Page 151 of Surfer's Paradise

“Isaac,” she said, steady. “I told you I loved you. I want you to understand how much I meant that.”

Behind her, he was still leaning against the counter. Silent.

“But I also told you,” she continued, her voice thickening, “that I can’t handle drama or heartbreak right now. I have to be focused. Laser focused.”

She swallowed, staring at a hummingbird flitting near a cactus on the neighboring balcony.

“And yet you showed up. Did you know what that would do to me? Did you intend to fuck me up?”

Still no answer. Just his breath behind her. Steady. Calm.

She lifted the mug again, then placed it on the windowsill with shaking hands.

“Look, I needed to tell you in person,” she said, her voice quieter now, “that this needs to stop. Whatever’s been going on. I don’t know why we slept together, but—”

A mistake, she meant to say.

But she didn’t get the words out.

Because he was there. His chest pressed against her back. His arms coming around her waist. Big hands wrapping over hers. Taking the mug gently and setting it down beside hers.

“Isaac,” she said, a warning in her voice, but her breath hitched as his lips brushed the top of her shoulder.

He didn’t say a word.

He just kissed a trail—bare, slow, reverent—up her shoulder, to the curve of her neck, his breath catching on her skin.

She shivered. Closed her eyes.

This was the problem.

His mouth on her jaw. His hand at her waist. The heat of his body melting into hers.

“Isaac,” she whispered, twisting slightly in his arms, “This is important.”

“I know,” he said, kissing the space behind her ear. “I’m listening.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, her voice sharp now. “You’re doing the thing. Again. Trying to charm me. Melt me to your will. And I—”

He turned her slowly, hands firm but gentle, cupping her jaw. He tilted her chin, forcing her to look up at him. The way he studied her face was unlike anything ever before. The intensity. The concern.

“Was it a mistake?” He asked quietly. “Tell me, did it really feel like one?”

Her throat bobbed. Her eyes burned. She hated how soft he looked right now. How close. How much she wanted to lean into him, into all of it.

“I don’t trust… that you want me for the right reasons. That this isn’t just another whim.”

Isaac’s hand slid to the back of her neck. He rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t trust you to love me back,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Her breath caught.

But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

She was still mad. Still hurt. Still halfway to breaking.

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