Page 39 of Surrender
A golden retriever came barreling down the beach, ears flapping, tongue lolling. He skidded across the sand and nearly took out the edge of the picnic basket before planting himself right in front of them with a triumphant woof, tail wagging like mad and a weathered stick clutched in his jaws.
“Murphy!” a breathless voice called from down the shore. “Jesus, would you come back here now!”
Keefe let out a startled laugh as Murphy promptly dropped the stick at his feet, then lunged up to lick his face. “Hi there fella,” Keefe said, trying to fend off Murphy’s affections. He turned his face away just in time for the dog’s slobbery tongue to hit his ear instead. “All right, settle down and I’ll throw your stick!” he said, laughing as he wiped his cheek.
Gwen watched as Keefe got up, brushing sand off his jeans to play fetch. All she had to do was ask him to stay and he would have but the moment was gone.
He bent to grab the stick and gave it a lazy toss down the beach. Murphy tore after it in a blur of gold and sand. “Go get it boy!” he said with a grin. Then he turned to Gwen, extending a hand to help her up.
She took it, letting him pull her to her feet.
The owner finally caught up, puffing and red-faced, leash dangling uselessly from one hand. “So sorry, he thinks every picnic is an open invitation. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No worries,” Keefe replied, tossing the stick once more as Murphy barked in approval.
As the man clipped the leash back on and led Murphy away with a wave, Keefe turned back to Gwen, still smiling. “Well, where were we?”
“Nowhere important.”
She shook her head with a small laugh, her pulse still thudding. But she had gone quiet, her eyes on the sea.
Keefe turned to her. He looked at her a beat longer but didn’t push. Instead, he reached over and laced his fingers through hers, then pulled her arm through his before easing her into a walk in the sand.
He was so happy, and the day had been so lovely and right.
She would tell him.
She had to.
Just... not yet.
Chapter 12
Sunlight spilled across tangled sheets as Keefe and Gwen lay side by side, arms wrapped around each other. Time was suspended—four perfect nights and three perfect days had run together like one long, breathless dream.
Each morning, they made breakfast together in his kitchen, moving around each other like it was something they had always done. He flipped pancakes with ridiculous flair, grinning at her laughter even as batter splattered across the counter. She teased him, her eyes soft, and he soaked it in like sunlight. Later, they wandered the property hand in hand, their steps unhurried, their conversations stretching from playful memories to quiet, tender hopes—things neither of them had dared to say out loud in years, until now.
And every night ended the same—Gwen tangled in his arms, breathless and glowing, discovering new ways they fit together so perfectly that it scared her.
But it was the softer moments that really mattered: Keefe brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as they listened to the rain, Gwen making him laugh so hard he had to catch his breath, the quiet contentment of shared coffee in the morning with no words needed.
Yet under the sweetness and fire, Gwen felt the weight of her secret. Every kiss, every look, every time Keefe pulled her close—it all pressed a little harder on her conscience. She hadn’t meant to stay. Hadn’t meant to let someone in like this.
She’d come to the village chasing a thread of truth, a shadow of a connection. What she found instead was a man who made her laugh until her sides hurt, who kissed her like he was memorizing her soul, who made her believe—against every instinct—that she could belong somewhere. That she could belong to someone.
And the more she fell for him, the more she dreaded the moment the truth would come out. Not just about her name but about why she’d come here in the first place.
For three perfect days, they’d been tucked away from the world—shacked up in their own little cocoon. Mornings spent in bed, afternoons wandering hand in hand, evenings tangled up in each other until the lines blurred and nothing else existed.
But today, the spell would break. The pub reopened, and with it, the outside world would come rushing back in. Keefe would have to leave after breakfast. And their private world, the one that had felt like a dream, would no longer be just theirs.
This morning felt heavier somehow. Still and quiet, like the moment before a confession. Her head rested on his shoulder, their legs a warm knot beneath the blanket, sunlight painting soft gold across the room. It was the kind of moment that didn’t just welcome the truth—it insisted on it.
She couldn’t wait any longer. She wouldn’t.
“Keefe, there’s something I need to say.”
“I know.”
