Page 16 of The Secrets We Hide

The scent of saltwater and blooming hydrangeas filled the air as Dominik and I strolled along the cobblestone streets of Nantucket. It had become our annual escape, a week away from the demands of Boston, a chance to simply be, together. Three years had passed since our tentative first date, three years filled with shared laughter, quiet intimacy, and a love that had deepened in ways I could never have imagined.

Blackwood Architects continued to thrive, our partnership stronger than ever, built on a foundation of mutual respect and a shared understanding that extended beyond the professional. Jason, initially surprised by my relationship with Dominik, had become a staunch supporter, his gruff exterior often softening with genuine affection for us both.

Dominik’s photography had gained increasing recognition, his starkly beautiful urban landscapes finding a growing audience. He had even started teaching a weekend workshop, sharing his unique vision with aspiring artists. Watching him

pursue his passion with such quiet intensity still filled me with a profound sense of pride.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, we found ourselves on a secluded stretch of beach. Dominik set up his tripod, his camera clicking softly as he captured the breathtaking scene. I sat beside him on the sand, the gentle rhythm of the waves a soothing soundtrack to our comfortable silence.

He turned to me, his eyes reflecting the fading light. “Remember that chaotic dinner, years ago?” he asked, a soft smile playing on his lips.

I chuckled. “With Molly? How could I forget? It felt like the whole trajectory of my life shifted that night.”

“Mine too,” he admitted, reaching for my hand. “I never thought…”

“Me neither,” I finished, squeezing his hand. “But sometimes, the most unexpected detours lead to the most beautiful destinations.”

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Dominik

The salty air of Nantucket always felt like a cleansing breath, a welcome respite from the digital hum of my daily life. Walking alongside Lucas, hand in hand, along the familiar cobblestone streets, felt like coming home. Three years. It still felt surreal sometimes, the depth of the connection we had forged, the quiet certainty of our love.

Lucas had become my anchor, my confidant, the steady presence I had never realized I craved. His unwavering support of my photography, his genuine belief in my talent, had given me the courage to share my work with the world. Seeing his pride in my accomplishments was a reward in itself.

That evening on the beach, the sunset painting the sky in vibrant colors, felt like a perfect metaphor for our journey: unexpected, breathtaking, and undeniably

beautiful. “Remember that chaotic dinner, years ago?” I asked, the memory still vivid in my mind. The possessive jealousy I had felt then seemed like a lifetime ago, a stark contrast to the secure love that now defined our relationship.

“With Molly? How could I forget?” Lucas’s laughter was a familiar and comforting sound.

“Mine too,” I echoed, my hand finding his. The uncertainty of those early days had long since faded, replaced by a deep and abiding love. I had never imagined finding this kind of happiness, this quiet sense of belonging.

As the last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand, I turned to Lucas, my heart full. “Thank you,” I whispered, the words encompassing so much more than just this moment.

He smiled, his eyes filled with a love that mirrored my own. “For what?”

“For the detour,” I replied, leaning in to kiss him. “The most beautiful detour of my life.”

There was a nervous energy thrumming beneath my usual calm, a secret I’d been carrying like a precious stone in my pocket. We were walking along our favorite stretch of beach, the one where the cobblestones gave way to soft sand and the waves whispered secrets to the shore. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, painting the sky in hues of apricot and rose. Lucas was a few steps ahead, his hands tucked into the pockets of his worn jacket, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He looked peaceful, content, and the sight of him filled me with a familiar warmth, a deep certainty that he was my home.

I stopped walking, the soft crunch of sand beneath my boots the only sound besides the crashing waves. “Lucas,” I said, my voice a little louder than usual, a tremor of anticipation running through me.

He turned, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. “Everything alright?”

I took a step closer, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. This was it. The moment I’d replayed a thousand times in my head, each scenario more nerve-wracking than the last.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual, but my voice betrayed the tremor. “Everything’s… perfect.”

I reached into the pocket of my own jacket, my fingers closing around the small velvet box. It felt heavy, significant, the weight of my hopes and dreams contained within its soft folds.

“Lucas,” I began again, my voice a little steadier this time, the nervous energy morphing into a quiet determination. I took another step closer, closing the distance between us. “You know… these past few years… with you…”

He watched me, his expression softening, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He seemed to sense the shift in the air, the unspoken weight of the moment.

“They’ve been… everything,” I continued, the words coming from a place deep within me, a truth I held as fundamental as breathing. “Unexpected, sometimes chaotic, but always… real. Always more than I ever thought possible.”

I knelt down on the sand, the cool dampness seeping through my jeans. Lucas’s eyes widened, a flicker of understanding dawning in their depths.

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