Page 52 of The Rehoboth Retreat
And just like that, the night folds in on itself.
He gives me one last look—complicated, unreadable, pure Miles—and then turns toward the back steps of his backyard. I watch him walk the deck and into the house, each step deliberate and graceful, like he’s choreographing heartbreak.
I should feel like an idiot. I kinda do.
But I also feel…something else.
Because that kiss? It was nothing like the hundreds of other kisses I’ve doled out like party favors. That one? That one’s gonna linger. Not just on my lips, but somewhere beneath my rib cage, like a damn bruise I want to press just to remember it’s real.
And maybe that’s the problem.
I stand there, watching the door close behind him, the soft click somehow louder than any beachside storm. I let out a slow breath and dig my hands into my pockets again.
“Well, Hudson Knight,” I mutter to myself. “You’re totally fucking screwed.”
Miles
I stood there for a second too long.
The ocean stretched out behind me, a dark and endless velvet curtain, and the wind blew salty and soft against my lips, the same lips that had just been kissed—no,ambushed—by Hudson Knight.
What the hell had just happened?
One second, I was giving him a polite but firm goodnight outside my beach house like a civilized adult, and the next… his hand was on my wrist, and his lips were on mine. Soft. Tentative. Not the kind of kiss you’d expect from someone like Hudson Knight, who typically radiated turbulent male celebrity energy—shirtless TMZ pool-party drama andaccidentallyleaked DMs. But this? This kiss was gentle. Almost…sweet.
Which made itworse.
I didn’t even say anything. I just backed away and told him I needed to go inside. Because what else could I say? That I was flattered? That it felt good? That his lips were warm and surprisingly plush? That I hadn’t kissed anyone since Owen, and this made me feel like the world was maybe spinning again after all this time sitting still?
I didn’t say any of that.
I just walked inside.
The back sliding door gave a softwhumpas I shut it behind me. I didn’t even bother turning on the overhead lights. The moonlight spilled through the tall windows, casting pale ribbons across the floorboards of the living room. The distant crashing of waves filtered through the glass, layered with the occasional creak of the deck railing in the wind.
And there, waiting for me like a loyal little sentry, was Topper.
He pranced over, nails clicking lightly on the floor, his little cream and caramel-colored body a blur of fluff and excitement. I collapsed onto the couch in a heap, and without hesitation, Topper jumped up and plopped into my lap, wiggling until his head found the crook of my arm.
“Oh,youstill love me unconditionally,” I murmured, scratching behind his ears as his tail thudded happily against my thigh.
The martinis were still having their effect on me. I could feel the buzz softening the edges of my thoughts, making everything feel oddly floaty and far away. Maybe that was why the kiss felt like a dream. Or maybe it was the way Hudson had looked at me before he did it—like he wasn’t sure if he should, but also like he didn’t want to leave until he did.
I leaned my head back against the cushion, staring up at the ceiling fan above me, its blades unmoving. The ceiling itself was wood-planked—whitewashed and elegant in that way only carefully curated beach homes ever seemed to pull off. It should have calmed me. It usually did. But not tonight.
I’d planned to end the evening with a quiet read, a homemade peach tart, and maybe the sound of the surf to lull me into forgetting how strange this entire summer had become. But no. Instead, I’d somehow ended up buzzed and kissed by HudsonfreakingKnight.
Topper shifted in my lap, his nose nuzzling under my palm. I smiled faintly and kept rubbing. “You know,” I said aloud to him, “there are men who would trade their pinky toe for the chance to kiss Hudson Knight.”
Topper sneezed. I took that as commentary.
“It’s not like I was looking for it,” I continued. “I didn’texpectit. But…” I trailed off. “But it was nice.”
No, more than nice. It was—God help me—thrilling. Not in a fireworks and trumpets kind of way, but in a low, humming way that settles in your bones. Like the first sip of wine after a long day. The quiet gasp that comes whensomething surprises you in a good way.
And somehow,he’ddone that.
I felt something tug at the corner of my lips, and it took me a moment to realize I was smiling. Me.Smilinglike a boy who got asked to prom by the popular jock.
