Page 18 of The Rehoboth Retreat
“Alright, sir. One last spin around the beach before bed. Don’t make me regret this.”
Once I got him into his harness and leash, we exited through the side gate that opened right onto the sand, the moonlight stretching silver across the ocean like someone had spilled a bucket of glitter from the heavens. The salty breeze was cooler now, whispering secrets only the sea knew, and Topper trotted ahead, nose twitching at every seashell and dune grass shadow.
As we made our way along the water’s edge, I let my thoughts drift with the tide. My divorce from Owen still lingered in the corners of my heart like dust in an old armoire—easy to ignore when you’re busy, harder to ignore when it’s quiet. I remembered the late nights we’d spent planning dinner parties, the sound of his laughter while we rearranged furniture and the way he used to sneak tastes of frosting from my mixing bowls.
But that was another life. A closed chapter. And here I was—still standing, still stylish, still successful.
Despite everything, I had built something for myself. My brand, my business, my books, my beautifully manicured empire of curated living. I was proud of that. No matter how messy things got, I always had that foundation to fall back on.
“We did good, didn’t we, Topper?” I said aloud, watching him paw at a crab shell like it was plotting his downfall. “Not bad for someone who once nearly cried in the aisle of The Container Store over a discontinued spice rack.”
Topper barked at the waves and then circled back to me, ready to go home. I gave the shoreline one last look—the quiet lapping of the waves, the vastness of the stars, the gentle tug of the wind—and felt a deep, full-body kind of gratitude.
Grateful for the career I have poured myself into. Grateful for the strength I never knew I had until I had no choice but to use it. Grateful for this house, this beach, this second act of mine.
We turned back toward the beach house, footprints in the sand marking our return. Maybe tomorrow would bring more chaos. Maybe it wouldn’t, though, and just be easy breezy. But for tonight?
Tonight, I had peace.
And a freshly steamed set of pillowcases waiting to cradle my well-earned dreams.
We were just a few steps away from the house when Topper suddenly froze, his little ears perked up, tail stiff. I followed his gaze and then—oh, for the love of all things hygienic.
Two men.
Naked.
Onmybeach.
Well, technically, notmine—but close enough to call the authorities if need be. One of them was sprawled across a beach towel like a centerfold reject from a failed OnlyFans account, and the other was straddling him with all the subtlety of a dollar-store romance novel.
“Oh,comeon,” I muttered under my breath, shielding Topper’s innocent eyes.
Then the top guy turned his head slightly, moonlight catching his face just enough to give me the full horror of recognition.
Hudson Knight.
Of course. The universe wasn’t finished mocking me tonight.
“Get a room!” I snapped, loud enough for the sound tocut through the slap of waves and whatever other…noisesthey were generating.
Hudson looked up, not even mildly ashamed, and grinned like a frat boy who just keyed a Prius.
“Heyyyyyyy. Alphabet Boy! What, you stalking me now? Didn’t know you were into live shows.”
I recoiled. “Stalking you? Please. I was returning from a beach stroll with my dog. You know, something civilized people do.”
“Well,civilized peopleshouldn’t be walking around judging others with their pristine little sweatshirts and monogrammed dog leashes,” he replied, lazily rolling off his giggling boy toy.
The twink—barely twenty-two by the looks of it if I had to guess, with an earring shaped like a gummy bear and a tan that screamed “no SPF ever”—winked at me. “You wanna join? He’s got stamina.”
I nearly choked on my own disdain. “Absolutely not. I value my health. And my standards.”
“Suit yourself,” Hudson said, standing and stretching as if we were all just old friends bumping into each other at the farmer’s market. His lower half, mercifully, was covered by a wrinkled towel he lazily wrapped around his waist. “FYI, this beach? Technically, it’s part of my property. Bought it recently. So, if anyone needs to get a room…”
I blinked. “You livethere?” I pointed to the modern monstrosity next door—sleek, showy, and currently glowing with blue LED lights like it was trying to seduce a spaceship.
“Yup. That’s my little rehab pad.”
