Page 78 of Riptide

I’ve been shown more respect by people who had no obligation to offer it than I ever got from my own parents. And that taught me that I didn’t have to let their absence or opinions define myfuture. I didn’t have to live by their rules, or shrink myself to fit inside their version of who they wanted me to be.

“Do you regret anything?” he asks tentatively.

“I don’t. I’ve learned a lot along the way. About love. About myself. About what I can survive and what I deserve.”

I see him smile out of the corner of my eye. “You’re such a grown-up,” he muses. “I mean that as a compliment. You talk about all your past, the pain, the love with this kind of clarity that… I don’t know. It makes me feel like maybe things reallycanhurt like hell and still shape you into someone stronger.”

I blink, feeling a warmth spreading over my limbs. “I don’t always feel strong,” I admit, my mind flicking back to earlier with Eugene. “Some days, it still hits me in weird ways. The quiet, especially. But I’m learning that being strong doesn’t mean you don’t shake. It just means you don’t fall apart when you do.”

He nods slowly, like he’s tucking that away for later.

“Plus, with you around, there’s a lot less quiet,” I say.

Then he tears open the bag of Cheetos, popping one into his mouth before offering one to me.

“For the baseball kid,” he says with a smirk.

I take one, snapping at his fingers with my teeth to reach it. “He would’ve dropped every game for these.”

***

The sky’s just turning to dusk when we pull into the gravel driveway of a small white house with green shutters and a wraparound porch. The sign out front is hand-painted, a little crooked:The Driftwood Inn – Cozy Stays by the Coast.

Finn leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield. “This it?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

His eyes flick to me, cautious. “This isn’t a murder cabin, right? I’m way too pretty to be in a true crime podcast.”

I huff a laugh. “You’ll survive. Promise.”

I park, kill the engine, and step out. He follows, arms stretching overhead, revealing a sliver of skin on his abdomen as he takes in the place. “It’s actually cute.”

We walk inside, both carrying our backpacks, and the scent of lavender engulfs us as we step over the threshold. “Jeez, that’ll knock someone out cold if they’re feeling sleepy,” he says, wafting his hand in front of his face.

The woman at the desk checks us in and hands us a key, like a real old-fashioned key that’s weighted; it’s a novelty to have that and not a card to swipe. “Feels like something out of an old movie,” I say, turning it over in my hand.

“Right?” Finn says, smiling. “I kind of love it. Who even uses keys these days? It’s all codes and fobs.”

“I love it too,” I say, still looking at the intricate design.

“Watching you fall in love with a key wasn’t something I thought would happen tonight, but—”

I shove his shoulder playfully. “Get out of here, I’m not falling for an inanimate object.”

“I dunno. Apparently, it’s a real thing.”

I roll my eyes, opening the door to reveal a king-size bed and floral wallpaper, but he’s not done.

“Should I leave you alone with the key? Light a candle? Write some poetry about its rustic charm?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

“I live for driving you crazy,” he says as he kisses my lips with a fever that heats me all over. Smiling against his mouth, I kiss him back.

We part slowly, and he stays close, his forehead resting gently against mine. I can feel the shift in his mood. “I think I’d like to try going to the beach tonight,” he says casually, but I can tell he doesn’t feel the same way he sounds. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on my waist, like he’s anchoring himself. And in that pause, I feel it: the nerves, the weight, the courage it takes to say it out loud.

“Of course,” I reply. “We can go any time you want.”

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