Page 18 of Tempting My Nemesis

As we near the end of our route, she slows down slightly, looking out at the ocean.

“It’s beautiful here.”

I nod, catching my breath. “Yeah. It is.”

For a moment, we stand there in silence, watching the waves crash against the shore. The world feels still—just us and the endless expanse of water.

“Thanks for this,” she says softly.

I turn to her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. “For what?”

“For letting me be part of your world.” She meets my gaze, and there’s something vulnerable in her eyes that makes my chest tighten again.

I swallow hard, struggling to find words that won’t betray too much. “You fit here,” I admit quietly.

She smiles—a small, genuine smile that reaches her eyes—and it strikes me right in the gut.

We start walking back towards the house, our footsteps slower now but still in sync. The silence between us is comfortable, filled with an unspoken bond that feels fragile yet unbreakable.

This morning run—once a solitary ritual—has transformed into something more with her beside me. And as much as it unsettles me to admit it… I don’t want it any other way.

The shoreline spreadsout in both directions, the late morning sun warming the sand underfoot. I spread out the blanket, smoothing it down with methodical precision. It’s a small task, but it gives me something to focus on. Zoe watches me, her curiosity evident.

"Nice setup," she says, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I grunt in response, reaching for the picnic basket.

“I don’t do things halfway.”

She laughs softly, and the sound that wraps around me like a gentle breeze. I start unpacking the basket—gourmet sandwiches, fresh fruit, and artisanal cheeses. The scent of ripe strawberries mixes with the salty air.

"Want some fruit?" I ask, handing her a plate.

She takes it, our fingers brushing for a moment too long. "Thanks."

I settle beside her, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens.

"Tell me more about how your father started Archer Innovations."

Her eyes widen slightly. "You actually want to know?"

I shrug, playing it cool. "I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t."

She hesitates, then begins to speak. As she talks about her father’s vision and struggles, I find myself drawn in. She’s resilient—more than just business savvy. Her story mirrors my own more than I expected.

"It wasn’t easy," she admits, nibbling on a piece of cheese. "We faced a lot of setbacks."

I nod, feeling an unexpected connection. "Sounds like you had to fight for it."

She meets my gaze, and there’s something piercing in her stare. "I bet you have too."

Her words hit harder than I anticipated. She sees me—not just the surface projection I show to others, but the person who had to put in the work to get to this point.

"Yeah," I say quietly. "I have." The words slip out before I can stop them: “No matter how far you get, the fight never really ends.”

She looks at me with an understanding that sends a pang through my heart. "It doesn’t," she agrees softly. "But maybe it doesn’t have to be as hard as we make it."

Her words linger in my mind as we sit there, watching the waves crash against the shore. What would it be like to stop fighting—to let someone in? The idea doesn’t feel so impossible with her by my side.

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