Copperlight Cove
 

Tucked at the base of Point Dume’s dramatic cliffs, past the main state beach and hidden by winding sandstone trails, lies a small crescent of sand only locals whisper about. The descent isn’t marked — just a narrow path cut into the bluff, where wild sage and sea lavender grow against the wind. At low tide, the beach opens up: soft golden sand, tide pools glittering with anemones, and smooth boulders warmed by the sun. At high tide, the water presses close, leaving only a slim strip to walk along the rocks.

There are no lifeguard towers, no concessions, no crowds — just the steady crash of surf, the cry of gulls wheeling above the cliffs, and the occasional dolphin pod cresting the horizon. Locals spread towels on driftwood logs, surfers paddle out from the far edge where the break is clean, and couples tuck into the shadows of the cliffs where the world feels very far away.

From the bluff at sunset, the ocean burns with pink and copper light, spilling into the secret cove below — a place that feels stolen, hidden, like Malibu before it was Malibu.

The slushie was halfway gone by the time they made it to the sand.

Lennon’s fingers were stained electric blue, a sticky trail running down the side of the cup. She didn’t bother wiping it away. Just let her chin rest on Kai’s shoulder as he carried her the last stretch down the trail, her bare feet bouncing lightly against his back with each step.

When he finally set her down and her toes sank into the warm sand, she tilted her head back and laughed — short, surprised, real.

“Well,” she muttered, brushing sand off her ankle, “guess I don’t miss shoes that much.”

The wind tugged her hair across her mouth. She pushed it away, still grinning, then took another slurp of her slushie. Blue raspberry — artificial and perfect. Exactly what she’d wanted.

They tucked into the rocks, half-hidden, the cliff at their backs and the ocean spilling open in front of them like something private. Lennon folded her legs underneath her and held the churro bag between them like an offering.

“You ever notice how all the best things are just… a little dumb?” she asked, unwrapping a churro with exaggerated care. “Like, this is fried dough rolled in sugar. I’m drinking melted candy. You carried me here like a literal backpack. None of this makes sense.”

She paused to take a bite — warm, soft, cinnamon sharp on her tongue. She didn’t rush it.

“But I think I’m kind of obsessed with not making sense,” she added. “At least right now.”

Her fingers brushed absently over her shin, scattering a dusting of sugar. The tide was coming in slow, the edge of the waves lapping the sand with a kind of hush that made everything feel suspended.

“I missed this version of myself,” she said, quieter now. “The one who didn’t need everything to be so… figured out all the time.”

She didn’t look at him — just stared out at the horizon, slushie straw tapping against her lip. “Somewhere along the way, I got good at doing the expected thing. The safe thing. And then I blinked and couldn’t remember the last time I did something just because it sounded fun.”

Her mouth quirked. “Like dragging you to that sketchy mini golf place tomorrow.”

She turned her head now, eyes catching his. “Yeah, that’s happening. I already decided. Don’t even try to weasel out of it.”

Another bite of churro. Another beat of stillness.

“I don’t want to prove anything to anyone right now,” she said after a minute. “I don’t want to have a five-year plan or a brand or an image to clean up. I just want this. You, me, blue tongues and dumb adventures. Something that doesn’t have to mean more than what it is.”

She nudged his knee with hers, voice dropping into something softer. “Promise me something?”

She didn’t wait for a response, just kept going.

“If I ever start acting like I need to be polished again — like I’m scared of being the barefoot girl with the blue mouth — remind me I’m not.”

Her gaze held his for a second longer. Then she looked away, out toward the water again.

“Because I think I like her best.”

Kai leaned back on his hands, letting the sand sift warm and grainy between his fingers, and just… watched her.

Watched her lick sugar off her thumb without thinking about it, watched the streak of blue on her lip like war paint, watched the way her hair caught the salt air and went wild, unbothered. She didn’t even notice she was glowing—sunset brushing her skin, ocean light in her eyes.

And for once, he didn’t feel the need to crack a joke to make the moment lighter. He wanted the weight of it.

“Lennon Rae,” he said finally, his voice low, threaded with that steady rasp she’d always undone him with, “you have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that. To see you like this.” He tilted his head, a smirk tugging, but softer than usual. “Blue tongue, sticky fingers, barefoot trouble. You’re right. That’s my favorite version of you too.”

He leaned in closer, brushing his shoulder against hers, letting the warmth of her knee pressed to his sink deep. His hand slid over hers on her shin, thumb circling lazily through the sugar-dust like he was memorizing it.

“You don’t ever have to be polished with me,” he murmured, eyes catching hers before they could skitter away again. “Not the magazine version, not the PR-proofed soundbite. Just you. The girl who steals the last bite of a churro and then pretends she didn’t. The one who makes a goddamn slushie look like holy communion.”

He let himself laugh, quiet and warm, before his mouth brushed against her temple in the faintest kiss. Not dramatic. Not staged. Just there. Real.

“So yeah. I’ll promise you,” he said against her hair, his lips curling into a grin she could feel more than see. “And if you forget? I’ll remind you. I’ll drag you out here with churros and sugar and make you stick your tongue out until you see it’s still blue. No polish allowed.”

He leaned back, smirk crooked now, eyes teasing as he nudged her slushie cup. “But just for the record, Rae—this whole barefoot, sticky-finger, no-plans thing?” He shrugged, grin widening. “Kind of the sexiest thing you’ve ever pulled off.”

Then, before she could roll her eyes too hard, he stole a bite of her churro clean out of her hand and popped it into his mouth, cinnamon sugar clinging to his smile as he chewed slow and deliberate.

“See? Dumb adventures,” he said, licking sugar off his thumb. “I’m already in.”

Lennon didn’t look at him right away. She was too busy trying not to combust.

The ocean kept humming. The slushie straw tapped once against her lip, then stilled.

“You’re not allowed to say stuff like that when I’m mid-sip,” she muttered, half a laugh under her breath as she finally turned to meet his eyes. “Some of us are still trying to look cool while covered in churro dust.”

But her voice softened at the end, just a little. Because God, she felt it too — the gravity of it. Of him. Of this version of her, pulled out from wherever she’d been hiding.

She nudged her shin lightly against his hand, not to push it away, but to keep it there. Like she was answering without needing words.

“You know I spent years trying to be… presentable, right?” she said, glancing down at her sugar-slick fingers. “Like, polished and poised and all the other P words that make you sound like you’re drowning in a press release.” Her tone was light, but her fingers clenched slightly around her slushie cup. “And I’m not saying I regret all of it. But I do kind of regret how far I let myself get from this.”

Her eyes flicked to him again, steady this time. Honest.

“This version of me—the sticky, sandy, maybe slightly feral one—she’s not just yours. She’s mine. And I think I forgot that for a while.”

Her voice dipped lower, threads of emotion woven between her usual ease. “So yeah, promise me. Drag me out here. Wipe sugar on my jeans. Tell me my tongue’s blue and I’m being annoying. I want that.”

She paused, then reached over and plucked a bit of cinnamon off the corner of his lip with her thumb, gentle. Intimate. Her hand lingered longer than it needed to.

“And for the record?” she added, a small grin curving. “You stealing my churro without remorse? Definitely your sexiest move.”

She leaned in, shoulder bumping his, slushie tucked against her chest like a badge of honor. “I’m in too, Mercer. Dumb adventures and all.”

Kai didn’t bother hiding the grin tugging at his mouth. That slow, crooked thing he knew used to drive her crazy — not because it was cocky, but because it was real. Because it came from somewhere he couldn’t fake, even if he tried.

Her thumb had just brushed his lip, and Jesus, he swore he felt it everywhere. He wanted to bite it, kiss it, pull it right back to where it lingered too long. But he stayed still, let her finish, let her hand fall, because he wasn’t about to break the spell of her saying I’m in.

He leaned closer instead, shoulder pressed firm to hers, his palm dragging lazy lines over the back of her hand like he was sealing the promise into her skin.

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you call yourself feral,” he said, voice low, humor threading through the warmth. “Because polished Lennon Rae? She was terrifying. Gorgeous, sure. Untouchable, absolutely. But this girl—” his thumb brushed over the cinnamon smudge she’d left on his wrist, “this one’s my favorite. Sticky fingers, sand in her hair, blue mouth and all. And you’re right — she’s yours first. I just get lucky enough to sit next to her.”

He let the silence breathe a second, let the tide’s hush fill the space between. Then his smirk tipped sharper.

“Though, for the record? Me stealing your churro wasn’t my sexiest move.” His eyes caught hers, glinting, a dare hidden in the softness. “That was me carrying you down the trail like a backpack. And don’t even try to argue it, Rae. You liked it.”

Before she could swat him, he shifted, plucked her slushie right out of her hands, and took the slowest, most exaggerated sip of his life — leaving a bright-blue stain on his tongue when he flashed it back at her with mock pride.

“See?” he said, handing it back with a wink. “Now we match. No polish. No press releases. Just us, looking stupid and tasting like sugar.”

He leaned in then, closer than the joke should’ve allowed, his nose brushing the edge of her temple as he murmured, “And for the record? Dumb adventures with you are my favorite kind of forever.”

Lennon Rae didn’t even try to hide the way her breath caught. She just sat there, hand still tingling where he’d traced it, slushie forgotten again, her smile curling in slow disbelief like her ribs were still catching up to what her heart had already decided.

Kai Mercer had always known how to make her laugh. But this? This wasn’t charm. It wasn’t effort. It was just him — open and unfiltered, cinnamon-dusted and barefoot-in-sneakers honest — and it was wrecking her in the softest damn way.

She shook her head, mock offended, but her grin betrayed her. “You did not just call me terrifying,” she muttered, eyes narrowing like she might kick sand at him — but her knee nudged his instead, lingering. “You carried me like a feral raccoon on your back, Mercer. Don’t act like that was some heroic feat.”

But then he flashed that goddamn blue tongue, proud and stupid and perfect, and she lost it — laughter spilling out like a wave breaking over both of them. Her shoulder bumped his hard enough to rock them both slightly, the churro nearly flying out of her lap.

And then… the air shifted.

Because he leaned in again, that close, that quiet, and said that. Forever, like it wasn’t a threat. Like it wasn’t too much or too soon or the kind of word you had to plan around. He said it like it was something you could taste on your tongue and carry home in your pocket.

Lennon Rae didn’t speak right away. She just looked at him — looked at the boy who once kissed her under stage lights and called it nothing, who had broken her heart with silence and still somehow made it feel like music.

Now here he was, not polished, not pressed — just sugar-stained and stupidly sincere, promising her dumb adventures like they were vows.

Her eyes softened, quiet and full.

And she whispered, almost to herself, “You’re such a menace.”

But her fingers curled into his anyway, her voice stronger the second time, sure.

“And I like forever too.”

Lennon Rae didn’t break the moment right away. Her fingers stayed tangled in his, her breath still catching a little at the word forever. But then she saw it — the way he was looking at the last churro in her lap.

And that was when the grin hit her, full force.

“Oh no you don’t,” she muttered, eyes narrowing like a challenge, like she already knew what he was about to try.

She snatched the last churro before he could even blink, held it triumphantly in the air like it was a golden trophy, and then — with the kind of wicked smile that only spelled trouble — she locked eyes with him.

“Catch me if you can, Mercer.”

Then she bolted.

Bare feet kicking up sand, churro shoved between her teeth like a cigar, she ran. Full sprint, laughter trailing behind her like a sparkler, hair wild in the ocean breeze. She didn’t look back — didn’t have to — she could already hear him groan, half-exasperated, half-entertained, definitely chasing her.

She shoved more of the churro into her mouth mid-run, crumbs scattering, cinnamon dust trailing in her wake.

This was the version of her she didn’t show anyone.

The reckless one. The one who dared joy to try and catch her. The one who knew exactly how fast her heart could beat — not from panic, but from living.

And God, it had never felt more like hers.

Kai’s groan carried down the cove, low and theatrical, but underneath it was the spark that always gave him away — the one that said he’d chase her no matter how fast she ran.

He shot up from the sand in a heartbeat, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe she’d just bolted with his dessert, but already grinning wide enough to make his dimples cut deep.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, brushing sugar from his palms as his shoes kicked up grit. “I give her forever, she gives me crumbs.”

And then he was after her.

His strides ate up the sand fast, long legs carrying him over the uneven ground while she zigzagged ahead, laughter ringing back at him like music. The sight of her — hair flying, churro clenched between her teeth like a victory cigar, bare feet reckless against the tide line — hit him harder than he expected. God, she was alive like this. Joy wasn’t just in her voice; it was in the way she moved, daring the world to keep up.

Kai didn’t even care about the churro anymore. He cared about this. About her. About the fact that she’d finally dropped every guard and let herself be messy, wild, free — with him.

“Lennon Rae!” he called, laughter spilling into his voice as he cut across the sand. “That churro is community property!”

She looked back over her shoulder just long enough for him to see her grin — mouth sugar-stained, eyes wicked bright — and that was all it took. He lunged, catching her waist just as she tried to dart sideways. They tumbled together into the sand, her laughter breaking open against his chest as he rolled them so she didn’t take the full hit.

When they stilled, she was sprawled across him, churro still miraculously intact in her hand, crumbs peppering his shirt. He glanced down at the sugar scattered across him, then back up at her with mock seriousness.

“Congratulations,” he said, breathless but grinning, his voice dropping into that smooth, teasing lilt only she ever got. “You’ve successfully stolen my heart and my dessert. In that order.”

He leaned up, kissed her quick — cinnamon-sweet, sandy, still laughing — before murmuring against her mouth, “But fair warning, Rae… next round? I will wrestle you for it.”

His hand slid to her hip, keeping her steady as the tide curled closer, his smirk crooked and boyish. “And between you and me? I don’t lose rematches.”

Lennon was still catching her breath, laughing against his chest, sand in her hair and the last of the stolen churro crushed between her palm and his ribs. The ocean rolled close, whispering like it was in on the joke.

She tilted her head just enough to meet his gaze, eyes glittering like she’d swallowed every ounce of mischief in the cove.

“I mean, to be fair,” she said, voice playful but not hiding the affection tucked underneath, “your dessert had a clear weak point. You turned your back on a girl with sugar cravings and no shame. That’s on you, Mercer.”

Her fingers dragged through the crumbs on his shirt before she swiped a bit of cinnamon off his collarbone and popped it into her mouth without blinking. “See? Crumbs and commitment. I’m a multitasker.”

And then he said it — you’ve stolen my heart and my dessert — and for just a second, she froze. Not dramatically. Just enough for the moment to catch up to her. Because damn it, he meant it. Every word of it. He always had.

Her voice softened as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear, her grin still stubborn but her eyes now impossibly warm.

“You always make it sound like I took something,” she murmured, brushing her nose lightly against his. “Like your heart wasn’t already half-mine before I even kissed you.”

The kiss that followed was a little messier this time — sandy and sticky and sweet in a way that had nothing to do with dessert and everything to do with memory. When he pulled back and gave her that cocky rematch line, she snorted, full-on snorted, then poked him square in the dimple.

“Oh, babe,” she said, shaking her head, curls bouncing. “You might not lose rematches, but you also clearly underestimated how fast I run with snacks.”

She sat up a little straighter on his chest, brushing sand off his shoulder and raising a brow. “And next round? I’m going for your vinyls. So yeah — warm up those wrestling skills.”

Then, with a tilt of her head and the kind of smile that only ever belonged to him, she added, “But between you and me?” Her voice dipped to match his. “I think you like letting me win.”

Kai lay there in the sand, grinning up at her like she’d just rewritten gravity and left him more than happy to stay pinned. Salt air in his lungs, sugar on his shirt, her laugh still vibrating in his chest — if this was losing, he’d take it every damn time.

He brushed a streak of cinnamon from her wrist with his thumb, slow and deliberate, before catching her hand in his. “You think I let you win?” he drawled, voice low, teasing but edged with that familiar Mercer warmth. “Rae, the only reason you’re still holding that churro is because I was distracted by the fact you look stupidly good with sand in your hair.”

Her brow arched at him, skeptical and smug, but her mouth quirked like she was trying not to smile too wide. He leaned up just enough to close the space between them, brushing a kiss at the corner of her lips — soft, fleeting, infuriatingly casual.

“Besides,” he murmured, letting the words curl against her skin, “if we’re talking vinyl theft? That’s a fight I don’t walk away from. You can steal my snacks, my sleep, hell, even my hoodies…” His hand slid from her wrist to her waist, squeezing gently as his grin tipped crooked. “But touch my first-press Springsteen, and it’s war.”

The look she gave him then — eyes bright, lips curved in defiance — made his chest ache in the best way. He kissed her again, firmer this time, cinnamon still lingering on her tongue, the ocean roaring close enough to blur out the world.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Although between you and me?” His smirk widened, dimples cutting deep. “You’re right. I do like letting you win. Especially when it ends with you on top of me, looking like that.”

His laugh rumbled low in his chest, equal parts smug and reverent, as his fingers traced lazy circles at her hip.

“Guess forever’s gonna be dangerous, Rae. For my vinyls. For my snacks. And definitely for my self-control.”

Lennon didn’t answer right away.

Mostly because she was trying — and failing — not to melt into the sand like a swooning extra in her own coming-of-age movie. He was laying there like a damn beachside altar, sun-kissed and sugar-dusted and stupidly smug, and all she could do was stare down at him with her heart doing cartwheels behind her ribs.

“You’re the worst,” she muttered finally, but it came out way too breathless to stick. Her fingers curled loosely in his shirt like they couldn’t remember how to let go. “You know that, right?”

But then he said the thing about the churro — you look stupidly good with sand in your hair — and that was it. Game over. Her face flushed warm, her grin cracked wide, and she ducked her head for a second, just to get her bearings.

“You’re such a menace,” she said, voice low and a little amazed. “You flirt like it’s a contact sport.”

And then he kissed her again — infuriatingly soft, casually perfect — and all her sarcasm stuttered straight out of her mouth. Her lips chased his when he pulled back, just barely, catching the edge of his smirk like a dare she wasn’t about to lose.

But then he mentioned the Springsteen vinyl, and her hand flattened right against his chest, mock-offended. “Okay, first of all? I never stole it. I was safeguarding it. Like a patriot. Like a true fan. Because someone —” she jabbed him lightly in the ribs, “— left it sitting way too close to an open window like a reckless heathen with no respect for The Boss.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “If anything, you should thank me.”

But then his voice dipped, that grin went crooked, and he pulled the trump card: You’re right. I like letting you win.

And that?

That unspooled her completely.

Her breath hitched somewhere between her ribs and her heart, and she leaned in until their noses brushed, everything inside her soft and loud all at once.

“Kai Mercer,” she said, like a vow and a threat and a confession, “you better be careful.”

Her hand moved from his chest to cup his jaw, thumb brushing over the stubble she loved but pretended to hate. “Because if you keep saying shit like that, I’m gonna stop pretending I don’t want to wake up next to you for the rest of my damn life.”

And then she kissed him.

Not a joke. Not a game. Not a sugar-coated dare.

Just her.

Wild and barefoot and glowing.

Exactly the version he said he liked best.

Kai didn’t even try to hide it—how she gutted him with that.

The words. The look. The way her mouth found his like it wasn’t a tease this time, wasn’t a test, wasn’t anything but the truth she’d been keeping pressed behind her ribs for too damn long.

He kissed her back like a man who’d just been handed the rest of his life. Slow first, reverent, letting the salt air and the sugar between them blur into something sweeter. Then deeper—because he couldn’t not. Because Lennon Rae had just dropped the kind of line that could knock him flat, and the only way he knew to answer was with everything he had left in him.

When he finally pulled back, their foreheads still brushing, his grin was a little wild, a little wrecked. Dimples flashing, but softer this time, steadier.

“You know what your problem is?” he murmured, thumb sliding along the edge of her hip where the sand clung stubbornly to her skin. “You think saying something like that’s gonna scare me.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth once, twice—quick punctuation against the storm still simmering in her.

“But newsflash, Rae—” his voice dipped lower, smooth and teasing but carrying that new weight he’d stopped running from, “—you saying you wanna wake up with me forever? That’s not a threat. That’s the best damn idea you’ve ever had.”

He leaned back just enough to catch her eyes, his own dark with mischief and promise. “And I’ve heard all your ideas, by the way. Even the terrible ones involving gas station wine and late-night karaoke.”

His hand slid up her spine, drawing her closer against his chest, anchoring her there. “So yeah. Careful what you promise, Lennon Rae. Because I’m taking you at your word. Every morning. Every night. Blue tongues, churro dust, Springsteen vinyls, all of it.”

And then, with that smirk she’d sworn she hated but had never survived intact against, he added low, almost conspiratorial:

“Besides, babe… you don’t actually want me to stop flirting like it’s a contact sport. Admit it.”

He kissed her again before she could answer—lazy, lingering, a little sandy, entirely theirs.

Lennon couldn’t breathe.

Not because the kiss had stolen it — though it had — but because he had. The way he looked at her like she’d just rearranged the sky. Like her mess and her mouth and her too-loud heart were the most sacred things he’d ever been handed.

She didn’t look away when he pulled back. Didn’t laugh it off or deflect like she used to. Because something in his voice — that impossible mix of teasing and true — had landed deeper than she was ready for, and instead of ducking, she stayed.

“You know what your problem is?”

She blinked, head tilted, trying to hide the grin already tugging at her lips.

Problem, he said, as if the real issue wasn’t the fact that he kept saying things like every morning, every night and meaning them.

When he kissed the corner of her mouth, soft and steady like he was still memorizing her, she closed her eyes for half a second, just to hold the shape of it.

And then he kept talking — gas station wine, late-night karaoke — and she laughed, the sound unguarded and absolutely hers.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, voice warm and half-buried against his collar. “You’re never letting that karaoke night go, are you?”

She pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, her hands still resting light against his chest. “It was one verse of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart.’ I was drunk and emotional and you were singing backup in a key that doesn’t exist.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So unless you’re proposing we make that our wedding song, Mercer—”

But then he was anchoring her again, hand at her spine, voice wrapping around her like gravity.

I’m taking you at your word. Every morning. Every night. Blue tongues, churro dust, Springsteen vinyls…

Her heart flipped so hard she almost laughed from the sheer audacity of how good it felt.

She looked at him — really looked — and the smirk nearly did her in. Because he was right. About the flirting. About all of it.

But instead of admitting it, she leaned in until her lips brushed his ear, her voice a whisper that vibrated straight through him.

“Flirting’s not the sport I’m worried about,” she said. “It’s endurance, Mercer. Forever’s a long game.”

She kissed him again — not soft, not coy. This one was all teeth and laughter and promise.

Then she pulled back, smirking, eyes wicked-bright, curls falling wild around her face.

“And for the record?” she added, brushing sand from his shirt. “You’re still not getting the churro back.”

Kai lost it.

Not the cool, not the grin, not even the swagger he usually wore like a second skin. No — he lost it in the way that counted. In the way her words hit straight to his chest, sparking heat and something so much bigger under his ribs that for once he didn’t try to dress it up with a joke.

He just laughed — low and wrecked and real — the sound vibrating against her mouth as he kissed her back like she’d just set the rules to the only game he wanted to play.

“Endurance, huh?” he murmured when she pulled away, voice rough at the edges but smooth as sin, eyes locked on hers like she was the only horizon that mattered. “Good thing I’m built for long games, Rae.”

His thumb dragged slow across her lower lip, his smirk curving like a challenge and a vow all at once. “And spoiler alert? I’m not planning on subbing out. You’re stuck with me in the field. Forever.”

The waves hissed closer, tugging at the sand beneath them, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not when she was straddling him, curls wild, lips still swollen from the way he couldn’t stop tasting her. She was a storm and a sunrise all at once, and he was done pretending he hadn’t been chasing this version of her — of them — for years.

He leaned in, kissed her temple this time, softer, deliberate, then murmured against her skin:

“And the churro?” His grin deepened, wicked and boyish in the same breath. “Baby, you can keep it. I’ve got my eye on something sweeter.”

His hand slid to her hip, squeezing just enough to make his point before he let her laugh break the tension again.

Because yeah, forever was a long game.
And Kai Mercer was damn sure he’d found the only teammate he wanted for it.

Lennon didn’t stand a chance.

Not against that grin, not against the way his voice roughened like it was just for her — not when his thumb dragged across her lip like he was branding a promise there. She felt it in her stomach, in her spine, in the stupid way her pulse picked up like he hadn’t already wrecked her ten times over since she said I’m in.

And then he said you’re stuck with me, and the laugh that broke from her was helpless. Real. A little dangerous.

Because God, it felt illegal — the way her body responded to that voice, that heat, that hand on her hip like he’d never stopped knowing exactly where she broke apart easiest. She hadn’t let herself feel like this in years. Not really. Not fully. Not without armor.

It wasn’t just the kissing. It was what came with it. The weight of forever in his voice. The way he looked at her like she wasn’t a habit or a headline or a what-if anymore — but the damn answer.

And that should’ve terrified her.

Maybe it still did.

But not enough to make her run.

“You know what’s terrifying?” she said, cocking her head just enough to narrow her eyes at him, even as her smile betrayed her. “I believe you.”

Her hand flattened against his chest, right over his heart — steady, strong, still a little fast from the sprint, or maybe from her — and she tapped her fingers once like she was testing the rhythm. Then again, lighter.

Her voice dipped, almost unconsciously.

“You—Kai Mercer—are built for long games and bad decisions,” she said, the words shaped like a dare, “and I’ve got terrible instincts when it comes to both.”

But she didn’t move.

Didn’t get up, didn’t pull away, didn’t even glance at the half-smashed churro near his hip. She wasn’t thinking about sugar anymore. She was thinking about the way he kissed her like no time had passed at all. Like her mouth was still his favorite sin. Like maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t destroyed the only thing that had ever made her feel held.

The sand clung to her bare feet. Her hair was definitely a disaster. Her skin tasted like salt and cinnamon and sunburn. And still, he looked at her like she was everything.

It was too much.

It was everything.

And somehow, she still wanted more.

He’d said something sweeter, and her breath caught before she smothered it with another line.

“Well,” she said slowly, like it cost her something to admit it, “you did carry me down a trail like a human backpack, so I guess I owe you one.”

Her body shifted, not to pull away — but closer. She leaned in, pressing a kiss just beneath his jaw — slow and smug and dangerously fond.

The kind of kiss that says I’m not done with you yet.

“Don’t get cocky, Mercer,” she whispered there, voice lower now, words brushing skin like a secret. “Endurance games have overtime. And I play dirty.”

And God help her, she meant it.

Every sugar-coated, star-burned, long-haul, what-the-hell-am-I-doing word of it.

Because she wasn’t scared of losing anymore.

Not when the only thing she could still taste was him.

Kai didn’t even give her a warning.

One second, Lennon Rae was smirking against his jaw, whispering about overtime like she had him cornered. The next, she was squealing as he rolled, scooped her up, and rose to his feet in one smooth, maddeningly confident move.

“Oh, you play dirty?” His grin was sharp, teeth flashing in the fading light as he carried her straight toward the surf. “Baby, you have no idea.”

The ocean was waiting for them — cool foam rushing higher now with the tide. Lennon kicked, laughing and cursing into his shoulder, but he didn’t slow. His hands gripped her thighs, her body bouncing against him as if she weighed nothing at all, and his laugh — low, smug, absolutely delighted — carried over the crash of the waves.

“You said endurance,” he teased, his voice dropping lower as he stepped into the water, the first rush of cold splashing up their calves. “I say we test it.”

Her gasp was instant when the ocean bit against her skin, but before she could shout another protest, Kai shifted her tighter against his chest and waded deeper — waist-high now, the saltwater soaking his trousers, her dress clinging higher with every step.

And then he stopped. Just far enough out that the water rocked them both, cool and wild, the horizon burning copper behind her.

His forehead pressed to hers, that damn grin still tugging at his mouth. “Tell me, Rae,” he murmured, voice wrecked in the best way, “still think you’re the only one who can play dirty?”

He didn’t wait for her answer. He kissed her right there in the surf — messy, salty, perfect — while the waves broke against them and the world narrowed to nothing but her body tight against his.

Because this was the game he wanted:
Her laughter in his mouth, her heat against his chest, her heart pounding like it had finally remembered the rhythm.

And Kai Mercer? He had every intention of playing until dawn.

Lennon Rae should’ve known better.

Should’ve known that tone in his voice meant trouble. Should’ve seen the shift in his body before it happened. But she didn’t. She was too caught up in the high of the game — the bait, the banter, the way his jaw flexed when she teased him just right.

So when he scooped her up like a goddamn action hero and started charging toward the ocean like she hadn’t just dared him, all she could do was yelp, grip his shoulders, and let her bare feet kick wildly in protest.

“Kai, no—Kai, don’t you dare—”
Too late.

The saltwater hit fast — sharp and freezing against her calves, her thighs, higher — and her breath left her in a messy, delighted shriek that she didn’t even bother trying to swallow. She was drenched, already. And not just in seawater. In him. In the sound of his laugh against her shoulder, the press of his hands at her thighs, the way her dress clung to her like a second skin.

By the time he stopped, standing strong in the rocking tide like he could hold her there forever, she was breathless. Spun out. And staring down the most dangerous man she’d ever loved with seawater on her skin and something looser — scarier — cracking open in her chest.

His grin was infuriating.

His kiss? Worse.

Because it wasn’t a tease this time. Wasn’t casual. Wasn’t a firestarter meant to burn fast and be forgotten. It was real. Salty and slow and all-in. And her fingers, traitorous things, fisted into his wet shirt like they’d rather sink than let go.

She didn’t let herself think. Not about how it felt. Not about what it meant.

She just kissed him back — harder, deeper, like the truth had been under her tongue this whole time and he’d finally pulled it free.

When she pulled back, she didn’t move far.

Her forehead rested against his, breath stuttering out between them, and for once? She didn’t say something flippant. Didn’t make a joke. Didn’t pretend it hadn’t gutted her to feel him like this — not chasing, not posturing, just choosing her, steady and soaked and stupidly sure.

She wanted to stay there.

And God help her, she did.

But because she was still her — and because letting him win without a fight would’ve been sacrilege — she tilted her head, wiped the water from her lip with the back of her hand, and smirked through the ache in her chest.

“You’re gonna regret that when you’re shivering in soaked jeans for the next hour,” she murmured, voice low, eyes locked on his. “But sure. You wanna test endurance?”

She leaned in again, teeth grazing his lower lip as she whispered, “Game on, Mercer.”

Then she kissed him like she meant it. Because this time, she did.

Kai was soaked to the bone — shirt heavy, trousers clinging, salt water dripping down his jaw — but not a single part of him cared. Not when she was looking at him like that. Not when her smirk was hiding the same kind of tremor he felt in his own chest. Not when her kiss tasted like surrender dressed up as a challenge.

He laughed against her mouth, low and wrecked, the sound swallowed by the crash of the waves around them. “Rae,” he murmured, voice rough with salt and affection, “if this is what regret feels like, I’ll take it every night of my life.”

His hands slid down her thighs, anchoring her against him as the tide surged again, cool water breaking at their waists. She shivered, but he caught it — not to tease, not this time. He pressed his forehead to hers, softer now, his thumb brushing her cheekbone with a tenderness that cut straight through the play.

“You’ve got no idea, do you?” he whispered, almost in awe. “How long I’ve wanted this. Not just you in my arms, not just this game — you. Every reckless, barefoot, sugar-dusted piece of you. You keep calling it dangerous, but to me? It feels like home.”

For a beat, he just let the words settle between them, his chest rising against hers in time with the tide. Then he kissed her again — slower this time, less fire, more permanence. The kind of kiss that said I’ll stay even when the water’s freezing. Even when the sand sticks. Even when it gets hard.

When he finally pulled back, his smile was softer, lips brushing hers as he spoke. “So yeah, game on. But I should warn you…” His hand trailed from her hip to her spine, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. “…I don’t play for rounds anymore. I play for keeps.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth, lingering. Then another at her jaw. Then one at her temple, reverent. “And you, Lennon Rae?” His breath ghosted against her skin, his grin curving but quiet. “You’re my forever prize.”

Another wave crashed, soaking them fresh, but Kai only laughed, pulling her in tighter, as if he really would stand there all night just to prove he meant it.

She couldn’t breathe.

Not from the cold — though the ocean clung to her skin, soaked her dress, numbed her ankles. Not from the weight of him — though his arms were locked around her, steady and sure, like she was something he’d never put down again.

No.

She couldn’t breathe because Kai Mercer was looking at her like he meant it.

All of it.

The kiss. The words. The promise tucked behind his grin like he already knew she’d run, and still chose to stay anyway.

Lennon Rae didn’t fall for lines.
She didn’t get swept up in soft.
Didn’t let herself believe in people who said forever like it wasn’t a trap.

But then he said her name like it was a truth.
Held her like she wasn’t too much.
Kissed her like nothing had ever felt more right.

No one had ever looked at her like this. Like she was the destination, not the detour. Like she was worth getting soaked for. Like she was someone you waded into the tide for — not to rescue, but to join.

Her fingers curled tighter in his shirt, knuckles white, dress dragging in the surf as the water lapped at their waists. She could feel the tremble in her own chest, the way her heart kicked up, uneven and unfamiliar. Because it wasn’t lust or adrenaline anymore.

It was him.

It was this.

This ridiculous, soaked, breathless boy who’d waited too long and somehow still got it exactly right.

Her forehead pressed to his, and her breath caught again, this time from something gentler. Something that felt like surrender. Not the kind you get dragged into. The kind you choose with both hands.

She let her eyes close for a second. Just one. Just long enough to memorize it: the tide, the heat, the way his fingers hadn’t let her go for even a breath.

Then she whispered it.

Quiet. Clear. No mask this time.

“Take me home, Kai.”

It wasn’t a plea.
It wasn’t a joke.

It was a decision.

And she meant every word.

Kai’s pulse kicked hard at the base of his throat, but his smile came easy. Smooth. Confident. That grin he’d worn on stages and in spotlights — except this time, it wasn’t for a crowd. It was just for her.

“Rae,” he said low, the word curling warm against her temple as he shifted her higher in his arms, “you don’t even have to ask.”

And then he moved.

The surf broke around them, tugging at his legs, but he carried her through it without faltering — stride steady, shoulders squared like she didn’t weigh more than the shirt clinging wet to his back. Each step drew them out of the pull of the tide, across the soft sand that squeaked under his sneakers, sunlight flashing off the water behind them.

He glanced down at her, strands of wet hair plastered to her cheek, her dress dripping salt and clinging in every way that wrecked him — and still, he smirked. “I warned you about overtime, didn’t I? You should’ve known I’d play dirty.”

Her laugh hit his chest, muffled, and God, he soaked it in.

They crossed the cove, weaving past driftwood and tide pools, the cliffs looming tall and golden. The trail up was narrow, carved into sandstone, but he kept her close even as he shifted her down so her feet skimmed the ground beside his. His hand never left her waist, guiding, steady, thumb brushing against damp skin just to remind them both he wasn’t letting go.

Halfway up, he paused. Turned her into him, the sun catching in his sea-glass eyes as he bent to kiss her — not rushed, not ravenous, but slow and sure, the kind of kiss that said this doesn’t end at the trailhead. This doesn’t end at the car. This doesn’t end at all.

When he pulled back, his forehead lingered against hers. His voice was low, velvet and teasing, but underneath it ran the steel of a vow.

“You said take you home,” he murmured, brushing her bottom lip with his thumb. “So that’s what I’m doing. But just so we’re clear…” His mouth curved into something wicked-smooth, the dimple flashing. “…I don’t plan on you leaving once we get there.”

Then he kissed her again — quick this time, cocky — before tugging her hand into his and leading her the rest of the way up the path, sand clinging, sunlight fierce, his stride confident like the whole damn world had just shifted in their favor.

By the time the car came into view at the top, Kai was already glancing at her sideways with a grin that made promises and trouble all at once.

“You sure you’re ready for what home looks like with me, Rae?” he teased, squeezing her hand. “Because I play forever the way I play everything else — all in.”

She should’ve said something clever.

Some jab about him being cocky. Some crack about the ocean water short-circuiting his ego.

But she didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Because her heart was still punching against her ribs like it was trying to catch up — like it had been frozen for years and suddenly remembered how to move.

And Kai Mercer?
He was walking like he’d never once doubted she’d say yes.

She watched the way his shoulders rolled under the weight of her — easy, fluid, steady like the tide. Watched his jaw tick when he thought she wasn’t looking. Watched the way his thumb didn’t stop moving, brushing circles into her skin like he needed to keep touching her just to believe she was real.

It wasn’t the kiss that did it.

It was everything after.

The carrying. The teasing. The quiet way he shifted her down the trail like she was something he kept. Something he chose. Not for a night. Not for nostalgia. But like it had always been her, and maybe he was just tired of pretending it wasn’t.

Lennon swallowed hard, her throat dry despite the salt. The cliffs rose around them. The sun was too bright. Her feet were bare, her dress soaked, her heart louder than it had any right to be.

And still, she followed.

Because whatever this was — messy, reckless, impossible — she didn’t want to walk away from it.

Not this time.

Not when he looked at her like that.

So when he glanced over his shoulder at the top of the trail, that grin daring and devastating, and asked if she was ready?

She didn’t smile back.

Not right away.

She just stared at him — really looked — and let herself feel the full weight of what she was about to do.

Then she reached for his hand again, fingers tangling with his like it was second nature.

And in a voice steadier than she felt, she said,
“Show me.”

Because maybe forever wasn’t something you said.

Maybe it was something you walked toward barefoot, soaking wet, and completely unguarded.

One heartbeat at a time.

With him.

Kai’s grin curved wider at that — not smug, not staged, but sharp with the kind of certainty he didn’t have to fake anymore. Show me. She had no idea how those two words lit through his chest like gasoline.

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t need to. He just squeezed her hand, firm and sure, letting the silence carry the weight of what she’d just given him.

Then, smooth as ever, his voice cut through the crash of waves below and the hum of gulls above. “Careful, Rae,” he murmured, leaning close enough that his breath brushed her ear as they started across the gravel lot. “You tell me to show you? I don’t plan on holding anything back.”

The car gleamed in the late sun, heat rolling off the hood, and he opened her door first — not with fanfare, just with a steadiness that said this is mine now: making space for you. When she slid in, dripping saltwater and sand, he didn’t complain. Didn’t even blink. Just shut the door gently, circled to his side, and dropped into the driver’s seat like he’d been waiting years for this exact ride.

The engine purred to life. Windows down. The smell of brine and cinnamon still clung to the air between them as the cliffs slipped away in the rearview mirror.

Kai drummed his fingers against the wheel once, glanced over, and caught her profile — curls wild, lips salt-slick, the edge of a smile tugging even though she was trying hard not to let him see it. God, she was beautiful. Not in the stage-lit, camera-ready way the world thought it owned. But like this. Barefoot, wrecked, radiant.

He reached across the console, sliding his hand back into hers, thumb brushing that damp strip of skin at her wrist. “So… mini golf, churros, and a dip in the Pacific,” he said, easy and warm, the dimple flashing with just enough mischief. “Not bad for a first date back, huh?”

He let it hang a beat before turning his head, giving her that Joe-Jonas brand of playful-suave that wrecked her when they were twenty and, apparently, still worked now. “But don’t get too comfortable. This is just me stretching before the real game. You told me to show you, Rae… and trust me—” his eyes lingered on hers a moment too long, voice dipping low, velvet-smooth, “—I’ve barely started.”

He gave her hand another squeeze, the Malibu coastline unfurling golden ahead of them, and for the first time in forever, he wasn’t thinking about what came next. He was thinking about this.

Her.

Always her.