Page 23 of Somewhere in the Sunset

Removing his boxers and stretching over me to pull open the top drawer of the bedside table, he scrambles for a condom. My stomach knots with nerves as I watch him tear open the wrapper with his teeth, then slide the condom on and reposition himself. He curls one hand beneath my thigh. Our eyes meet and apprehension fills the space between us. A moment of questioning. Second-guessing.

“Are you sure about this, Gracie?”

“I’m not sure about anything these days, but yes,” I whisper. “Please.”

Weston grips my thigh tighter, and I clench my teeth as he enters me slowly, carefully, and then fully. We gasp in synchronization. There are a few seconds of stillness as I adjust to him inside of me and as he embraces the feel of me. My hands move to my face, my eyes shut.

“Don’t hide,” Weston says. He reaches for my hands and pulls them away, the magnetic force of his gaze drawing me back to him. Somehow, he seems so recognizable to me. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He keeps one hand interlocked with mine and his thrusts are cautious and tender to begin with, but then he picks up the pace when he feels how well my body responds to him. I throw my head back into the pillow and arch my back, moaning with pleasure as he reaches the depths of my core. His free hand is between my thighs, touching me in all the right places. As the intensity builds, I claw at the bedsheets and my body writhes. Weston’s breaths are heavy now and it feels incredible knowing I’m desired this way, a man wanting me so bad he’s left breathless.

Weston slows, leaning forward and burying his face into my neck. The heat of his breath fills my ear, driving me insane. I drag my nails down his back and buck my hips in sync with his. The way he groans against the soft skin of my neck is enough to throw me over the edge. Being with someone new is so exhilarating, I don’t know how long I can last. The pleasure mounts to a heavenly pain and I know I’m close.

“I think I might—” I gasp, but Weston fucks the words straight out of me.

He thrusts faster again, harder than before, drawing sounds out of me I had no idea I was capable of. Beads of sweat roll down his face, his chest, making his skin hot and damp. That heavenly pain intensifies, so unbearable yet so,sogood. I squirm, my thighs trembling as I squeeze them together, trying to push Weston away yet praying he doesn’t dare stop. I can’t take a second more.

“Weston,” I hiss, but my voice hits an octave, my gasp tearing from my throat.

Tingles of muscular spasms shoot through me, my body contracting and then releasing with insurmountable satisfaction.

A groan tears from Weston. He tenses inside of me, pulsing with waves of pleasure, and drops his head back into the crook of my neck as he too reaches his peak. He exhales a deep breath against my ear, and I slide my fingers through his hair, holding him against me. Our chests rise and fall as we fight to catch our breaths.

“Now I really do need to sleep,” he murmurs. He rolls away from me, running a hand back through his damp hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. My vision feels starry, like the beginning of a migraine, yet I admire the definition in his back, the lines etched around his shoulder blades.

And then he glances back at me, and I feel myself crumble into a thousand pieces. He’s not Luca. And when I realize that, I realize that all I want is Luca.

“Gracie?” Weston says, his expression warping with concern.

My lower lip quivers as my emotions explode into overdrive. I grab the comforter and pull it over my body, shielding myself from Weston and turning my back to him so he can’t see the first of a flood of tears brimming in my eyes. This is humiliating.

“Fuck, Gracie.” Weston snuggles in behind me, the comforter separating us as he offers me a tender hug. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have—”

“No. It’s not you,” I interject, pressing my face into the pillow to catch some of my tears. “I’m such a mess right now. It just feels so new to me that I’m here .?.?. with you .?.?. and not Luca.”

“I know,” he says with an understanding sigh, and I wonder if he feels the same way. I’m not Charlotte. I’m new to him, too. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry. I’m the one crying in your bed.”

“Don’t worry about it. You already ugly sobbed in the Uber, remember?” he reminds me, and it lifts all of the weight from the situation. I manage a small laugh and I dab my eyes dry with the sheets.

“I needed that,” I admit after the moment of silence passes.

“I needed that too,” Weston says.

Our breathing has calmed now. He remains pressed against my back, still on the other side of the comforter, but an arm wrapped around my body securely. We don’t say another word as he drifts off to sleep first, but only because we have no ideawhatto say. Quite frankly, I’ve had no fucking clue what I’ve been doing since Luca left.

WESTON

One Sunday each month, Dad has us kids over to his place for the most insane homemade burgers. It’s been our routine ever since he retired and moved out of the Bay Area three years ago. If we didn’t always have the next date in the diary for getting together, then time would run away from us too easily. We haven’t had a full house in a while. Often I’m the only one who can make it, but my older brother and his family are making the three-hour drive today to join us in Bodega Bay.

It’s always so peaceful here, and although I didn’t like the idea of Dad moving, I know a place like Bodega Bay is exactly where he needs to be to enjoy his retirement. It’s a tiny village on the coast, home to less than a thousand residents, and has a golf course, marina, and great hiking trails. He spends a lot of his days fishing down by the harbor. He’s only an hour and a half north of San Francisco, but still. The thought of not being able to reach him quickly in case of an emergency leaves me unsettled.

It’s hot out today, so Dad has the grill up and running on the driveway. The front of his home overlooks the bay and has the most stunning view. Grass stretching down to the beach, the beach disappearing into the calm waters of the bay. Tranquility, that’s what Dad came here for.

“Lily just texted. They’re five minutes away,” I tell Dad, as I put my phone away and relax further into the camping chair, stretching my legs out in front of me.

Dad springs into action. He can never sit still, and he’s just dying to get his tongs out and start grilling those burgers. He’s still young, not yet sixty, and he’s as fit as a fiddle. Yet I worry about him all the damn time.

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