Page 123 of Lucky Penny
“It’s only May, and I’m roasting.” He pulls off his shirt, showcasing a masterpiece of inked art, telling the story of his life. Me included.
“You won’t find me complaining,” I mumble, running my eyes over the muscled valleys of his body.
Jesse cockily smirks and leans down to kiss me. “Your sister called, said she’ll be over for dinner later,” he says when he pulls back.
“Of course, she will,” I reply with a chuckle.
I told Fia we’d come to her, because my niece, Daisy, is only four weeks old, but she said there’s no way she’s missing out on seeing our new house.
Our.
After Jesse showed up at my condo that chilly January morning, everything changed. It took barely ten minutes before we knew we couldn’t keep living without each other. Ten years apart had been long enough, and we weren’t willing to lose another day.
It wasn’t easy, though. There were months of tender arguments and quiet compromises—him wanting to move to the city, me refusing to let him give up the business he was building. In the end, we chose something neither of us had expected but both of us needed: neutral ground.
We found a beach cottage, tucked behind large fronds and a white picket fence, four blocks from the ocean. It was close enough to Fia that I promised to keep the tradition of Tuesday night dinners.
It’s small, but it’s ours. It’s everything we need.
There’s a little yard where Tank bakes in the sun and chases his ball. Then there’s the screened-in front porch where I plan to spend all my mornings editing photos, coffee in hand, ocean breeze against my skin.
I had to admit to Audrey—she was right.
My business didn’t suffer from the move; if anything, it flourished. Less travel, more time here. I’m letting myself breathe for the first time in a long while, and it feels really good. Really right.
I’ve also become one of those obsessive aunts. Daisy is only four weeks old, but my phone is full of pictures of her perfect round face, and I can’t imagine missing any part of her growing up. Fia’s surprisingly chill and doing a great job. Of course, I’m only a phone call away at all times. Which I’ve reminded her daily.
In the evenings, when Jesse gets home from work, we walk Tank to the beach—it’s easily become my favorite ritual. There’s something healing about the rhythm of waves and the way Jesse smiles at me, like I’m still the best part of his day. I’ll never tire of that.
But if you asked me about theabsolutebest part, it’s what happens at night, when I slip into bed and this handsome, gentle, fiercely loyal man climbs in next to me.
And like the teenagers we once were, we stay up late into the night, talking, laughing, and dreaming, holding each other close like there’s no tomorrow.
“Close your eyes and tell me where you’d go right now,” he says, the white duvet settling over my chest.
It’s our old, familiar game, and it still gives me butterflies, even after all this time.
I roll onto my side, eyes closed, hand reaching for him in our moonlit bedroom. His fingers find mine, and he lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles. I melt deeper into the safety of the soft bedding and wiggle closer to him, until our noses are almost touching.
It’s just us.
“You remembered our game?” I whisper, a smile tugging at my lips.
His green eyes meet mine, and he nods.
“When we were eighteen,” I begin, bringing my hand down to rest over the steady, slow rhythm of his heart, “I couldn’t imagine anything better than leaving everything behind.”
I pause, letting the moment wrap around us. Because I never want to forget it.
“But the truth is, I can’t imagine any adventure better than this…better than a life with you.”
