Page 71 of The Rehoboth Retreat
Together, we stared out at the sparkling expanse of the bay. The water shimmered like liquid glass, broken only by the gentle waves trailing behind the boat. Sailboats dotted the horizon, their white sails catching the sun like distant prayers.
“I could get used to this,” I murmured.
Hudson sighed, tilting his head back as the wind played with his hair. “Same.”
There was a lull again. A soft breeze swept over us, cool against the sun-soaked skin of my arms. My shirt billowed slightly as I sipped my drink, and I could feel my nerves simmering somewhere beneath the surface. I didn’t know what I expected, sitting beside a man who had thrown my entire internal compass into disarray. I just knew it wasn’t this—this quiet companionship. This…ease.
Hudson glanced over, swirling his glass, and then set it down in a cup holder beside us.
“You know,” he began, voice quieter now, more careful, “I did want to also apologize for last night…”
I turned to look at him.
“…for kissing you on the beach abruptly,” he continued. “That was pretty fucked up of me, especially after just learning you recently went through a divorce. I should’ve respected—”
But he didn’t get to finish the sentence.
Because at that exact moment, something inside me cracked open. Not in a bad way—not in a broken, splintered way. It was like pressure being released from a champagne bottle. Sudden, yes. But necessary. And maybe long overdue.
Before I even fully registered it, I leaned in.
My hand found his cheek. Soft stubble brushed against my palm, and before he could so much as blink, my lips were on his.
The kiss was immediate, warm, breath-stealing. It didn’t ask for permission and didn’t need one. It didn’t tiptoe around etiquette or good timing or any of the thousand stupid reasons I usually used to keep control. It just…happened.
His mouth responded like it had been waiting. I felt his hand slide to my waist, steady but not forceful. His lips parted slightly, and my pulse stuttered as our mouths moved in sync—exploratory, heady, and utterly charged.
There was a salty sweetness on his tongue, hints of champagne and wind, and something distinctly Hudson. His cologne curled into my lungs, a grounding scent in a moment that felt like I was about to float away completely.
When we finally parted—reluctantly, slowly—our foreheads hovered near each other’s. I was breathless. His eyes searched mine behind his aviators, and then he pulled them off entirely, tucking them in his shirt collar like it was nothing.
“Wow…” he said, blinking like he wasn’t sure we were still on a boat. “I may have to come back to Rehoboth Beach more often.”
I laughed, breath catching in my throat. I could still feel the outline of his lips on mine, as if the kiss had left behind a signature no tide could erase.
I didn’t know what to say. So, I sipped my champagne, cheeks flaming.
“Sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure why.“That was…”
“Perfect,” he finished for me. “Unexpected. But perfect.”
I bit my bottom lip, smiling shyly. “You caught me at a weak moment.”
“Babe, I’ve seen you scrub baseboards in linen pants in one of your life hack videos. You don’t have weak moments.”
I shook my head. “You really are the worst.”
“And yet, you kissed me.”
I gave him a little nudge with my elbow, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
As the yacht hummed along, trailing wake behind it, I turned back toward the water, letting the view settle in my chest like a warm meal. I thought of what my mother had said yesterday—how maybe I needed to diverge from the script once in a while. That maybe I’d spent my whole life following the recipe exactly as it was written.
I’d always believed in order. In structure. In predictability.
But this?
This was something else.
