend bag in the backseat, and an address I programmed in my GPS. This might be the first unpredictable thing I’ve ever done.
Not the first, I correct myself. The first reckless thing was that kiss in the alley with Dex, lighting a fire of curiosity, awakening a part of me that’s been numb and waiting for so long. Now, that same spark drives me on down the distant highway, twisting my stomach with nerves and anticipation as I wonder what lies in store at the end of the road.
I don’t know what’s going to happen next, and the thought thrills and scares me in equal measure.
The hours melt away with dusk until the light is hazy and clear. I turn off the main highway and onto the ocean road, rolling down the windows to inhale the tang of salt and feel the evening breeze whipping around me. I know my problems can’t melt away overnight, but I feel lighter already, seeing the county line marker loom into view.
Welcome to Beachwood Bay.
What?
I swerve suddenly, pulling off the side of the road with a screech of the brakes. I clutch the wheel, panting for air. It can’t be. I must have taken the wrong route, gone off track. But when I check the address on the GPS again, cross-reference it with my phone, it’s right there.
Dex’s beach house is just a couple of miles outside town.
The same town where Hunter and Brit live.
I let out a hollow laugh. The universe is taunting me, it has to be. The one place I go to try and get away from Hunter, and I wind up right on their front doorstep.
I sit there, paralyzed, wondering if this is a sign I should forget the whole crazy plan. But slowly, my panic fades and I’m able to think straight again. Hunter’s in the city, I saw him there just today, and he didn’t mention any plans to head back to the ranch here. In fact, with wedding arrangements and Brit’s work in the design studio, they’ll probably be there for days. Weeks, even.
I’m safe.
I give myself another minute before starting the engine again. I feel foolish at having such a scare, but I guess that shows how desperately I need to get through this heartache and stop acting as if Hunter is the sun around which my whole life revolves. I force myself to take a deep breath, turning back onto the highway towards town.
No excuses, no backing out. You’re here for a reason.
I look around curiously at my surroundings as I cross the bridge into town. Hunter has mentioned the small beach town often, and it lives up to his affectionate descriptions. There’s a quaint Main Street lined with local stores and an old-fashioned diner; boats bobbing on the tide down at the marina, and everything feels sleepy and soaked in suntan oil; sand blowing into the road as the gulls swoop lazily overhead. A picture postcard brought to life.
It’s the last place on earth I’d picture an edgy rocker guy like Dex.
The GPS directs me onwards, out past town and along the shore as the sun sinks lower, finally dipping behind the hills in a blaze of fiery orange and neon pink. The last sunbathers are packing up their things on the beach, trekking back to their car and brushing sand from their toes.
As I get closer to my destination, two emotions are at war inside me: the beachy relaxation all around me, and the sharper, skittering anticipation of seeing Dex again. My night with him was all neon city lights and adrenaline; hard edges, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Now, I’m thrown off balance, not sure what to expect seeing him in a setting like this.
Finally, I drive alongside an empty stretch of golden sand, and pull into the driveway of a huge, modern house, set on the edge of the shore.
Wow.
I get out, looking up at the house in amazement. I’d been picturing a quaint, clapboard place like the rest of the houses in town. I should have known Dex would do things differently. This is stark and modern, looming above me, a series of white cubes stacked together facing the ocean. As I slowly make my way up to the front door, I see that several of the walls are made of sheet glass, offering jaw-dropping views of the beach beyond.
I pause by the entrance, looking around for a bell or way to announce my presence. But I don’t need to. Before I can lift my hand to knock, the door swings open, and suddenly he’s standing right there in front of me.
Dex Callahan.
I inhale in a rush. Memories are one thing, but they couldn’t come close to capturing the raw physical presence Dex wears as easily as the black jeans slung low around his hips. He’s got a faded black T-shirt on, revealing the dark ink of his tattoos twisting up his arm, and a dusting of dark stubble across his angular jaw.
But it’s his eyes that wipe all coherent thought from my mind, sending my pulse racing in a nervous rhythm. His gaze is as dark as the midnight ocean, hiding untold dangers in their depths as they slowly sweep over me from head to toe.
I shift, self-conscious, wishing I’d taken the chance to change from my conservative office outfit.
“You made it.” His lips curl in a victorious smile. “I wasn’t sure if you’d change your mind and hightail it back to the city.”
“I’m here.” I try to sound decisive, even though I grappled with the same temptation for most of the drive. “Hi.”
