Page 29 of Surfer's Paradise

Rosie laughed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Isaac grinned, popping another fry into his mouth.

But then—her hand darted out again.

Another fry.

Isaac grabbed her wrist before she could escape.

Warm. Solid. The brush of his fingers on her pulse.

The air shifted.

Something struck him deep, sharp, unexpected.

Rosie stilled.

Isaac did too.

Then, just as fast—

He let go.

Let her take the fry.

Let her win.

Because touching her was a problem.

And he didn’t need any more fucking problems.

They kept eating, kept talking, falling back into an easy rhythm.

Rosie asked about weird military shit—what he ate on missions (MREs, trash), if SEALs really ate raw fish out of the ocean (yes, but only when desperate), whether he’d ever jumped out of a plane (of course).

Isaac teased her for not knowing how to swim properly, for still hating running, for stealing his fries like some things never changed.

She smiled. For real this time.

And Isaac—for the first time all fucking night—seemed to relax.

Because even if she was mad.

Even if things were broken.

Even if she wasn’t his anymore, not in the way she used to be—

This was still home.

And she wasn’t ready to lose that yet.

* * * * *

A few minutes later, Isaac pulled out of the parking lot, one hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. The warm night air filtered through the cracked window, carrying the distant scent of salt and asphalt, mixing with thelingering grease of their late-night burgers. The city hummed around them, streetlights flashing across the windshield in quiet, rhythmic pulses.

Rosie sat rigid in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out at the moving landscape like she wished she were anywhere else. She tried not to notice him.

Tried not to notice the way his forearm flexed when he turned the wheel, the way his fingers tapped idly against the leather, the effortless command he had over everything. It had always been that way with him—Isaac moved through the world like it bent to his will, and most of the time, it did. Even now, in the quiet of the drive, his presence was loud, all heat and physicality, the hum of restrained energy always lingering beneath his skin.

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