Page 193 of Surfer's Paradise

Then he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his mouth to her hair. “You were my best friend. My only crush growing up. And now you’re just… my life. You’re it.”

She looked up at him, the kitchen lights warming the gold in her eyes.

“I’m happy as hell, finally,” he said, voice lower now. “And I don’t wanna waste any more time pretending I don’t know exactly what I want.”

She narrowed her eyes, suddenly nervous. “Isaac…”

He kissed her. Slow. Careful. Meaningful.

When he pulled back, he said it.

“I’m gonna marry you, baby.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

“I’m gonna marry you,” he repeated, like it wasn’t a question. “Gonna have kids with you. Gonna annoy the shit out of you every day for the rest of our lives.”

She was blinking fast now. “You can’t just say that while I’m stirring sauce.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll cry into it and ruin the meal, you psycho.”

He laughed and picked her up with an arm under her thighs, ignoring the twinge of pain in his ribs, and planted her on the kitchen counter beside the stovetop. “Then let’s burn the sauce and start our life.”

Rosie leaned in, hands on his face, her chest aching in the best possible way.

“You’re serious.”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life.”

And in that small San Diego kitchen, with sauce simmering and the world softening around her, Rosie realized—he meant every word.

And she’d say yes.

Eventually.

Just maybe not tonight.

Tonight, they’d eat dinner barefoot on the couch.

Tonight, they’d laugh.

Tonight, they’d just be.

And that was more than enough.

* * * * *

Isaac flipped the stovetop off and the air between them shifted—dense and charged. Just the weight of his body between her legs, bracing her to the kitchen counter, and his eyes on her like she was prey he’d waited years to finally catch.

Isaac’s hands landed on her thighs, spreading them wider to let him in, anchoring her like he was staking claim. She gasped—just the friction of denim and his warmth between her legs had her pulse jumping.

His mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile—it was a warning. His fingers gripped her hips, pulling her flush against the hard lines of his body.

“You always look at me like that,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “Like you want me to pin you down and fuck your whole damn life.”

Rosie’s breath hitched. “Only when you look at me like that first.”

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