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.