Hau Tree
 

HAU TREE | KAIMANA BEACH, HONOLULU, HAWAIʻI

Situated along the beautiful shores of Kaimana Beach, Hau Tree is an elegant yet relaxed oceanfront restaurant located at the Kaimana Beach Hotel, just outside the busier heart of Waikīkī. Known for its stunning beachfront views, open-air dining, and charming tropical atmosphere, the restaurant offers a picturesque setting beneath the shade of its namesake hau trees.

The outdoor dining terrace features comfortable tables, soft coastal furnishings, and unobstructed views of the sparkling Pacific Ocean. Gentle sea breezes drift through the restaurant, accompanied by the sounds of waves washing against the shore and the quiet conversations of guests enjoying their meals. Sunlight filters through the surrounding greenery, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere throughout the day.

Popular for leisurely breakfasts, romantic brunch dates, and gatherings with friends and family, Hau Tree combines upscale coastal dining with the laid-back charm of island living. Its menu features creative interpretations of traditional brunch favorites, fresh local ingredients, tropical flavors, and beautifully prepared dishes. Whether enjoying coffee beneath the trees or lingering over brunch with an ocean view, guests can expect an experience that feels both sophisticated and wonderfully relaxed.

Address: 2863 Kalākaua Avenue, Honolulu, HI 96815

Brunch Hours: Monday–Friday, 8:00 AM–1:30 PM; Saturday–Sunday, 7:30 AM–1:30 PM

Hau Tree — Honolulu, Hawaiʻi

HAU TREE | KAIMANA BEACH, HONOLULU, HAWAIʻI

Situated along the beautiful shores of Kaimana Beach, Hau Tree is an elegant yet relaxed oceanfront restaurant located at the Kaimana Beach Hotel, just outside the busier heart of Waikīkī. Known for its stunning beachfront views, open-air dining, and charming tropical atmosphere, the restaurant offers a picturesque setting beneath the shade of its namesake hau trees.

The outdoor dining terrace features comfortable tables, soft coastal furnishings, and unobstructed views of the sparkling Pacific Ocean. Gentle sea breezes drift through the restaurant, accompanied by the sounds of waves washing against the shore and the quiet conversations of guests enjoying their meals. Sunlight filters through the surrounding greenery, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere throughout the day.

Popular for leisurely breakfasts, romantic brunch dates, and gatherings with friends and family, Hau Tree combines upscale coastal dining with the laid-back charm of island living. Its menu features creative interpretations of traditional brunch favorites, fresh local ingredients, tropical flavors, and beautifully prepared dishes. Whether enjoying coffee beneath the trees or lingering over brunch with an ocean view, guests can expect an experience that feels both sophisticated and wonderfully relaxed.

Address: 2863 Kalākaua Avenue, Honolulu, HI 96815

Brunch Hours: Monday–Friday, 8:00 AM–1:30 PM; Saturday–Sunday, 7:30 AM–1:30 PM.

Hau Tree brunch menu

Selected from the restaurant’s published menu, with listed prices in USD.

Eggs Benedict & breakfast

Dish Price
Hau Tree Eggs Benedict $28
Avocado Benedict $26
Cured Salmon Benedict $33
Snow Crab Benedict $37
Loco Moco $31
Two Eggs Any Style, with breakfast sides $28
Shakshuka & Naan $25
Vegetable & Fontina Frittata $28

Sweet brunch favorites

Dish Price
Ube Cinnamon Roll with cream cheese frosting $19
Calamansi Ricotta Pancakes with fresh fruit $24
Fresh-Baked Pastry Board $19
Fresh Fruit Plate $13
Half Papaya $9
Chia Breakfast Parfait $18
Yogurt & Granola Cup $13

Sandwiches & savory dishes

Dish Price
Avocado Toast $24
Kaimana Beach Burger $29
Chicken Club Sandwich $28
Local Ahi Fish Sandwich $27
Spam & Egg Sandwich $28
Crispy Breakfast Potatoes $10
House-Cured Salmon Board $31

Salads & lighter meals

Dish Price
Grain Salad $27
Miso Caesar Salad $26
Kale & Spinach Salad $26
Local Ahi Niçoise Salad $32
Ahi Poisson Cru $28

Drinks

The restaurant offers coffee, wine, sparkling wine, and a selection of alcoholic and nonalcoholic beverages. Its published summer selections have included Mamaki Me Crazy, a lavender, māmaki, mint, lime, and soda mocktail.

Sloane Laurent had decided somewhere between leaving her apartment and arriving at Hau Tree that she was going to enjoy herself without overthinking every little thing. It was a perfectly reasonable decision, especially considering how lovely the morning had been. Wes had stayed over the night before, and although it certainly hadn’t been their first time sleeping together, it was the first time he’d actually spent the entire night at her apartment. There had been something unexpectedly wonderful about waking up with him still there, about having someone to share the ordinarily uneventful parts of a morning with. Now they were sitting across from each other at one of her favorite oceanfront restaurants, and she was determined not to ruin the occasion by worrying about what any of it meant.

Besides, she looked adorable, and that deserved at least a little appreciation.

Her floral mini dress was perfectly suited to the warm Hawaiian weather, the lightweight fabric falling prettily against her thighs as she crossed her legs beneath the table. She’d spent a little extra time arranging her long blonde hair into glossy beach waves, sweeping the front into her preferred side part and giving the crown just enough volume. A pair of delicate gold earrings, her favorite sandals, and a little pink lip gloss had completed the look. Across from her, Wes looked equally handsome in his light blue polo and khaki shorts, although she suspected considerably less effort had gone into getting him ready. The silver chain of his Navy identification tags caught the sunlight occasionally, and she’d already found herself glancing at them more than once.

“Okay, before you judge me,” Sloane began, pointing her fork toward him as their brunch settled into a comfortable rhythm, “I need you to understand that I have absolutely no intention of sharing these pancakes.” Her expression remained perfectly serious for approximately two seconds before her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “I know you have your whole eggs Benedict situation happening over there, and I’m very happy for you, but these are mine. I made a commitment to them the second I saw them on the menu.”

She lowered her fork to cut into the calamansi ricotta pancakes, carefully gathering a little fruit with the first bite. The combination was delicious, exactly what she’d been craving, and she made a small, appreciative sound before reaching for her iced coffee. It was difficult to imagine a better Sunday morning. The hau trees overhead provided just enough shade to keep the sunshine comfortable, while the ocean beyond the terrace shimmered in beautiful shades of turquoise. Sloane had visited Hau Tree plenty of times before, sometimes with Maya and occasionally with her family, but there was something different about being here with Wes. Perhaps it was simply that she liked him. Perhaps it was the fact that she could still remember waking up beside him that morning. Whatever the reason, she found herself smiling more than usual.

“You know, I’ve been coming here since I was little,” she told him, glancing toward the beach before returning her attention to him. “My parents used to bring us down here sometimes, and I was absolutely convinced that going out for breakfast was the height of sophistication.” She laughed softly at the memory, shaking her head. “Which is ridiculous, because I was probably about eight years old and ordering the most basic thing imaginable. But I liked getting dressed up. I liked the fancy glasses and the pretty tables and the fact that everybody treated you like you were somewhere special.”

The thought brought another memory to mind, one that made her grin before she’d even started explaining it. “Actually, I think that’s where my whole event-planning obsession started. Not specifically here, but just growing up around all those parties and dinners and things. I was the weird little girl who cared more about how the table was decorated than whatever the adults were talking about.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms near the edge of the table. “When I was ten, I decided I was going to organize this incredibly elaborate garden party at our house. I made invitations, assigned seats, picked flowers, the whole thing. I even made my parents RSVP.” Her eyes brightened with amusement. “Rafe, naturally, thought this was the funniest thing he’d ever witnessed. I swear, half of my childhood was just me trying to accomplish something while my brother found increasingly creative ways to annoy me.”

Sloane laughed, lifting her glass for another sip of iced coffee. There were plenty of stories she could have told him about growing up with Rafe Laurent, most of which probably made her brother sound like an absolute menace. Not that she imagined Rafe would particularly object to that description. She adored him, obviously, but there had been times during their childhood when she would’ve happily traded him for a sister who understood the importance of leaving somebody’s carefully arranged belongings alone. Still, she wouldn’t have changed much about their upbringing. They’d had a wonderful childhood, and she knew how fortunate they were. The older she became, the more she appreciated the security and opportunities their parents had given them.

“I was probably a little spoiled,” she admitted, although the mischievous smile accompanying the confession suggested she wasn’t particularly ashamed. “Okay, fine. I was definitely spoiled. But I promise I wasn’t completely unbearable.” She paused, pretending to reconsider. “Actually, don’t ask Rafe. He’s an unreliable witness, and I refuse to have my reputation destroyed by someone who voluntarily bleaches his hair platinum blond.”

Her laughter softened as she settled back into her chair. Talking about her childhood came easily, particularly when she was comfortable with someone. She’d never had a particularly complicated relationship with her upbringing, even if she sometimes worried that people would make assumptions about her because of it. She knew what the Laurent name represented to certain people. Money, privilege, connections, opportunities. All of those things were true, but they weren’t the entirety of who she was. She’d worked hard for her degree, loved her job, and had ambitions that went beyond simply inheriting a comfortable lifestyle. She wanted Wes to understand that side of her, too, although she didn’t particularly want to turn a lovely brunch into an impromptu presentation on why she was more than a wealthy girl from Oʻahu.

“I think that’s part of why I wanted to stay here for college,” she continued, absently adjusting the thin bracelet around her wrist. “Everybody assumed I’d go somewhere on the mainland because I could, but I really didn’t want to. I love Hawaii. I love being near my family, and I already knew I wanted to do something in hospitality.” Her smile became a little more thoughtful. “I know that probably sounds incredibly predictable for someone who grew up here, but I genuinely love what I do. I want my own company eventually. Something that’s mine, you know? Not just something with the Laurent name attached to it because my parents could afford to buy it for me.”

She hadn’t necessarily intended to share quite that much, but she found that she didn’t mind. Wes had been in her life for four months now, and although they’d spent plenty of time together, there were still so many things they didn’t know about each other. She knew the broad details of his Navy career, knew he had enlisted at twenty-one and worked his way up to Petty Officer Second Class, and understood enough about his responsibilities to appreciate that his schedule wasn’t always predictable. But those were facts. They weren’t necessarily stories. And Sloane was beginning to realize that she wanted the stories, too. The embarrassing childhood memories, the ridiculous decisions he’d made when he was younger, the things he’d dreamed about before becoming the man sitting across from her.

“Anyway, enough about my incredibly dramatic childhood,” she announced, setting her fork down with an exaggerated little flourish. “I’ve just realized something. We’ve been dating for four months, and I feel like I know a lot about Navy Wes, but I don’t actually know nearly enough about little Wes.”

There was something wonderfully amusing about imagining him as a child, especially considering how composed he could seem now. She tried to picture a miniature version of him running around causing trouble, and the thought made her smile. Had he been outgoing? Shy? The kid who always followed the rules, or the one who somehow managed to convince everybody else to break them? Had he always been interested in the military, or had that come later? She knew so little about the person he’d been before the Navy became such a significant part of his life, and suddenly she found herself genuinely curious.

“Were you a good kid?” she asked, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Because I feel like you could go either way. You have that whole responsible, competent thing happening now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you were secretly an absolute menace growing up.” Her smile widened. “And don’t just tell me you were perfectly behaved, because I will need supporting evidence. Preferably from someone who knew you before you were old enough to develop a convincing defense.”

Sloane rested her elbow lightly against the table, propping her chin on her hand as she studied him with open curiosity. The teasing came naturally, but there was genuine interest beneath it. She liked hearing people talk about the experiences that had shaped them, and with Wes, she wanted to know practically everything. Not because she expected him to reveal his entire life story over brunch, but because the idea of getting to know him more deeply felt exciting. She wanted him to know her beyond the pretty dresses, expensive handbags, and playful comments. And she wanted to know him beyond the attractive sailor who happened to make her heart behave rather inconveniently.

“And what made you join the Navy at twenty-one?” she added, her tone becoming a little softer. “Was that something you’d always wanted to do, or did you just wake up one morning and decide you needed a dramatic change of scenery?” She gave him another small smile. “Because twenty-one-year-old me was trying to figure out college classes and whether cutting my own bangs was a terrible idea. Spoiler alert, it was. So the idea of joining the military at that age seems like a pretty big decision.”

She glanced briefly at his dog tags before looking back at his face. She understood that his career wasn’t necessarily something he wanted to discuss every second of his free time, and she certainly didn’t expect him to spend their brunch explaining naval operations. But she was interested in the experiences behind the uniform. What it had been like to leave for basic training, whether he’d been nervous, the friendships he’d made, the places he’d seen, and the moments that had changed how he looked at the world. Six years was a substantial portion of someone’s adult life, especially at twenty-seven, and she imagined there were plenty of stories worth telling.

“I mean, I’ve lived on this island my entire life,” she continued, offering a small, self-aware laugh. “I’ve traveled, obviously, but I’ve always known where home was. My family is here, Maya’s here, everything I’ve ever really known is here. You joined the Navy at twenty-one and basically handed over a huge part of your life to something completely different. I think that’s kind of incredible.”

For a moment, Sloane simply smiled at him, her expression losing some of its usual teasing quality. There was a sincerity in her curiosity that she made no attempt to disguise. Four months ago, she’d been cautious about giving a serviceman a chance at all. She’d grown up hearing enough stories about sailors stationed in Hawaii to approach the whole idea with considerable skepticism, and she certainly hadn’t expected to find herself sitting across from one at brunch, genuinely excited to hear about his childhood. Wes had felt different from the beginning, although she still couldn’t have explained exactly why. Perhaps that was something she’d understand better as they continued getting to know each other.

“Okay,” she said finally, a playful little smile returning as she leaned forward again. “I want the real story. Not the impressive version you tell people when they ask what you do for a living.” Her eyes stayed on his, bright with curiosity. “Tell me about twenty-one-year-old Wes Callow. What was going through your head when you decided to enlist? And what was the first moment you realized, oh my God, I’m actually in the Navy now?”

She reached for another bite of her pancakes, settling comfortably into her chair as she gave him her full attention. There was no reason to rush brunch, no pressing appointment waiting afterward, and nowhere she particularly wanted to be except right there. For once, she wasn’t thinking about whether he would eventually ask her to be his girlfriend or whether she’d grown too attached too quickly. She just wanted to hear his stories, discover the pieces of him she hadn’t seen yet, and let him discover a few more pieces of her in return.

Wes had been perfectly content to leave Sloane’s pancakes alone until she made such a production of defending them. Now, admittedly, he was reconsidering. There was something about the absolute seriousness with which she approached the matter that made him want to test the boundaries, if only to see how quickly that pretty smile would turn into an expression of genuine betrayal. He glanced between her plate and his eggs Benedict, a slow grin spreading across his face. “See, I wasn't even thinking about your pancakes until you started making threats. Now I'm curious.” He made no actual attempt to reach across the table, although he did give her plate another deliberately interested look. “But I respect your commitment. Very admirable. I hope the two of you are happy together.”

It was an easy sort of morning, one he hadn't realized he'd been looking forward to quite so much until they were actually sitting there. Hau Tree was beautiful, certainly, with the beach stretching beyond the terrace and sunlight filtering through the broad leaves overhead. But Wes had spent enough time living on Oʻahu to know that a pretty ocean view wasn't particularly difficult to find. What made the morning different was the woman sitting across from him, looking altogether too pleased with herself in that little floral dress. He'd noticed the extra care she'd taken with her appearance, the way her blonde hair fell around her shoulders, the delicate jewelry that caught the sunlight whenever she moved. He'd told her she looked beautiful before they'd left, and he'd meant it. Although, if he were being fair, he'd also thought she was beautiful that morning before either of them had done much of anything to make themselves presentable.

That was the part he kept coming back to, actually. The morning. Waking up at Sloane's apartment hadn't been an entirely unfamiliar experience, but waking up without immediately preparing to leave had been something different. He'd stayed because he'd wanted to, because there hadn't been anywhere he needed to be, and because the thought of spending a little longer with her had seemed infinitely more appealing than returning to his own place. There hadn't been anything remarkable about the ordinary business of getting ready for the day. That was what had surprised him. He'd enjoyed it anyway. And somewhere between leaving her apartment and settling into their table at Hau Tree, he'd caught himself thinking that he wouldn't mind making a habit of mornings like this.

Her childhood stories gave him plenty of reasons to smile, although the revelation about the garden party was particularly good. He could picture it almost immediately: a miniature Sloane Laurent, impeccably dressed and armed with enough determination to organize an entire household, presumably growing increasingly exasperated with a brother who considered her elaborate preparations an invitation to cause trouble. “You made your parents RSVP?” he repeated, laughing as he set his coffee down. “That's incredible. Were there consequences if they didn't respond in time? Because I'm imagining ten-year-old you telling your father that unfortunately, due to his failure to confirm attendance, you've given his seat to somebody else.” His grin widened. “And somehow, I get the feeling you would've meant it.”

He was enjoying the stories for more reasons than their entertainment value. Sloane had never made a secret of her upbringing, and Wes wasn't particularly interested in pretending that the differences between their lives didn't exist. He knew she came from money. Quite a lot of it, actually. He'd understood that long before learning much about the Laurent family itself, and he'd be lying if he said there hadn't been moments early on when he'd wondered how well their lives would fit together. But four months had given him a reasonably good understanding of the woman behind the expensive handbags and beautiful clothes. She could be spoiled, certainly. She knew it, and he suspected she occasionally enjoyed being spoiled even more when she knew somebody had noticed. But she was also thoughtful, hardworking, funny, and considerably more capable than someone judging her by appearances might assume.

When she spoke about wanting her own company, he listened without interrupting, his attention settling more fully on her face. There was a particular change in her when she talked about event planning, something beyond her usual enthusiasm. She became more focused, more specific. He liked that she knew what she wanted, even if she hadn't figured out every step toward getting there. God knew he'd spent enough of his early twenties without anything resembling that certainty.

“For what it's worth, I don't think it's predictable,” he told her. “You grew up around something you liked, figured out you were good at it, and decided you wanted to make a career out of it. Seems pretty reasonable to me.” He paused to take a sip of coffee before adding, “And I've seen how you talk about your work. You don't sound like somebody who's doing it because she couldn't think of anything better.” His expression softened into a small smile. “I think having your own company would suit you. Although I'm going to need advance warning if you ever start sending out mandatory RSVPs to your employees.”

Then the conversation turned toward him, and Wes found himself laughing again, particularly at her insistence that he provide evidence of his childhood behavior. Apparently, four months of demonstrating that he could be trusted with reasonably important responsibilities hadn't earned him the benefit of the doubt where his younger self was concerned.

“Wow. Four months, and you already assume I'm going to lie about my childhood. That's a pretty serious accusation, Laurent.” He leaned back in his chair, considering her with an amused expression. “But since you're asking, I was a good kid. Generally speaking.” He let that qualification settle for a moment before his mouth twitched. “My mother would probably back me up. My father might have a few objections, depending on whether he's still holding the Great Ice Cream Expedition against me.”

The memory made him laugh under his breath. He hadn't thought about that particular afternoon in years, but he could still remember it with embarrassing clarity. He'd been twelve, possessed an extraordinary amount of confidence for someone with very little practical experience, and had somehow convinced three of his friends that he was perfectly qualified to lead them on what he'd described as a relatively short bicycle ride.

“There was this ice cream place a couple of towns over. Nothing particularly special about it, except somebody had told me it was really good, and apparently that was enough to convince twelve-year-old me that we absolutely had to go.” He shook his head, smiling. “So I got three of my friends together, told everybody we were going for a bike ride, and announced that I knew a shortcut.”

He paused, lifting his eyebrows slightly.

“I did not know a shortcut.”

His grin widened as he continued. “I'd looked at a map once, decided I understood the general direction, and figured we'd recognize the place when we got close enough. Which is a fantastic plan when you're twelve and have absolutely no understanding of how far away anything actually is.”

What had followed was considerably less impressive than the adventure he'd promised. They'd spent the better part of the afternoon pedaling along unfamiliar roads, arguing about directions, and stopping repeatedly while Wes insisted that their destination was just a little farther ahead. By the time they finally reached the ice cream stand, they'd been riding for hours, all four of them were exhausted, and the place had already closed.

“And naturally, because I was the genius who organized the whole thing, everybody decided it was my fault.” He gave Sloane a look of exaggerated indignation. “Which, fine, technically it was. But I maintain that they all had plenty of opportunities to question my leadership before we got that far.”

He laughed, reaching for his water.

“Eventually, I had to call my dad to come get us. He showed up, took one look at the four of us sitting outside this closed ice cream shop, and just started laughing. Didn't even get mad at first. Just laughed.” His expression softened with the recollection. “Then he made us load all the bikes into the car, and I got a very thorough explanation of why you should probably know where you're going before convincing other people to follow you.”

He shook his head. “To this day, whenever we're going somewhere and I offer directions, he asks whether we're taking another one of Wes's famous shortcuts.”

The memory left him smiling, although there was something rather fitting about it now. He'd spent six years in a profession where paying attention to details, anticipating problems, and understanding exactly where things were could be critically important. Twelve-year-old Wes, apparently, had considered all of those things entirely optional.

“I wasn't a terrible kid, though. I did pretty well in school when I actually applied myself. Had good friends. Got into normal amounts of trouble.” He considered that for a moment. “I think I just liked the idea of doing things. Going places. Finding something interesting and deciding I needed to experience it for myself. Unfortunately, I wasn't always particularly concerned with the details between having an idea and actually making it happen.”

He glanced at her with a crooked smile.

“Come to think of it, I probably haven't changed as much as I should have. I've just gotten significantly better at reading directions.”

There was something strangely enjoyable about telling her these things. Wes wasn't secretive about his past, but he didn't tend to volunteer lengthy accounts of his childhood either. Most people he met these days knew him through the Navy. They knew his rank, his rating, perhaps where he'd been stationed before arriving on Oʻahu. Sometimes those details seemed to satisfy their curiosity entirely. Sloane, however, was asking about the boy who'd existed before any of that, and he liked the distinction more than he'd expected.

“As for twenty-one-year-old me...” He exhaled thoughtfully, glancing out toward the water for a moment. “He was a little less impressive than you're probably imagining.”

He returned his attention to her, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“I wasn't one of those kids who knew he wanted to be in the military from the time he was five. I didn't have some big family tradition to live up to, and I wasn't particularly interested in having somebody shout at me for a living.” His amusement lingered briefly before giving way to something more reflective. “Honestly, after high school, I spent a couple of years trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with myself. Took some classes. Worked. Made plans, changed my mind, made different plans. I kept telling everybody I was figuring things out, which sounded a lot better than admitting I didn't actually know what I was doing.”

He remembered that period with a mixture of affection and frustration. There hadn't been anything catastrophically wrong with his life. He'd had people who cared about him, somewhere to live, opportunities he could have pursued. That was part of what made his restlessness so difficult to explain. He hadn't been running away from anything terrible. He'd simply reached a point where he couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing still while the rest of the world kept moving.

“I think I got tired of hearing myself talk about what I might do someday,” he admitted. “Everybody around me seemed to be moving toward something. College, careers, whatever. And I was still waiting for this great moment of clarity that apparently wasn't going to show up on its own.”

His gaze wandered briefly toward the ocean again. It was funny, looking at the water now, considering how much of his life had become connected to it. He hadn't known nearly enough about ships or naval operations when the idea first occurred to him. Certainly not enough to anticipate the direction his career would eventually take.

“The Navy wasn't some overnight decision. I looked into it, talked to a recruiter, went back and forth about it for a while. The idea of seeing different places appealed to me, obviously. So did having a steady paycheck and learning something useful. I'm not going to pretend those weren't factors.” He gave a small shrug. “But I think the biggest thing was that I wanted to do something that required something of me. Something I couldn't just half-ass while I figured out whether I liked it.”

He paused, his expression turning slightly sheepish.

“Which, in retrospect, is a pretty funny reason to volunteer for boot camp.”

The laugh that followed was genuine, although the memory itself wasn't entirely amusing. He could remember the uncertainty more clearly than he'd expected. The conversations with his family, the paperwork, the nervous excitement that had accompanied finally committing to something. There had been moments when he'd felt extraordinarily pleased with himself for making a decision, followed almost immediately by moments when he'd wondered whether he'd lost his mind.

“I was nervous,” he admitted. “A lot more nervous than I let on. Everybody kept asking if I was excited, and I was, but I also knew I was signing up for something I didn't really understand yet. I'd done the research. I'd talked to people. But reading about something and actually doing it are two very different things.”

He took another bite of his breakfast, giving himself a moment to consider her final question. That one was easier to answer. The memory had stayed with him through every subsequent year of his service, partly because of how ridiculous it seemed now.

“The first moment I realized I'd actually joined?” he repeated. “Great Lakes. First night.”

His grin returned, although this time it carried a trace of embarrassment.

“I'd been traveling, barely slept, and by the time we got there, I was running on nerves and whatever terrible airport food I'd managed to eat. Everything was happening fast. People were telling us where to stand, where to go, what to do. Nobody was particularly interested in whether we'd had a pleasant journey.”

The memory unfolded with surprising clarity as he spoke. Bright fluorescent lights. Unfamiliar faces. The peculiar sensation of being surrounded by dozens of other young men who were all desperately trying to appear less intimidated than they actually felt.

“We had to make that first phone call home. Very short, very scripted. Basically, tell your family you've arrived safely, you're fine, don't worry about you.” He gave a quiet laugh. “So I called my mom, told her I'd made it, and she immediately wanted to know whether I'd eaten anything.”

He looked down at his plate for a moment, smiling.

“And I remember thinking, of all the things happening right now, that's what she's worried about. Whether I've had dinner.” He shook his head. “I told her I was fine. She told me she loved me, and then the call was over.”

His smile faded into something quieter.

“I think that was the moment. Not getting on the plane. Not signing the paperwork. Hanging up that phone and realizing I couldn't just call her back whenever I felt like it. That everything was going to be different for a while, whether I was ready or not.”

For a moment, the familiar sounds of the restaurant filled the space between his words. Beyond the terrace, waves rolled gently toward shore. Wes glanced toward them, remembering how far away the ocean had seemed during those first weeks in Illinois, despite being stationed beside one of the largest lakes in the world.

“And you know what my first thought was?” he asked, turning back toward her.

His mouth curved into a crooked smile.

“I've made a terrible mistake.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Seriously. Twenty-one years old, barely there a few hours, and already wondering whether I'd completely screwed up my life. Very inspiring stuff. You should put that in the recruitment brochure.”

The humor came easily now, but he didn't feel any particular need to disguise how overwhelming the experience had been at the time. He'd been young, frightened, and suddenly discovering that confidence didn't count for much when everybody around him was equally inexperienced.

“But then you get through the first day. And the next one. You figure things out. You start making friends, learn what you're doing, realize the people around you are just as confused as you are.” He shrugged. “Eventually, it stops feeling like you're pretending to belong there.”

That progression had taken longer than he'd expected. Even after boot camp, there had been plenty of occasions when he'd felt like he was playing catch-up, especially once he started learning the responsibilities of an Operations Specialist. He'd discovered fairly quickly that he liked the work, though. There was something satisfying about making sense of information other people might overlook, understanding how individual pieces fit into a much larger picture. He liked the responsibility, the expectation that he would pay attention and know what he was doing. And, perhaps most unexpectedly, he'd found that the structure he'd once thought he would hate actually suited him.

“I think the first time I really felt like I belonged was later, once I started working in the combat information center aboard a ship,” he continued. “There's a lot going on in there. Different screens, different reports, people keeping track of everything around the ship. And when you're new, it can feel like everybody speaks a language you only understand about half of.” He smiled faintly. “But there was a point when I realized I wasn't just following somebody else's instructions anymore. I actually understood what I was looking at. People could count on me to do my job.”

He let that thought settle before adding, “That felt pretty good.”

It still did, six years later. He wasn't naive enough to pretend every part of military life was rewarding or that he'd never questioned his choices. There had been exhausting days, frustrating assignments, stretches when he would've given quite a lot to be somewhere else. The Navy could be demanding in ways that were difficult to explain to somebody who hadn't experienced it. But it had also given him friendships, confidence, opportunities, and a sense of purpose he'd been looking for long before he understood what that meant.

“I don't regret it,” he said eventually. “Not saying it's always easy, because it definitely isn't. But I'm glad I made the decision. Even if twenty-one-year-old me would've appreciated somebody explaining the importance of getting a decent night's sleep while he still had the chance.”

He picked up his coffee again, then paused before drinking.

“And I should probably clarify something. You said you thought joining was incredible, but I don't want you thinking I was this exceptionally brave, self-assured guy who knew exactly what he was doing.” His expression softened. “I was just a kid who wanted to figure out his life. The Navy happened to be the direction I chose. You wanting to build a company because you love what you do? That's not really so different.”

He meant it. Their circumstances had been different, and he wasn't about to pretend otherwise. Sloane had grown up with opportunities he'd never possessed, while he'd experienced parts of the world she hadn't. But he didn't consider their choices to be in competition with one another. She had ambitions of her own, and he liked that. He liked that she wanted something she could build and be proud of. In fact, the more he learned about her, the more he suspected that her determination was one of the things that attracted him most.

“Besides,” he added, allowing the sincerity of the moment to give way to something lighter, “I think ten-year-old Sloane Laurent would've made a terrifying Operations Specialist. All those seating charts and perfectly organized parties? You'd have been running the entire operation before anybody else figured out where they were supposed to sit.”

He grinned, thoroughly pleased with that assessment.

“Although I'm pretty sure you would've kicked me out for moving somebody's place card.”

The conversation had carried them through a substantial portion of brunch, although Wes hadn't paid much attention to how much time had passed. He was comfortable, his breakfast was good, and Sloane was looking at him with the kind of genuine interest that made him feel unusually inclined to keep talking. He wasn't accustomed to thinking of his childhood stories as particularly valuable. They were just things that had happened, small pieces of a life he'd lived before becoming the person he was now. But seeing her curiosity made him realize that he wanted her to know them.

He wanted to know more of hers, too.

“And for the record,” he continued, leaning slightly forward, “I absolutely want to hear more about that garden party. Specifically, what Rafe did to ruin it, because there's no way that story ends with him just quietly respecting your organizational skills.”

He reached for his water, his expression becoming thoughtful for a moment before another smile appeared.

“Actually, I'm also going to need photographic evidence of the bangs. You can't just casually mention cutting your own hair and expect me to forget about it.”

The playful challenge remained in his expression, but there was something softer beneath it. He hadn't forgotten that she'd asked him about his life because she genuinely wanted to understand it. Not the simplified version he gave people at parties, not the collection of facts that usually accompanied introductions. She'd wanted to know what he'd been like before the Navy, before Oʻahu, before the two of them had met. He hadn't realized how much that would matter until she asked.

For the first time in a while, Wes found himself thinking about the next few months without immediately considering his duty schedule. He knew there would be obligations, early mornings, and stretches when his time wasn't entirely his own. Those things weren't going away. But there would also be days like this, if they wanted them. Sundays when neither of them had anywhere particularly important to be, and mornings when he could wake up beside someone he liked and spend a ridiculous amount of time deciding where to have breakfast.

He glanced at her across the table, feeling an unexpected flicker of affection.

Four months wasn't an especially long time, but it was long enough for certain things to begin feeling familiar. Her laugh. Her habit of turning perfectly ordinary conversations into elaborate debates. The way she could move from teasing him mercilessly to asking something unexpectedly thoughtful without making the transition feel unnatural. He'd grown fond of all of it, probably more fond than he'd quite admitted aloud.

“Hey,” he said, his tone gentler as he caught her eye. “I had a really good time last night.”

A faint, almost self-conscious smile tugged at his mouth. Wes wasn't generally someone who struggled to say what he meant, but there were certain things he found himself wanting to get right with Sloane.

“And this morning,” he added. “I liked waking up with you.”

He didn't dress the admission up with a joke immediately afterward. For once, he allowed it to stand on its own, something simple and genuine that he wanted her to know. Then, because he was still Wes, and because she was still sitting opposite him with a plate of pancakes she'd expressly forbidden him from touching, his smile gradually turned mischievous again.

“Even if you're apparently the kind of woman who invites a man to breakfast and then refuses to share her food.”

He glanced pointedly toward her plate.

“Little Wes would've stolen a bite by now, just so you know. Twenty-seven-year-old Wes is showing remarkable restraint.”

He settled back comfortably in his chair, looking altogether too pleased with himself.

“That's growth, Laurent. You should be proud.”

Sloane narrowed her eyes at him over the rim of her iced coffee, thoroughly unimpressed by the sudden interest he’d developed in her pancakes. The worst part was that she knew exactly what he was doing. Wes had discovered fairly early in their relationship that the quickest way to get a reaction out of her was to challenge something she’d announced with complete confidence. Unfortunately for him, she’d grown up with Rafe Laurent, which meant she had twenty-four years of experience dealing with men who found themselves considerably funnier than they actually were. “Oh, we’re very happy together, thank you,” she informed him, glancing affectionately down at her plate. “Honestly, things are moving along beautifully. We have a wonderful relationship, excellent communication, and I can always count on them to be there when I need them.” She paused, lifting another forkful toward her mouth before adding with a sweet smile, “It’s everything a girl could want, really.”

There was something particularly satisfying about making him laugh, even when the joke was ridiculous. Sloane had never been someone who struggled to fill a silence, but she was discovering that she liked the comfortable ones with Wes just as much as their conversations. This morning, however, she was enjoying the conversation far too much to let it disappear. Especially when he started asking questions about her childhood garden party. Her face brightened almost immediately, and she set her fork down as though he had just invited her to discuss one of the most significant organizational achievements of her life. “First of all, the invitations were gorgeous. Handmade, obviously. I spent an entire afternoon on them, and yes, there was an RSVP deadline.” She pointed at him with an expression of exaggerated seriousness. “And my father did miss it, actually. Which was incredibly disrespectful considering how much work I’d put into the whole thing. So I informed him that I couldn’t guarantee his preferred seating arrangement. My mother thought it was hilarious. My father tried to negotiate. I was a very busy woman, Wesley. I didn’t have time for negotiations.”

She dissolved into laughter at the memory, shaking her head as she pictured herself at ten years old, marching around her parents’ house with a clipboard and absolutely no understanding of how absurd she looked. “And Rafe was thirteen, which meant he was at the absolute peak of being an obnoxious older brother. I had these beautiful little place cards arranged around the table, and he went around changing them. Suddenly my mother was ‘Her Royal Highness,’ my father was ‘The Bank of Laurent,’ and apparently my official title was ‘Princess of Everything.’” Her lips twitched. “Which, honestly, wasn’t completely inaccurate, but that wasn’t the point. I had a vision, and he was interfering with it.” She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “Anyway, I cried, my mother made him fix everything, and he spent the entire afternoon reminding me that princesses weren’t supposed to be so bossy. Wonderful memories. Truly.”

His comments about her career, however, earned a considerably softer reaction. Sloane glanced down at her coffee for a moment, unable to prevent the pleased little smile spreading across her face. She was accustomed to people being supportive of her ambitions, particularly her parents, but there was something different about hearing Wes say he thought she’d be good at running her own company. He wasn’t telling her she could do it because she had the money or because her family could help her. He was telling her he’d noticed how much she cared about her work. “Thank you,” she said, looking back at him. “Seriously. That actually means a lot.” Her expression brightened again almost immediately. “And for the record, my future employees are absolutely getting mandatory RSVPs. How else am I supposed to maintain order? I can’t have people wandering around my beautifully decorated events like unsupervised livestock.”

When Wes began talking about his childhood, Sloane settled more comfortably in her chair, resting her chin against her palm as she listened. She’d been curious about his younger years since the subject first occurred to her, but the mention of something called the Great Ice Cream Expedition was considerably more promising than she’d anticipated. Her eyebrows rose, and a delighted smile spread across her face. “Oh, this sounds good already,” she murmured, leaning forward slightly. “Please tell me you weren’t one of those little boys who thought he was qualified to lead an expedition simply because he owned a bicycle.”

As it turned out, that was almost exactly what had happened. Sloane listened with increasing amusement as Wes explained how he’d convinced three of his friends to follow him on a bicycle ride to an ice cream shop several towns away, armed with little more than confidence and a completely inadequate understanding of geography. By the time he admitted that he’d never actually known a shortcut, she was laughing hard enough to cover her mouth with her hand. “Wes!” she exclaimed, staring at him in disbelief. “You made those poor children ride their bikes for hours, and you didn’t even get ice cream?” Another burst of laughter escaped her before she could help herself. “Oh my God. I would’ve been furious. Imagine being twelve years old, thinking you’re going on this wonderful adventure, and instead you end up participating in some kind of unauthorized endurance training exercise.”

The image of his father arriving to collect four exhausted boys from outside a closed ice cream shop made her laugh all over again, although something about the memory was unexpectedly endearing. She could picture a younger Wes with the same charming confidence he possessed now, absolutely convinced that everything would work out if he simply kept moving forward. “I love that your dad still brings it up,” she said, grinning. “Because that’s exactly what a good parent should do. You can’t let somebody forget something that spectacular.” Her gaze flickered over his face. “And honestly, the fact that you ended up working with navigation information in the Navy makes this even better. Somewhere, there’s a twelve-year-old version of you who would be absolutely thrilled to discover that people eventually started trusting you with directions again.”

She was still smiling when the conversation turned toward the years before he’d enlisted, but her amusement gradually gave way to something more attentive. It was one thing to hear about an adventurous twelve-year-old boy who’d gotten himself and his friends stranded miles from home. It was another to hear Wes acknowledge that, at twenty-one, he hadn’t actually known what he wanted to do with his life. Sloane had spent so much of her own adolescence assuming that everybody else knew exactly where they were going. She’d been fortunate enough to discover something she loved relatively early, but she also understood that having a plan didn’t automatically mean a person felt confident about following it. There had been moments during college when she’d questioned whether she’d chosen the right degree, and plenty of times since graduation when she’d wondered whether she was genuinely capable of accomplishing everything she wanted.

“I actually think that’s really brave,” she told him, her voice losing its teasing edge. “Not because you joined the Navy specifically, although obviously that’s a big deal. But because you knew you weren’t happy just waiting around, and you actually did something about it.” She glanced toward the ocean for a moment before returning her attention to him. “I think a lot of people spend years talking about changing their lives without ever doing anything. And there’s nothing necessarily wrong with taking your time, but I can understand getting frustrated when you feel like you’re not moving anywhere.” Her smile softened. “I guess I just like that you were willing to figure things out, even if you didn’t know exactly what you were getting yourself into.”

His story about arriving at Great Lakes particularly held her attention. Sloane had never experienced anything remotely similar to military training, and she suspected that whatever she imagined probably didn’t come close to the reality. She could understand the nerves, though. The uncertainty of leaving behind everything familiar, being surrounded by strangers, and suddenly discovering that the decision you’d spent months considering was no longer hypothetical. When he described calling his mother and having her immediately ask whether he’d eaten, Sloane’s expression softened into a fond smile. “That’s such a mom thing to do,” she murmured. “You could tell them you’re standing in the middle of a hurricane, and they’d still want to know if you’d had something for dinner.”

But when he explained that hanging up the phone had been the moment everything became real, she grew quiet. There was something unexpectedly vulnerable about the admission, particularly coming from someone who generally carried himself with such easy confidence. She found herself imagining him at twenty-one, exhausted and nervous, standing in an unfamiliar building hundreds of miles from home and realizing that he couldn’t simply change his mind because things had become uncomfortable. When he finally confessed that his first thought had been that he’d made a terrible mistake, Sloane let out a surprised laugh, although it was accompanied by an almost affectionate shake of her head. “Well, that’s reassuring,” she teased. “Here I was imagining this incredibly inspirational moment where you realized you’d found your calling, and apparently you were just standing there thinking you’d completely ruined your life.”

Her smile lingered, but she didn’t immediately follow it with another joke. Instead, she reached for her iced coffee and listened as Wes continued describing the gradual process of finding his place in the Navy. She liked hearing him talk about his work this way. Not because she understood every technical detail, because she certainly didn’t, but because she could hear the pride in his voice when he described finally becoming confident in his abilities. It reminded her of the first time she’d been trusted to coordinate an event without somebody constantly checking over her shoulder. She’d been terrified of making a mistake, but the satisfaction she’d felt afterward had been enormous. Perhaps their careers weren’t particularly similar, but she understood the feeling of wanting to prove that she was capable.

“I think that’s what I like about hearing you talk about it,” she admitted once he’d finished. “You don’t make it sound like everything was easy or like you were automatically amazing at it. You actually had to work for it.” She smiled across the table. “And I know you probably don’t need me telling you that I’m proud of you, but I am. Six years is a long time to dedicate to something, especially when you started so young.” A mischievous glimmer returned to her eyes. “Even if your professional development apparently involved learning not to lead innocent civilians into the wilderness for ice cream.”

Her laughter returned when he compared her childhood organizational skills to those of an Operations Specialist. “Excuse me, I would’ve been excellent,” she informed him, sitting a little straighter. “I would’ve had everybody color-coded, properly scheduled, and exactly where they were supposed to be. There would’ve been a spreadsheet. Maybe two.” She paused thoughtfully. “Although I probably would’ve lasted about fifteen minutes before somebody told me I wasn’t allowed to redecorate anything, and then we’d have had a problem.” She shook her head, thoroughly amused by the idea of herself attempting to navigate military life. “Honestly, I think we’re both better off where we ended up.”

She’d nearly forgotten about the bangs until he brought them up again. Immediately, her expression changed into one of exaggerated horror. “Absolutely not,” she announced, pointing her fork at him. “Those photographs are classified information. You don’t have the necessary clearance.” Of course, she was laughing before she’d even finished speaking. “I was nineteen, I was bored, and I watched approximately three videos of girls cutting their own curtain bangs. They made it look so easy! And I thought, well, I have scissors. How difficult could it possibly be?” She pressed her lips together, remembering the disaster with considerably less amusement than she felt now. “Apparently, very difficult. I cut one side too short, tried to fix the other side, and somehow ended up looking like I’d lost an argument with a lawn mower. Maya laughed so hard she could barely breathe. I wore headbands for weeks.”

She shook her head, still smiling at the memory. “There might be photographic evidence somewhere, but I’m warning you now, that’s a privilege you have to earn.” Her gaze dropped briefly to his breakfast before returning to his face. “And considering you’ve spent the last half hour threatening the structural integrity of my pancakes, I’d say you’re currently on probation.”

The easy teasing had become one of her favorite things about spending time with him. They could laugh about ridiculous childhood mistakes one moment and talk about something genuinely meaningful the next without the conversation feeling forced. Sloane liked that. She liked discovering that the confident, capable man sitting across from her had once been a nervous twenty-one-year-old wondering whether he’d made a terrible decision. She liked knowing he’d been a slightly ridiculous twelve-year-old who’d gotten lost trying to find ice cream. And she liked that he seemed interested in hearing about the little girl who’d once made her father RSVP to a garden party. There was something comforting about getting to know the less polished versions of each other, especially when so much of dating seemed to involve presenting the most attractive, impressive version of yourself.

When Wes’s tone softened and he told her he’d enjoyed the night before, Sloane felt an immediate warmth spread through her chest. It was such a simple admission, and yet it caught her slightly off guard. Not because she hadn’t enjoyed herself, or because he’d given her any reason to believe he hadn’t, but because she’d spent more time than she cared to admit wondering whether having him stay over would somehow change things between them. She’d been careful about that part of their relationship from the beginning. She liked him, genuinely liked him, and the possibility of becoming just another woman he’d spent a night with had frightened her more than she’d ever admit aloud. Hawaii was full of servicemen, and she’d grown up hearing enough stories about charming sailors and temporary romances to develop a healthy amount of skepticism. Wes had never given her reason to believe he was anything like the men in those stories, but the fear of caring more than somebody else wasn’t always particularly rational.

“I liked waking up with you, too,” she admitted, her smile becoming softer and a little shy despite her best efforts. She absently brushed a loose blonde wave away from her cheek, glancing down at her plate before looking back at him. “Actually, I really liked it.” Her smile widened. “Although I should probably warn you that I don’t normally let people witness the glamorous morning routine. You got the exclusive experience. Messy hair, absolutely no idea where my slippers were, and me wandering around trying to remember whether I’d actually bought more coffee.” She gave a small, breathy laugh. “Very luxurious. Very Laurent.”

There was more she could have said, certainly. She could have told him how nice it had felt not to wake up alone, or how much she’d liked the ordinary intimacy of sharing her apartment with him for a morning. She could have admitted that she’d been thinking about it ever since they’d left. But Sloane wasn’t quite ready to lay all of that out in front of him, particularly when their relationship still existed in that peculiar space between dating and something more official. Four months wasn’t an insignificant amount of time, and she was beginning to feel increasingly aware of the fact that they hadn’t actually discussed what they were. Still, she didn’t want to turn a perfectly lovely brunch into an interrogation. She wanted him to choose her because he wanted to, and for the moment, she was content to enjoy the fact that he’d stayed because he’d wanted to be there.

Naturally, Wes chose that exact moment to resume his campaign against her pancakes.

Sloane stared at him for a beat before slowly lowering her fork. “Remarkable restraint?” she repeated, her expression shifting into theatrical disbelief. “Wesley Callow, you have spent practically this entire meal emotionally terrorizing a plate of pancakes that has done absolutely nothing to you.” She shook her head, although the smile threatening to break across her face ruined any possibility of appearing genuinely offended. “I mean, really. You tell me this beautiful story about your childhood, make me feel all sentimental about your mother, say something incredibly sweet about waking up with me, and then immediately return to threatening my breakfast. It’s honestly impressive.”

She glanced down at the remaining pancakes, then back at him, pretending to consider the situation with the seriousness it deserved. After a moment, she cut off a generous bite with a little fruit and held the fork out across the table in his direction. “Fine,” she announced with an exaggerated sigh. “One bite. But only because you told me about the Great Ice Cream Expedition, and frankly, I think twelve-year-old you deserves to finally have something sweet after that disaster.” Her expression softened into an affectionate grin. “And because I like you. A little. Don’t let it go to your head.”

The admission came easily enough when disguised as a joke, although there was considerably more truth behind it than she intended to acknowledge. Sloane was discovering that she liked these little moments with Wes just as much as the romantic ones. Perhaps even more. There was something wonderful about realizing that a person could make her laugh until her cheeks hurt and then, without any particular effort, make her feel understood. She wanted more afternoons like this. More stories about his childhood, more conversations about the Navy, more opportunities to discover the person he’d been before their lives had intersected. Four months had given her a good understanding of how much she enjoyed being around him, but it was becoming increasingly clear that there was still so much left to learn.

“Actually, I have another question,” she said, settling back comfortably once she’d offered him the bite. Her smile turned curious again, the way it always seemed to when she became genuinely interested in something. “You said you didn’t really know what you wanted to do before you enlisted. So what did you think your life was going to look like when you were younger? Like, before the Navy was even a possibility.” She tilted her head slightly, studying him across the table. “Did little Wes have some completely ridiculous dream job? Because I feel like you were either the kid who wanted to be an astronaut or the kid who genuinely believed he was going to become a professional race-car driver.”

She laughed softly, then leaned forward again, resting her chin against her palm. “And I want to hear about the people, too. Your family, your friends, the ones you met when you enlisted. You keep telling me about these adventures, and now I’m curious about everybody who survived them.” Her expression grew a little more affectionate. “I know what you do, Wes. I know you’re good at it, and I know you’ve worked really hard to get where you are. But I want to know the other stuff, too. The things that have absolutely nothing to do with being Petty Officer Callow.”

Her smile widened just enough to bring a little mischief back into the conversation. “Although, for the record, if you have any more stories involving questionable leadership decisions and recreational activities gone horribly wrong, I’d like those first.” She took another sip of her iced coffee, her eyes bright with amusement as she looked at him. “I’m starting to think your childhood was a lot more entertaining than you’ve been letting on.”

Wes made it as far as The Bank of Laurent before he started laughing again, lowering his coffee before he could do something unfortunate with it. He'd expected Rafe to have interfered with the garden party somehow, but the actual details were considerably better than anything he'd imagined. There was something almost impressive about the precision of it. Thirteen-year-old Rafe had apparently possessed an excellent understanding of exactly which buttons to push, and his little sister had given him every opportunity to exercise that particular talent. “Okay, I'm sorry, but your brother was kind of a genius for that one.” He grinned across the table, entirely unapologetic. “And I don't know, Princess of Everything has a pretty nice ring to it. Might've been the most accurate place card at the party.” He picked up his coffee again, still looking amused. “But making your dad negotiate for his seat? That's cold. Remind me never to miss one of your deadlines.” He could picture her at ten with remarkable ease, and not merely because she'd described the entire production in such entertaining detail. The determination was familiar. So was the indignation when somebody failed to appreciate the amount of work she'd put into something. He'd seen glimpses of both over the past several months, usually when she was discussing an event she was organizing or explaining why somebody else's failure to follow a perfectly reasonable schedule had created an entirely avoidable disaster. It was one of the things he liked about her. Sloane could be particular, occasionally to an absurd degree, but there was usually a purpose behind it. She cared about getting things right, and she took genuine satisfaction in making something turn out beautifully.

Her comment about mandatory RSVPs for her future employees earned an affectionate shake of his head. “You know what? I believe you. And when you have your own company, I'm going to be the guy who responds three weeks early. I value my seating privileges.” His expression softened into something more sincere. “I'm serious about the company, though. I hope you do it. I think you'd be really good at it.” He didn't particularly need to elaborate. He'd already told her what he thought, and repeating it in increasingly complimentary terms wasn't going to make the sentiment any more genuine. Instead, he let himself enjoy the pleased expression she'd given him when he'd first brought it up. Sloane was accustomed to compliments; that much was obvious. She received them easily, sometimes with a playful little flourish that suggested she considered them entirely justified. But he'd noticed that praise concerning her work landed differently. She seemed to take it more personally, as though those opinions carried a weight that admiration for her appearance couldn't quite match. He made a quiet mental note of that, not because he intended to start handing out compliments strategically, but because understanding what mattered to her was becoming increasingly important to him.

He was considerably less composed when she started giving her assessment of the Great Ice Cream Expedition. The unauthorized endurance training remark nearly made him choke on his coffee, and he had to put the cup down while he laughed. “Okay, first of all, nobody was forced to participate. Everybody volunteered.” He held up a finger, adopting an expression of mock seriousness. “Second, we were building character. Improving cardiovascular endurance. Learning valuable life skills.” His grin widened. “And third, I was twelve. I feel like that deserves some consideration.” He wasn't particularly interested in defending the expedition beyond that. It had been a terrible idea, and he'd known it was a terrible idea long before his father arrived to collect them. The fact that his father continued bringing it up fifteen years later was a testament to just how spectacularly he'd miscalculated. Still, there was something satisfying about seeing Sloane laugh over a story that had once represented one of the great humiliations of his childhood. He'd always enjoyed making people laugh, although there was a difference between entertaining a table full of friends and watching one particular person become so amused that she could barely get her words out. He liked the latter quite a bit.

The teasing was easy to handle, but her sincerity required a little more adjustment. Wes wasn't uncomfortable receiving praise, exactly. He knew he'd worked hard, and he wasn't opposed to having that acknowledged. But Sloane telling him she was proud of him caught him differently than he'd anticipated. He'd spent years answering questions about the Navy, most of them perfectly reasonable, and he'd learned to recognize the difference between polite interest and someone who genuinely wanted to understand what his experience had been like. She hadn't seemed especially concerned with whether his stories made him sound impressive. She'd laughed at the ridiculous parts, listened to the difficult ones, and apparently decided there was something worth admiring in the whole messy process. His expression grew a little more thoughtful as he considered her across the table. “Well, thank you,” he said, the familiar teasing temporarily absent from his voice. “I mean that. It's nice hearing it from you.” He didn't make a production of the admission, but he held her gaze long enough to make sure she understood it was genuine. There were people in his life whose opinions mattered enormously to him, and somewhere along the way Sloane had become one of them. He hadn't consciously decided that she should occupy such a position. It had happened through ordinary things: conversations that continued longer than he'd intended, plans he found himself looking forward to days in advance, the realization that when something particularly good or particularly ridiculous happened, she was becoming one of the first people he wanted to tell.

Her description of a hypothetical military career provided a welcome return to lighter territory. “Oh, you'd definitely have spreadsheets,” he agreed. “And I'm sure they'd be beautiful spreadsheets. Color-coded, properly labeled, probably a coordinated font situation.” His mouth curved. “But I think you're underestimating how many people would deliberately mess with your system just to watch what happened.” He considered that for a moment before adding, “Actually, you've spent your entire life dealing with Rafe. You'd probably be fine.” He rather liked imagining her attempting to impose her particular standards on an environment that had very little interest in accommodating them. Not because he thought she'd be incapable of adapting, but because he knew she'd have strong opinions about virtually everything. He could almost hear her politely informing somebody that a perfectly functional arrangement was aesthetically unacceptable. It was probably fortunate that she'd chosen hospitality instead.

The revelation about her bangs was another matter entirely. “Nineteen?” he repeated, his eyebrows rising. “You were nineteen years old and thought three internet videos qualified you to perform your own haircut?” There was considerable satisfaction in his expression now. “And you were giving me a hard time about making questionable decisions when I was twelve?” He laughed again, shaking his head. The visual she'd provided was almost too good, particularly the thought of Maya being completely unable to contain herself. He'd heard enough about Sloane's best friend to find the description entirely believable. “I don't know, Laurent. I'm starting to think the two of us had pretty similar approaches to problem-solving. Step one, develop unreasonable confidence. Step two, ignore every indication that the plan might be terrible.” He paused, his grin turning decidedly mischievous. “Although at least my hair survived my mistakes.” Her insistence that the photographs required special clearance only made him more interested, but he was happy enough to leave the matter alone for now. He suspected the pictures would eventually surface, especially if Maya had anything to say about it. He didn't particularly need to campaign for them. Besides, he'd already collected enough material from their conversation to keep her thoroughly annoyed with him for the foreseeable future.

What stayed with him, however, was the way she'd answered his admission about the morning they'd shared. He'd noticed the brief change in her expression when he'd brought it up, the little smile that had appeared before she'd started describing her supposedly unglamorous routine. She had an appealing habit of making even her more sincere admissions sound playful, and he was becoming fairly good at recognizing when there was something underneath the joke. He hadn't missed the distinction between enjoying the morning and really enjoying it. The second admission had been quieter, a little less carefully presented, and he'd liked hearing it considerably more than he could have explained. “Just so we're clear, I didn't find any part of this morning particularly traumatic,” he told her, a warm amusement in his voice. “Not even the coffee situation. Although I was beginning to think we might have to organize a search party for those slippers.” He smiled, allowing the joke to settle before adding something a little more straightforward. “And you don't have to be all dressed up and glamorous every time I'm around, you know. I like you just fine when you're wandering around your apartment trying to figure out where you left everything.”

It was probably worth saying. He certainly appreciated the effort she'd made for their date, and he'd have been an idiot not to notice how beautiful she looked. But he'd enjoyed seeing her in her own space that morning, comfortable enough to move around without worrying about whether everything was perfectly arranged. It hadn't diminished his attraction to her. Quite the opposite, actually. There was something appealing about the difference between the polished woman who could walk into a room and immediately command attention and the one who'd spent part of the morning searching for a missing pair of slippers. He didn't dwell on the observation aloud. Sloane had already given him enough to know the experience had meant something to her, and there was no reason to turn an enjoyable morning into an unnecessarily serious conversation about what came next. That discussion would happen eventually. He was aware of it, and he wasn't particularly interested in avoiding it forever. But he also wasn't going to manufacture a moment simply because four months had begun to feel like a significant amount of time.

Then, at long last, she offered him a bite of her pancakes. Wes regarded the fork with exaggerated surprise, as though she'd just presented him with an exceptionally generous diplomatic agreement. “Wow. Look at that. International relations improving right before our eyes.” He leaned forward to accept the offered bite, taking care not to disturb the little arrangement of fruit she'd included. The pancakes were warm, delicate, and considerably better than he'd been expecting, the bright citrus flavor cutting through the sweetness. He chewed thoughtfully, glanced at her plate, and then looked back at her with an expression of reluctant appreciation. “Okay. Those are really good.” He sat back, considering the matter with unnecessary seriousness. “Still think you could've been a little more cooperative about sharing, but I understand the attachment now.” Her admission that she liked him earned a different sort of smile. It wasn't quite the teasing grin he'd been wearing a moment earlier, although there was still plenty of amusement in it. He'd heard her make similar remarks before, usually with some exaggerated qualification designed to keep him from looking too pleased. He understood the game. He also knew that neither of them was entirely joking anymore. “Yeah?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “A little?” He let the question hang for a moment before reaching for his water, his expression entirely too satisfied. “That's good. I was starting to worry I was the only one.”

There was enough warmth beneath the remark to make his meaning clear without requiring anything more elaborate. He wasn't especially interested in pretending indifference when he liked someone, and he'd never understood the appeal of turning affection into a competition over who could admit to feeling less. Sloane was important to him. He liked spending time with her, liked making her laugh, liked being close to her and discovering how much he enjoyed the ordinary intimacy of waking up beside her. He didn't see much point in acting as though those things were insignificant. Her next set of questions, however, caught him with absolutely no prepared response. “An astronaut or a race-car driver?” Wes repeated, laughing. “Those are my options? Nothing in between?” He settled back into his chair, considering the question with an expression of exaggerated concentration. It was funny how rarely anybody asked him what he'd wanted to be when he was little. He'd spent so much of his adult life explaining why he'd joined the Navy that the years before he'd seriously considered a military career seemed almost like a separate existence.

“Actually, I wanted to be a park ranger for a while,” he admitted. “I was probably eight or nine. Maybe ten. Somewhere around there.” He smiled at the memory, recalling the countless weekends he'd spent outdoors with his family. “My dad used to take us hiking and camping when we were kids. Growing up in Fort Collins, you've got some pretty incredible places practically in your backyard. We'd spend weekends up around Horsetooth, take trips into the mountains, that kind of thing.” He paused to take another sip of his coffee before continuing. “And I thought park rangers had the greatest job in the world. They got to spend all day outside, knew everything about animals, drove around in those trucks, and apparently nobody ever made them sit in an office.” His mouth twitched at the recollection. “Obviously, I had a very sophisticated understanding of the profession.” There had been a period when he'd been positively obsessive about it. His father, who still taught high-school science, had encouraged his curiosity with the sort of enthusiasm Wes hadn't always appreciated at the time. Daniel Callow had never been particularly good at giving a simple answer when an elaborate explanation was available, and a casual question about the natural world could turn into an entire lesson before anybody realized what was happening.

“I had this little notebook I carried around everywhere. My dad gave it to me so I could write down interesting things we saw when we went hiking. Birds, tracks, plants, whatever.” He shook his head, smiling. “Except most of my observations were completely useless. I'd draw a picture of something that looked vaguely like a deer and write down that it was brown and moving pretty fast. Very scientific.” He remembered his father taking those observations seriously anyway, asking questions about what he'd seen and encouraging him to look things up when they got home. It hadn't made Wes particularly interested in becoming a scientist, but it had given him an appreciation for paying attention to the world around him. There were probably worse things a kid could learn. “Then I got older and realized park rangers don't just get paid to go camping and look at wildlife. There's apparently a whole job involved.” His grin widened. “Terrible discovery. Really ruined the dream.”

He considered the question a little further, amused by how many different futures he'd imagined for himself over the years. “I went through a few other phases. Thought being a musician would be pretty cool for about six months, mostly because I liked the idea of playing guitar in a band. Turns out liking music and actually having the patience to learn an instrument are two very different things.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I could play maybe three chords. Badly. My friends and I talked about starting a band anyway, because apparently we were operating under the assumption that musical ability was optional.” He laughed at himself, remembering the enthusiastic conversations that had produced absolutely nothing resembling an actual performance. “After that, I don't think I had one specific dream job. I just wanted to do something interesting. Travel. Have some adventures. Make enough money to do the things I wanted without having to ask anybody for permission.” His expression grew a little more thoughtful. “Which isn't much of a career plan when you're seventeen, but it sounded good at the time.”

It had been part of what made those first years after high school so frustrating. He'd known what he wanted his life to feel like without having the slightest idea what he wanted to do with it. There was a difference, one he'd taken a while to understand. Looking back, he could recognize the same restless curiosity that had once sent him wandering around Colorado with a notebook and a wildly inaccurate understanding of local geography. The Navy hadn't created that part of him. It had simply given him somewhere to put it. “But I had a good childhood,” he continued, returning to the part of her question about his family. “Really good, actually. My parents are great. They've been married forever, they're still ridiculously fond of each other, and neither of them has ever been particularly impressed by my attempts to sound more important than I am.” The thought brought an affectionate smile to his face, and he found himself enjoying the opportunity to describe people who were such an ordinary, fundamental part of his life to someone who hadn't known him then.

“My dad's Daniel. High-school science teacher. He's the kind of guy who can turn a ten-minute conversation about the weather into an explanation of atmospheric pressure, but he's also really funny when he's not trying to be. Very dry sense of humor. And he's got this ability to look at you over the top of his glasses when you've done something stupid that makes you feel about six years old again.” Wes had inherited more from his father than he'd probably appreciated growing up. The curiosity, certainly. Some of the humor, too. Daniel wasn't particularly loud or demanding, but he'd always possessed a quiet confidence Wes admired, the kind that came from knowing who he was without needing to convince anybody else. “My mom's Becca. Rebecca, technically, but pretty much everybody calls her Becca. She's a physical therapist, and she's one of those people who can be incredibly sympathetic right up until she realizes you're being dramatic.” His smile turned mischievous. “If you were actually hurt, she'd take care of you. If you were pretending to be hurt because you didn't want to do chores, she'd know in about thirty seconds.” He could remember more than one occasion when his mother had regarded his supposed ailments with professional skepticism before suggesting that perhaps taking out the trash would help him recover. She was warm, affectionate, and extraordinarily difficult to fool. Of his two parents, she'd probably been the one who understood his moods most instinctively, even during the years when he hadn't been particularly inclined to explain them.

“And then there's Hannah.” His expression changed at the mention of his sister, a smile appearing that was equal parts affection and exasperation. “She's twenty-three. Four years younger than me. She's in grad school now, which she will absolutely remind you of if you give her an opportunity.” He shook his head fondly. “Smart, funny, stubborn as hell. She was the annoying little sister who wanted to be included in everything I did when we were kids, and somewhere along the way she became one of my favorite people.” He'd always been protective of Hannah, although he'd never particularly enjoyed admitting it when they were younger. Four years was an enormous age difference when one of you was twelve and the other was eight. She'd wanted to follow him everywhere, and he'd been convinced that having a little sister hanging around would irreparably damage his reputation. Naturally, she'd learned very quickly that threatening to tell their mother about his questionable decisions was an excellent way to secure an invitation. “She also has an unbelievable memory for every embarrassing thing I've ever done,” he added. “And unlike my dad, who usually brings things up because he thinks they're funny, Hannah does it strategically. She waits until I've got an audience.”

He glanced toward the ocean, another childhood memory surfacing as he thought about the trouble he and his sister had managed to find together. “Actually, I've got a pretty good one for you. Different expedition. Much shorter distance. Somehow still went wrong.” His grin widened. “When I was about ten, I decided Hannah and I should camp in the backyard. We'd been on this family camping trip a couple of weeks earlier, and I was convinced I knew everything there was to know about surviving outdoors. So I got my dad to help me set up this little tent, collected a bunch of supplies, and announced that we were going to spend the entire night outside.” The recollection amused him even before he reached the part where everything had gone wrong. “Hannah was six, and she was thrilled. She brought a sleeping bag, a flashlight, and this enormous stuffed giraffe that took up about half the tent. I told her she couldn't bring the giraffe because we were supposed to be roughing it. She told my mom. The giraffe stayed.” He gave a small shrug, acknowledging the inevitable outcome. “Anyway, we lasted until sometime after midnight. I was just starting to fall asleep when the automatic sprinklers came on.”

The memory still struck him as spectacularly funny, particularly the sheer indignation he'd felt at the time. One moment he'd been lying comfortably in his sleeping bag, feeling enormously accomplished. The next, cold water had begun hammering against the tent, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of Hannah shrieking. “She thought somebody was attacking us. I thought the tent was leaking. Neither of us had enough sense to realize what was happening for about thirty seconds.” He laughed, still able to picture his sister's horrified expression. “We ended up running back to the house, soaking wet, carrying all our stuff. Hannah was crying because her giraffe had gotten wet, and I was furious because apparently nobody had thought to tell us the sprinklers were going to turn on.” He shook his head, smiling at the memory of his father's reaction. “My dad came downstairs, looked out the window, and just said, 'Oh. Right. The sprinklers.' Like he'd forgotten they existed.” Wes's smile broadened. “My mom got us towels, made sure Hannah was okay, and then told me that next time I decided to organize a wilderness survival expedition, maybe I should check whether the wilderness had an irrigation system.”

He laughed again, a little quieter this time, finding it surprisingly pleasant to revisit memories he hadn't thought about in years. “So yeah. My childhood involved a lot of ambitious plans, varying levels of success, and my parents having to deal with the consequences. But they were good about it. They let us be kids. We had rules, obviously, and we got in trouble when we deserved it, but we had a lot of fun.” It was something he'd appreciated more as he'd gotten older. There hadn't been anything particularly extraordinary about their house in Fort Collins. His parents had worked, he and Hannah had gone to school, they'd eaten dinner together when schedules allowed, and they'd spent weekends doing whatever the family could agree on. Sometimes that meant hiking or camping. Other times it meant staying home, watching movies, or arguing over who'd cheated during a board game. He remembered long summer evenings, the smell of food cooking outside, and Hannah attempting to convince everybody that the rules of whatever game they were playing had been unfairly designed to disadvantage her. He'd grown up surrounded by people who loved him, and even when he was younger and desperate to get out into the world, he'd never doubted that he had somewhere to come back to.

“I miss them,” he admitted, without making the observation particularly solemn. “I talk to them pretty regularly. Hannah and I text all the time, and my mom calls whenever she decides it's been too long since she's heard my voice.” He gave Sloane an amused look. “My dad mostly sends me things he thinks I'll find interesting. Articles, pictures from hikes, terrible jokes. Sometimes he'll call just to ask whether I've heard about some new scientific discovery, and then I get a twenty-minute explanation before I can answer.” He didn't mind. In fact, he liked it. His family had been supportive when he'd enlisted, although he knew the decision hadn't been easy for his parents. They'd worried, naturally, and the distance sometimes made ordinary things difficult. He'd missed birthdays, holidays, and stretches of everyday life that couldn't be recovered simply by calling home. But he'd also learned that being close to his family didn't necessarily require living down the street from them.

“As for my friends, I've got a few back home I've known since we were kids. Still keep in touch with a couple of the guys from the ice cream disaster, actually.” His mouth twitched. “One of them sends me screenshots of Google Maps whenever I tell him I'm going somewhere. He's apparently never going to get over it.” He reached for his water, taking a drink before continuing. “We don't talk every day or anything. Everybody's got their own lives now. Some stayed in Colorado, some moved away. But when I go home, it's usually pretty easy to fall back into things. We get together, catch up, give each other a hard time. Somebody inevitably brings up something embarrassing from high school.” Those friendships were comfortable in a way that didn't require much maintenance. They'd known one another before careers and adult responsibilities complicated everything, and there was something reassuring about returning to people who remembered him as a gangly teenager with questionable hair and an inflated sense of his own abilities.

“The Navy's different,” he continued. “You meet people from all over the place, and suddenly you're spending an incredible amount of time together. Sometimes more than you spend with your own family. You get to know people pretty quickly when you're working ridiculous hours and sharing the same cramped spaces.” He smiled faintly, remembering the friendships he'd formed during his first years of service. There had been people he'd gotten along with immediately and others he'd initially found irritating, only to discover months later that they were exactly the sort of friends he wanted around when things got difficult. “I've got a buddy from early in my career I still talk to pretty regularly. We ended up going different directions after training, but we've stayed close. And there are a few guys out here I spend time with when we're off duty.” His grin returned. “Pickup soccer sometimes, trivia nights, beach cookouts. Normal stuff. Although I should warn you that a surprising number of grown men in the Navy are deeply incapable of losing gracefully.” He was perfectly aware that he belonged to that category himself, at least occasionally. His competitive streak wasn't particularly subtle, especially when the stakes were low enough that nobody had any reason to take the outcome seriously. He'd once gotten into an argument over a trivia question that had continued for the better part of an evening, despite the fact that the entire prize amounted to a modest bar tab. He still maintained he'd been right.

“I think that's one of the things I like about having friends outside the Navy, too,” he added after a moment. “It's nice having people around who don't particularly care what your rank is or what you do all day. Not that I don't like my job. I do. But sometimes I want to spend an afternoon talking about literally anything else.” He looked at Sloane with a small, familiar smile. “Which, apparently, is where you come in. I've spent the last hour discussing my childhood failures and defending my reputation against some pretty serious accusations.” It was an affectionate observation, but there was truth beneath it. Wes hadn't realized quite how refreshing it would be to spend time with someone who was genuinely curious about his life without being fascinated exclusively by his career. Sloane knew he was in the Navy, and she respected what that meant. But she didn't treat his uniform as the most interesting thing about him. She wanted to know about his family, his friends, the places he'd grown up, and the completely ordinary decisions that had shaped him long before he'd enlisted. He liked that she was interested in those things. More than that, he liked the idea of eventually letting her become familiar with them herself.

“I think you'd get along with my family,” he said, the thought slipping into the conversation with surprising ease. He considered it for a moment, then smiled. “Actually, I know you would. My mom would love you. My dad would probably ask you about your work and then somehow turn the conversation into a discussion about whether event lighting affects people's perception of space.” He laughed quietly, already able to imagine how such a conversation might unfold. “And Hannah... Hannah would be trouble. I can tell you that right now.” His sister had never been particularly shy about offering opinions on his personal life. She was protective in her own way, although she'd probably argue that she was simply exercising her right as his younger sibling to interfere whenever she considered it necessary. Wes had learned long ago that attempting to discourage her curiosity only made her more determined. “She'd ask you approximately a hundred questions, pretend she's conducting a perfectly innocent conversation, and somehow walk away knowing more about me than I told her.” He shook his head. “And if you two decided you liked each other, I'd probably never have another moment of peace.”

The idea didn't bother him nearly as much as his tone suggested. In fact, imagining Sloane sitting around his parents' table in Colorado came surprisingly easily. He could picture her laughing with his mother, trading remarks with Hannah, and somehow managing to charm his father while simultaneously encouraging every embarrassing childhood story his family had ever collected. He suspected she'd be a particularly enthusiastic audience for the Callows' collective efforts to keep him humble. The thought was pleasant enough that he allowed himself to entertain it for a few moments before returning his attention to the present. He wasn't planning a family introduction over brunch, and he certainly didn't expect Sloane to interpret a casual comment as some kind of declaration. But he liked knowing that the possibility didn't feel strange. He liked knowing he wanted her to meet them. “Anyway,” he continued, his mouth curving into another smile, “if you ever do meet my sister, don't let her convince you that she was the innocent one growing up. She was just better at making sure somebody else got blamed.”

He glanced toward Sloane's plate, where the remains of her breakfast had finally been granted a temporary reprieve from his commentary. The restaurant had grown a little busier as the morning progressed, although their table still felt comfortably removed from most of the activity. Sunlight moved through the leaves overhead, casting shifting patches of brightness across the tablecloth. Somewhere beyond the terrace, a burst of laughter rose from the beach before being swallowed by the steady sound of the surf. Wes had barely noticed the passage of time. He'd never been somebody who needed constant entertainment, but he wasn't particularly inclined to spend hours sitting around doing nothing either. He liked being active, having plans, finding things to do. Yet here he was, perfectly happy to let breakfast stretch well beyond any reasonable duration simply because he was enjoying the company. There was something quietly significant about that, even if he wasn't inclined to spend the rest of the morning examining what it meant.

He looked back at Sloane, taking in the bright expression that had accompanied her questions, the easy way she seemed to settle into their conversation, and the familiar anticipation he felt whenever she was about to say something he suspected would make him laugh. “You know,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “I feel like I've given you a pretty good amount of material to work with today. You've got the ice cream disaster, the backyard camping incident, my incredibly short-lived music career...” He counted them off on his fingers, adopting a thoughtfully aggrieved expression. “That's a lot of embarrassing personal history for one brunch.” His grin widened as he considered the apparent imbalance. “And what have I gotten in return? A story about a garden party, one haircut disaster, and a single bite of pancakes. Doesn't seem like a particularly fair exchange.” He let the accusation settle for a moment before his expression softened. “I'm kidding. Mostly.”

He wasn't, however, finished being curious about her. There were plenty of things he already knew. He knew she loved her work, adored her family despite the occasional exasperation they caused her, and possessed an impressive talent for making even ordinary activities feel like occasions worth enjoying. He knew she could be competitive, occasionally stubborn, and deeply particular about certain things. He knew the way she smiled when she was genuinely pleased and the slightly different smile she wore when she was about to make trouble. But he was starting to realize how much more there was to learn, and the prospect didn't feel daunting. It felt enjoyable, like discovering that a place he'd already grown fond of contained entire streets he hadn't explored yet.

“Actually, I've got a question for you,” he said, settling back in his chair. “You've told me you knew pretty early that you wanted to work in hospitality, but what about everything else? When you were a kid, what did you imagine your life would look like when you turned twenty-five?” He paused, his smile turning mischievous. “And before you answer, I'm not talking about the professional version. I already know you were born with a clipboard in your hand and a five-year business plan.” He laughed softly, entirely too entertained by the image he'd conjured. “I mean the other stuff. Where you thought you'd live, what you'd be doing on weekends, what kind of people you thought you'd have around. Did you imagine you'd still be here? Did you picture yourself getting married young? Living somewhere completely different?” The question was sincere, although he was careful to keep it conversational rather than making it sound like an attempt to extract information about her expectations for their relationship. He wasn't trying to find out whether Sloane had a specific timeline in mind for settling down. He was genuinely curious about the future she'd imagined for herself before adulthood had complicated the picture.

He certainly hadn't expected his own life to look quite the way it did. At seventeen, he'd imagined himself traveling, making money, doing something exciting, and generally enjoying the independence that came with getting older. He'd given comparatively little thought to the details. Marriage, children, where he might eventually settle—all of those things had seemed comfortably distant. Now he was twenty-seven, sitting across from a woman he was growing increasingly attached to, and finding that the ordinary possibilities he'd once barely considered were starting to look rather appealing. He didn't need to announce that observation. It was enough to recognize it for himself. “And since we're apparently sharing humiliating evidence from our formative years,” he added, his grin returning, “I feel like I should eventually get to see at least one picture of you as a kid. Preferably the ten-year-old event-planning tyrant. Clipboard and everything.”

His gaze drifted toward the beach, where a few people were making their way along the sand near the water, and the sight gave him another idea. He didn't have anywhere particularly important to be, and the prospect of ending their date simply because they'd finished eating seemed increasingly unnecessary. “Actually, I've got another idea.” He turned back toward her, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I don't have anywhere I need to be this afternoon. And unless you've got some secret appointment you haven't told me about, I was thinking we could take a walk after we're done here. Maybe head down to the beach for a while.” His expression remained open and relaxed, the suggestion offered without any expectation that she'd have to agree. “Beautiful weather, good company. Seems like a shame to rush off.”

He could already imagine how pleasant it would be to leave the restaurant behind for a while, trading the table between them for the open stretch of sand and the occasional brush of her hand against his. There was no particular destination he had in mind, and he liked that. They could walk until one of them got tired, find somewhere to sit, or simply enjoy the sunshine without needing to accomplish anything. For somebody whose schedule was so often dictated by other people's requirements, an afternoon without obligations was an opportunity he was perfectly happy to appreciate. And if he was going to spend it with someone, Sloane was currently at the very top of his list.

Then his mouth curved into one last, unmistakably mischievous smile. “And before you ask, yes, I know how to get there. I'm looking at it right now. I feel pretty confident I can manage the distance without requiring parental assistance.” He reached for his water, apparently quite satisfied with the proposal, before adding with a grin, “Although if we somehow end up three towns over looking for ice cream, I'm blaming you.”

Sloane had absolutely no intention of allowing Wes to side with her brother, especially when the incident in question had been one of the most devastating betrayals of her entire ten-year-old existence. Her mouth fell open in exaggerated disbelief, and she slowly lowered her iced coffee to the table. “Oh, absolutely not. You don’t get to encourage him,” she protested, although the smile tugging at her lips made it difficult to appear genuinely offended. “Rafe Laurent has spent twenty-four years being an absolute menace to me, and the last thing I need is my—” She caught herself before finishing the sentence, her expression faltering for the briefest moment. Boyfriend. That was the word she’d nearly used, wasn’t it? How ridiculous. She recovered quickly enough, giving her head a little shake. “The last thing I need is you giving him additional material. And for your information, Princess of Everything was a title I earned through hard work, dedication, and an extraordinary commitment to excellence.” She lifted her chin proudly. “Besides, my father absolutely deserved to lose his preferred seat. Actions have consequences.”

Of course, the idea of Wes responding to one of her future company invitations three weeks early was enough to soften her indignation. She laughed, shaking her head as she reached for her coffee again. “Three weeks early? Oh, you’re getting the good seat. Front row, unobstructed view, excellent proximity to the dessert table. I reward responsible behavior.” His continued encouragement about her business meant considerably more than the joking response suggested, however. Sloane had spent years imagining what her future company might look like, but there were days when the dream seemed impossibly far away. She knew how fortunate she was to have financial security and a family capable of helping her, yet she wanted the satisfaction of building something herself. Hearing Wes speak about her ambitions with such uncomplicated confidence made her feel unexpectedly supported. “And thank you,” she added more quietly, her smile turning sincere. “I know I keep saying that, but I really do appreciate it. Sometimes I get so caught up in everything I still have to learn that I forget I’ve actually accomplished quite a bit already.”

Her composure didn’t last particularly long once he started defending the Great Ice Cream Expedition as an exercise in cardiovascular endurance. Sloane pressed her lips together, trying unsuccessfully to contain her laughter. “Building character?” she repeated incredulously. “Wesley, those children were promised ice cream. They were not informed they were enrolling in some sort of junior military fitness program.” She shook her head, still laughing. “I mean, imagine the disappointment. Hours of pedaling, probably sweating to death, and then you finally arrive at your destination only to discover it’s closed. I would’ve called my mother and requested immediate evacuation.” She pointed a finger toward him. “And for the record, being twelve doesn’t excuse everything. I was ten when I organized a perfectly functional garden party. We all had our strengths.”

When he thanked her for what she’d said about his career, however, Sloane’s expression softened. There was something lovely about the way he accepted the compliment without immediately brushing it aside. She hadn’t told him she was proud of him because she thought he needed reassurance or because she believed military service made him automatically more impressive than anyone else. She genuinely admired the commitment he’d made at twenty-one, especially after hearing how uncertain he’d felt beforehand. At that age, she’d still been living close to home, attending college, and trying to decide whether she’d chosen the right classes for the following semester. Wes had taken a considerably different path, and she liked that he could talk about both the rewarding and difficult parts without pretending everything had been wonderful. “Well, good,” she told him, smiling warmly. “Because I meant it. And I’m probably going to say it again at some point, so you might as well get comfortable with the idea.”

His assessment of her potential Navy career brought another delighted laugh. “Excuse me, coordinated fonts are extremely important,” she informed him, looking thoroughly scandalized that he’d suggested otherwise. “You cannot have a beautifully organized spreadsheet with twelve different fonts running around. That’s how civilization collapses.” She considered the hypothetical situation for a moment before grinning. “Although you’re probably right about people deliberately messing things up. Rafe would’ve lasted approximately eleven seconds under my command before I had him escorted off the premises.” Her smile widened. “And before you say anything, yes, I know that’s probably not how the Navy works. Which is why we’re all very fortunate I chose event planning.”

The subject of her unfortunate haircut was considerably less enjoyable, especially when Wes pointed out that she’d been nineteen at the time. Sloane groaned, dropping her face briefly into her hands. “Oh my God, can we please move on?” she pleaded, although laughter escaped between her fingers. “I was going through a phase! Everybody was cutting their own curtain bangs, and the girls in the videos made it look so easy. How was I supposed to know they were performing some kind of advanced mathematical calculation with their scissors?” She lowered her hands, looking at him with exaggerated suspicion. “And don’t even think about asking Maya. She has photographs, and she cannot be trusted with sensitive information. That woman would sell me out for an iced coffee and the opportunity to embarrass me.” After a moment, she added, “Although I will admit that my hair survived eventually. It just took approximately three months and an emergency appointment with my stylist.”

But it was his reassurance about the morning they’d spent together that made her smile change entirely. She’d been careful not to make too much of his staying over, even though it had meant something to her. They’d been dating for four months, and although they’d slept together before, Sloane had deliberately taken her time with that part of their relationship. She liked Wes far too much to treat their intimacy casually, and she’d worried more than once that becoming too comfortable might leave her feeling considerably more attached than he did. There were still insecurities she hadn’t shared with him, particularly about experience and the expectations he might have developed over the years. But hearing him say that he liked her even when she wasn’t dressed up and perfectly put together made something warm settle in her chest. “Well, that’s very generous of you,” she teased softly. “Especially considering you witnessed me spend five minutes looking for slippers that were literally underneath my bed.” She brushed a blonde wave away from her cheek, her expression becoming a little more thoughtful. “But I liked having you there. Not just last night. This morning, too. It was nice.” Her smile returned, smaller and more genuine. “Really nice, actually.”

She was grateful when the conversation returned to her pancakes, if only because it gave her something considerably less intimidating to concentrate on. Watching Wes accept the bite she’d finally offered made her ridiculously pleased with herself, particularly when he admitted they were good. “See?” she announced triumphantly. “I’ve been telling you that this entire time. You could’ve trusted my judgment instead of spending twenty minutes trying to intimidate my breakfast.” His response to her admission that she liked him, however, made her pause with her fork halfway to her plate. She looked at him for a moment, her smile becoming unexpectedly bashful before she managed to recover her usual playful expression. “Oh, don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she warned. “I said a little. Your performance is still under evaluation.” She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Although I suppose I like you considerably more than I like most people, so congratulations. That’s actually a pretty significant achievement.”

The truth was that she liked him much more than a little, and she suspected he already knew it. She certainly hoped he did. It wasn’t as though Sloane had spent the last four months pretending to be indifferent. She looked forward to seeing him, enjoyed their dates, and had begun to recognize how easily he fit into her everyday life. The fact that he was comfortable expressing his affection made it easier for her to relax, even if the lack of an official relationship sometimes sat in the back of her mind. She wanted him to ask her to be his girlfriend, desperately enough that she’d occasionally caught herself wondering whether she should simply bring it up. But she also wanted that moment to happen because he genuinely wanted it. So she continued allowing herself to enjoy what they had, even when her patience felt a little thinner than she’d like to admit.

When Wes revealed that he’d once wanted to become a park ranger, Sloane’s entire face brightened. “A park ranger?” she repeated, clearly delighted. “Oh, that’s adorable. I can absolutely picture little Wes running around the woods with his notebook, pretending he was conducting some incredibly important investigation.” She laughed at his description of the observations he’d written down. “Brown and moving pretty fast? Incredible. Truly groundbreaking scientific research. I’m surprised nobody published your findings.” Yet the story about his father encouraging him to pay attention to the world around him was unexpectedly sweet. Sloane had grown up surrounded by people who encouraged her interests, even when those interests involved turning family gatherings into elaborate productions. She liked imagining Wes having that same kind of support, albeit in a considerably different environment. “Your dad sounds wonderful,” she admitted. “I love that he actually took your little notebook seriously. That’s such a sweet thing to do for a kid.”

The revelation about his brief musical ambitions was even better. Sloane immediately leaned forward, her eyes widening with unmistakable interest. “Wait. Hold on. You wanted to be in a band?” she exclaimed, laughing before he’d even finished explaining. “Wes, you cannot just casually reveal that information and expect me to move past it. What kind of band? Did you have a name? Were there rehearsals? Please tell me there were matching outfits.” She was practically glowing with amusement now, delighted by the idea of a teenage Wes attempting to become a musician despite having mastered only a handful of guitar chords. “I’m sorry, but between the ice cream expedition, the backyard camping situation, and your incredibly ambitious music career, I’m starting to think you were a very entertaining child. Your parents deserve some kind of award for surviving all of this.”

As he continued talking about his family, Sloane listened with genuine interest. She liked hearing their names, learning what they did, and beginning to understand the people who’d shaped his childhood. Daniel Callow sounded like someone she could easily imagine enjoying a conversation with, particularly if he possessed the same dry humor she’d discovered in his son. Becca sounded warm but wonderfully practical, and Sloane couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Wes trying to convince a physical therapist that he was too injured to complete his chores. “Your mother sounds like she would’ve seen straight through Rafe,” she observed with a laugh. “Actually, she probably would’ve terrified him. He would’ve tried something once, realized she wasn’t buying it, and immediately decided to behave.” She shook her head affectionately. “Okay, probably not. But a girl can dream.”

Hannah, however, sounded especially promising. Sloane had always loved having Maya in her life, and although she adored her brother, she’d occasionally wondered what it might have been like to grow up with a sister. Someone to borrow clothes from, confide in, and argue with over entirely ridiculous things. Admittedly, Maya had filled much of that role over the years, but she found herself especially interested in Wes’s description of his younger sister. “Twenty-three and already in grad school? Okay, I love her,” Sloane announced, smiling brightly. “And the fact that she remembers all your embarrassing stories makes me love her even more. I feel like Hannah and I could accomplish some really wonderful things together.” Her expression turned mischievous. “Mostly at your expense, obviously, but wonderful things nonetheless.”

His story about the backyard camping trip left her laughing all over again, particularly when he mentioned the enormous stuffed giraffe. “Oh, poor Hannah!” she exclaimed, one hand rising to her mouth as she pictured a six-year-old girl fleeing a tent with her beloved stuffed animal. “I would’ve cried too! That giraffe was probably her entire world.” Her laughter continued as she imagined the sprinklers unexpectedly soaking the tent, followed by two thoroughly offended children racing toward the house. “And your father just forgot about the sprinklers?” She shook her head incredulously. “Your family is incredible. Honestly, Wes, I would pay actual money to sit around your parents’ dinner table and listen to them tell stories about you. I have a feeling you’ve been giving me the edited versions.”

The thought of his family living so far away gave her something else to consider. Sloane had spent her entire life in Hawaii, surrounded by familiar places and people she loved. She’d never experienced the kind of distance Wes described, where ordinary family dinners and spontaneous visits weren’t always possible. She’d traveled plenty, of course, and had spent time away from home, but she’d always known that her family was waiting for her on Oʻahu. “Do you get to go home very often?” she asked, her expression growing more thoughtful. “I mean, I know the Navy doesn’t exactly let you pick whatever days you want off, but do you usually get to spend holidays with them? Or does it just depend on where you’re stationed and what your schedule looks like?” She paused, giving him a sympathetic smile. “I think I’d have such a hard time being away from my family for that long. Even Rafe, and that’s saying something.”

His description of the friendships he’d made through the Navy was equally interesting, particularly because it reminded her that there was an entire part of his life she hadn’t really experienced firsthand. She knew he had friends through his work and people he spent time with outside the military, but she didn’t know many of them particularly well. “You know, I think that’s one of the things I like about us,” she admitted. “We have completely different lives, but we both understand having things we’re passionate about. You have your career and your friends, and I have mine. We don’t need to spend every second together to enjoy being together.” She smiled, brushing her fingertips along the condensation on her glass. “And for the record, I would absolutely destroy you at trivia. I’m just putting that out there now.”

The mention of potentially meeting his family caught her attention in a way she hadn’t expected. Sloane looked at him for a moment, suddenly very aware that the suggestion had come from him rather than anything she’d said. He thought she’d get along with his parents. He could imagine her meeting Hannah. It wasn’t an invitation, exactly, and she knew better than to treat it like some enormous declaration about their future. Still, the thought made her happy. There was something reassuring about knowing he could picture her being part of that side of his life, even hypothetically. “I’d really like that,” she admitted, her smile becoming softer. “Meeting them, I mean. They sound like really wonderful people.” She paused before adding with a playful little grin, “And obviously, I need to meet Hannah. I feel like she and I have important business to discuss. Mostly concerning your childhood, but I’m sure we’ll find other things to bond over.”

She laughed when he accused her of failing to provide an equal amount of embarrassing personal information, although she couldn’t exactly argue with his assessment. She’d certainly gotten the better end of the exchange. “Excuse me, I have shared incredibly sensitive information with you today,” she protested. “You know about my garden party, my extremely unfortunate haircut, and the fact that I once possessed the confidence to believe I could successfully perform my own hair maintenance. That’s practically my entire autobiography.” She gave him an exaggerated look of offense. “And I shared my pancakes. Do you understand how significant that is? Because I feel like you’re not appreciating the sacrifice.” Her expression softened into a smile. “But fine. You want more childhood stories? I have plenty. I was a very busy little girl, and Rafe spent most of his free time making sure I stayed humble.”

When Wes asked what she’d imagined her life would look like by twenty-five, Sloane paused. It was a simple enough question, but one she hadn’t considered in quite some time. Twenty-five had once seemed so impossibly grown-up. She could remember being little and imagining that people in their midtwenties had everything figured out, that adulthood came with some magical understanding of the world that children simply hadn’t developed yet. Now, at twenty-four, she knew that was complete nonsense. She still occasionally called her mother to ask questions she probably should’ve known the answers to, and there were days when she felt like a teenager wearing expensive shoes and pretending to understand tax documents. “Oh, twenty-five-year-old me was supposed to have everything figured out,” she admitted with a laugh. “And I mean everything. Beautiful house, perfect career, gorgeous husband, probably a couple of children. I had absolutely no concept of how long any of those things actually take.”

She smiled at the memory, shaking her head as she thought about the elaborate future she’d once imagined. “When I was little, I was obsessed with the idea of getting married. Not necessarily because I understood what marriage meant, but because I liked weddings. The dresses, the flowers, the decorations, the cake. Especially the cake.” Her laughter softened. “I used to sit around looking at wedding magazines with my mother and picking out things I liked. I probably planned about seventeen different weddings before I turned fifteen, none of which involved an actual groom. Which, looking back, is probably a little telling.” She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “I just thought it was all beautiful. I liked the idea of having this big celebration with everyone I loved.”

As she got older, those dreams had gradually changed. College had given her something concrete to work toward, and the more seriously she pursued her career, the more she realized that marriage and children weren’t milestones she needed to reach by some imaginary deadline. She still wanted those things someday, but she wanted them with the right person and for the right reasons. “I think teenage me would’ve been shocked to discover that I’m almost twenty-five and not married,” she admitted, laughing softly. “But honestly? I’m happy. I have a job I love, I’ve got my own apartment, Maya is still my best friend, and my family is healthy and constantly finding new ways to embarrass me.” She paused, her gaze settling on Wes with a smile she couldn’t quite suppress. “And I’m dating someone I really like, so I’d say things are going pretty well.”

The word dating felt safer than anything more specific, even if she wished it didn’t have to. She hadn’t intended the comment to lead anywhere particularly serious, and she certainly wasn’t about to use an innocent conversation about childhood dreams to pressure him into discussing their relationship status. Still, there was a little part of her that wondered whether he’d noticed how carefully she’d chosen the wording. She pushed the thought aside almost immediately. This was exactly what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do today. She wasn’t going to spend a beautiful afternoon analyzing every sentence, searching for hidden meaning, or worrying about whether they were moving at the same pace. She liked Wes, and from everything he’d said and done, he liked her too. That mattered more than getting caught up in a single word over brunch.

“As for where I thought I’d live, definitely Hawaii,” she continued. “I’ve always pictured myself staying here. Maybe I’d have a house closer to the beach someday, somewhere with a beautiful kitchen and a big outdoor space where I could have people over.” Her eyes brightened as she began imagining it. “I want one of those houses where everybody feels comfortable stopping by. My parents, Rafe, Maya, friends. I love having people around. I want holidays at my house, birthdays, dinners, all of that.” She laughed. “Which is probably hilarious considering I organize events for a living, but apparently I enjoy working even when I’m not getting paid.”

She was quieter for a moment before adding, “I want a family someday, too. I think I’d be a good mom. Maybe a little particular about birthday parties, obviously, but I think I’d be good at it.” Her smile became thoughtful. “I just don’t want to rush into anything because I feel like I’m supposed to. I want to enjoy being young, build my career, travel, and figure out what kind of life I actually want instead of following some plan ten-year-old me came up with.” She gave a small, amused shrug. “Because, frankly, ten-year-old me also thought being an adult meant you could eat cake whenever you wanted and buy whatever you saw in a store. She wasn’t exactly working with complete information.”

The more she considered his question, the more she realized that her dreams hadn’t changed as drastically as she’d once assumed. She still wanted a beautiful home, a successful career, and people she loved surrounding her. The difference was that she’d stopped expecting those things to appear all at once. She’d learned that building a life took time, patience, and the willingness to accept that things wouldn’t always happen according to plan. That last lesson had been particularly difficult for someone who’d once required her own father to RSVP to a garden party, but she was getting better at it. At least, she liked to think so.

“And before you ask, yes, I absolutely have pictures of ten-year-old me with a clipboard,” she admitted, looking almost resigned. “My mother has approximately fourteen thousand photographs of my childhood, and I’m fairly certain she keeps the embarrassing ones specifically so she can use them against me later.” Her expression turned mischievous. “Although I’m thinking we should arrange some kind of exchange. You bring childhood pictures of yourself, and I’ll bring mine. Equal opportunity humiliation. That’s only fair.” She tilted her head, grinning. “And I want to see the park ranger phase. If there’s a picture of you holding that little notebook, I might actually die from how cute it is.”

The suggestion of spending the afternoon walking along the beach sounded wonderful, particularly because she wasn’t quite ready for their date to end. She glanced toward the water beyond the terrace, where the sunlight glittered across the waves and a few people wandered along the shoreline. The weather was beautiful, and she’d deliberately kept the rest of her afternoon free. There were plenty of things she could’ve done at home, including laundry she’d been ignoring and a few work-related tasks she wanted to get ahead of before Monday, but none of those sounded nearly as appealing as spending a little longer with Wes. “Actually, that sounds perfect,” she told him, smiling brightly. “I don’t have anywhere I need to be, and I was hoping we could spend a little more time together anyway.”

She reached for her iced coffee, finishing the last of it before setting the glass down. “Although I should warn you, if we’re going for a walk, there’s a very real possibility I’ll find something I want to stop and look at. A cute little shop, some flowers, something completely unnecessary that I’ll somehow convince myself I need.” She smiled sweetly. “But I promise I won’t make you carry seventeen shopping bags. Probably.” It was a familiar enough habit that she didn’t feel particularly embarrassed admitting it. Sloane loved browsing little shops, even when she had absolutely no intention of buying anything, and a leisurely afternoon with nowhere specific to be seemed like the perfect excuse.

His final remark about getting lost brought another laugh, and she shook her head as she regarded him across the table. “Oh, absolutely not. If we end up three towns over looking for ice cream, that’s entirely your responsibility. I have already established that I am the organized one in this relationship.” The word slipped out before she could reconsider it, and although her smile remained in place, she felt that familiar little flutter of uncertainty. This relationship. Not friendship, not whatever they were doing, but a relationship. She supposed it wasn’t technically inaccurate. They were dating, after all. Four months of dates, affection, and increasingly familiar mornings certainly qualified as something. Still, she hoped she hadn’t made the comment sound like she was trying to force a conversation neither of them had initiated.

Rather than dwell on it, she leaned forward with a playful smile, resting her forearms against the edge of the table. “But seriously, Wes, I had a really good time last night. And this morning. And today.” Her expression softened, the teasing momentarily giving way to something more genuine. “I like spending time with you. Even when you’re threatening my pancakes and telling me that my brother was justified in sabotaging my childhood social events.” She laughed quietly, brushing a loose blonde wave behind her shoulder. “And I really like getting to know you. Not just the Navy stuff, although I love hearing about that too. I like hearing about your family and the things you did when you were younger. It makes me feel like I’m getting to know all these little pieces of you that I haven’t seen yet.”

She hadn’t meant for the admission to sound quite so heartfelt, but she didn’t regret it. There were still things about Wes she didn’t know, questions she hadn’t thought to ask and experiences she hadn’t been around to witness. Four months was enough time to become attached to someone, but it certainly wasn’t enough to know everything about them. She liked the idea of having more conversations like this, of gradually discovering the things that made him laugh, the memories that mattered to him, and the experiences that had shaped the man she’d grown so fond of. More than anything, she liked that he seemed interested in learning those things about her, too.

“And for what it’s worth,” she added after a moment, her smile turning warmer, “I think your family sounds lovely. I’d really like to meet them someday.” She paused, then gave him a mischievous little grin. “Particularly Hannah, because I think we’re going to get along beautifully. You, unfortunately, may never recover.” Her laughter returned as she settled back into her chair, feeling entirely content with the way the morning had unfolded.

“Now,” she announced, adopting an exaggeratedly businesslike expression, “I believe we have a beach walk to attend. And since you’ve spent the last several years improving your navigational abilities, I’m putting you in charge of getting us there.” She glanced toward the ocean, then back at him with an affectionate smile. “Try not to disappoint me, Petty Officer Callow. I’d hate to discover that the United States Navy has been placing its faith in a man who still can’t successfully locate a beach.”

Sloane couldn’t help smiling as she gathered her little handbag from beside her chair, smoothing the skirt of her floral dress as she stood. She was rather pleased that their afternoon wasn’t ending with brunch. There was something wonderful about having absolutely nowhere else to be, especially when the company was this good. She’d spent so much of the morning laughing, listening to his stories, and discovering things about him that she hadn’t known before. And now, instead of saying goodbye and returning to their separate apartments, they were going to spend a little longer together. It was simple, really, but she liked that. She liked not needing an elaborate plan to enjoy being around him.

As they made their way away from the restaurant’s terrace toward the beach, Sloane glanced up at Wes, her lips curving into a soft, affectionate smile. Without making a production of it, she reached for his hand, slipping her smaller one into his and gently threading her fingers between his. The gesture felt wonderfully natural, something she found herself doing more and more often without thinking about it. Her thumb brushed lightly against the back of his hand as she moved a little closer to his side. “You know,” she began, her voice carrying that familiar hint of mischief, “I think you’re setting a very dangerous precedent here. Staying over, taking me to brunch, voluntarily spending an entire afternoon with me.” She tipped her head toward him, her blonde waves shifting against her shoulder. “At this rate, I might start thinking you actually enjoy my company.”

Wes glanced down at their joined hands before looking back at Sloane, his expression settling into the kind of smile that generally meant he was about to become insufferable. “You know, I was hoping to keep that a secret a little longer,” he told her, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Four months of carefully maintaining my reputation, and you've finally figured me out.” He shook his head with exaggerated disappointment as they continued away from the restaurant. “Yeah, Laurent. I enjoy your company. Quite a bit, actually.” The admission came easily, delivered with enough warmth to distinguish it from the teasing that preceded it. He hadn't spent the night at her apartment because it was convenient, and he certainly hadn't suggested extending their Sunday because he was struggling to find something better to do. If anything, he'd been quietly pleased when she'd accepted his invitation to walk along the beach. The morning had already been better than he'd anticipated, and he saw no reason to bring it to an end simply because they'd finished eating.

There was something particularly appealing about seeing Sloane like this, walking beside him with her blonde hair moving in the breeze and the delicate fabric of her dress shifting around her legs. He liked the way she reached for him without making a production of it, as though holding his hand had become an ordinary part of spending time together. Four months earlier, he'd been trying to determine whether the pretty blonde he'd been talking to was genuinely interested in him or simply enjoyed having someone flirt with her. Now he knew considerably more about her than he'd expected to learn in that amount of time, and he'd discovered that the things he liked most weren't necessarily the ones that had initially caught his attention. She was still beautiful, obviously, and he wasn't about to pretend he didn't appreciate that. But he also liked the way she became animated when talking about her work, how enthusiastically she defended people she cared about, and her remarkable ability to turn an innocent conversation into something resembling a competitive event. Even her occasional stubbornness had become rather endearing, although he suspected admitting that too freely would only encourage her.

He hadn't missed the unfinished sentence at breakfast, either. She'd been halfway through protesting his support of Rafe when she'd stopped herself, and although Wes couldn't be certain what she'd intended to say, the brief interruption had been noticeable. So had the way she'd used the word relationship later, carrying on almost immediately as though she didn't want to draw attention to it. He wasn't interested in making her explain either moment. They'd been seeing each other for four months, spending increasingly substantial amounts of time together, and behaving in ways that went considerably beyond casual acquaintanceship. Whatever terminology they eventually settled on, he didn't regard what they had as insignificant. He was beginning to think they should probably have a proper conversation about it before much longer, if only because he didn't want her feeling that she had to be careful about acknowledging something he was perfectly happy to be part of.

“For the record,” he added after a moment, his thumb moving absently across the back of her hand, “I wasn't planning on disappearing after breakfast. You've still got me for the afternoon, assuming you don't find somebody more interesting between here and the water.” His mouth curved. “Although your standards seem pretty high. Apparently, a man has to survive a full character evaluation before he earns the privilege of sharing your pancakes.” He glanced toward her with amused consideration. “And I should probably apologize for siding with Rafe earlier. That was a serious lapse in judgment. I understand now that your childhood garden party was a highly professional operation and that your father deserved whatever consequences came his way.” The apology was transparently insincere, but his expression softened as he added, “I do like hearing about you when you were little, though. You've got some good stories.”

They reached the edge of the beach, where the paved path gave way to sand and the sounds of the restaurant began to recede behind them. Wes slowed slightly as they approached the shoreline, allowing them to find a comfortable route without rushing. The ocean was particularly clear that afternoon, sunlight moving across the water in shifting patterns of blue and green. He'd grown accustomed to the beauty of Oʻahu in the years he'd lived there, but that familiarity hadn't made him indifferent to it. Growing up in Colorado had given him an appreciation for mountains, forests, and the particular quiet that came with being somewhere far removed from a city. Hawaii offered something different, and he'd found plenty to love about that difference. Still, there were moments when he missed the crisp air of the mountains and the familiar places he'd grown up visiting with his family.

“Actually, you never did get the complete story about my illustrious music career,” he remarked, remembering how enthusiastically she'd responded to that particular revelation. “And since you asked such specific questions, I suppose I owe you some answers.” His grin widened. “First of all, we had a name. The Static. Which sounded unbelievably cool to us at the time, despite the fact that we were about fifteen and had absolutely no business calling ourselves musicians.” He shook his head, clearly entertained by the recollection. “There were four of us, and only one could actually play his instrument properly. Our drummer didn't even own a drum kit when we first decided to start the band. He had a pair of sticks and access to some equipment at school, which apparently qualified him for membership. We rehearsed in my friend Connor's basement exactly twice before discovering that having four people who liked the same music didn't automatically mean we could make any ourselves.”

He could still remember the enthusiasm with which they'd approached those first rehearsals, all four convinced that they were only a few weeks away from becoming reasonably competent. In practice, they'd spent more time arguing about which songs to learn than actually learning them. Connor had been the only one with any real musical ability, and he'd eventually grown tired of attempting to teach the others material they were nowhere near ready to play. “And no, there weren't matching outfits,” Wes continued, giving her a sideways look. “Although somebody suggested we should all wear black jeans and those really terrible graphic T-shirts everybody had back then. I think we even talked about making a logo. That was probably the most productive part of the entire operation.” He laughed, remembering how seriously they'd debated something that ultimately never progressed beyond a drawing in Connor's notebook. “We never played a show. Never recorded anything. Didn't even make it through one complete song without somebody messing up. But for about three weeks, we were convinced we were going places.”

The experience had been harmless enough, another brief fascination from a childhood filled with them. He hadn't been devastated when the band collapsed, particularly once he'd realized that practicing guitar required considerably more patience than he possessed at fifteen. Still, he remembered enjoying the camaraderie of it, the sense that he and his friends were working toward something entirely of their own invention. “Connor actually stuck with music,” he added. “Not professionally or anything, but he got pretty good. Still plays when he has time. The rest of us were smart enough to retire before we embarrassed ourselves publicly.” He glanced down at Sloane, his expression brightening with renewed amusement. “And before you ask, I don't have a guitar hidden somewhere at my place. If you're hoping for a private concert, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. I doubt I could remember those three chords now even if somebody paid me.”

Her earlier enthusiasm about his childhood photographs hadn't escaped him, either, particularly her determination to see the notebook he'd used during his brief ambition to become a park ranger. He wasn't entirely sure whether his parents still had it, although knowing his mother, he suspected there was a reasonable chance it had survived somewhere among the boxes of childhood belongings she'd never been particularly inclined to throw away. “I might actually be able to get you a picture from the park ranger phase,” he admitted. “My mom has albums full of that stuff. She's got pictures of Hannah and me from pretty much every camping trip we ever took, including several where I'm wearing clothes that should've been grounds for parental intervention.” He considered the matter before adding, “But we're definitely making that an exchange. You show me the garden party pictures, I'll see what I can find. And I'm not ruling out the possibility of getting Maya involved if you suddenly decide the bangs are off-limits forever.” He gave her an innocent smile that did absolutely nothing to disguise his intentions. “I think she'd be very cooperative. Especially now that I know her price is apparently one iced coffee.”

As they continued walking, Wes found himself thinking about the other things she'd said during brunch, particularly her interest in his family. He'd enjoyed describing his parents and Hannah, but he'd liked Sloane's reactions even more. Her delight at the backyard camping story, the sympathy she'd expressed for Hannah's unfortunate giraffe, and her genuine curiosity about Daniel and Becca had made the conversation feel less like an exchange of biographical information and more like sharing parts of his life with someone he wanted to know them. He was aware that family mattered enormously to Sloane. She'd grown up surrounded by the Laurents, remained close to them as an adult, and seemed genuinely happiest when she had opportunities to spend time with the people she loved. It was something they had in common, even if their circumstances had been different for several years.

“You asked how often I get home,” he said, returning to a question he hadn't quite answered before they'd left the restaurant. “It depends on what's happening with the ship, honestly. If we're in port and I've got leave approved, I can usually make something work. But there have been years when going home for Christmas or Thanksgiving just wasn't possible.” He glanced toward the water, considering how best to explain something that had gradually become an ordinary part of his adult life. “Sometimes you're underway. Sometimes there's a duty rotation you can't get out of. Other times you've got enough days available, but traveling all the way to Colorado doesn't make sense for the amount of time you'd actually get to spend there. You learn to plan around it as much as you can.”

He'd missed more than a few holidays since enlisting, and although he was generally philosophical about it, there were still occasions when the distance bothered him. Christmas mornings were particularly noticeable, if only because his family had always been enthusiastic about celebrating together. He remembered the familiar sounds of his parents' kitchen, Hannah appearing downstairs looking half-asleep, and his father insisting on making breakfast before anybody started opening presents. Those traditions continued without him when necessary, and he was glad they did, but being on the other side of a phone call wasn't quite the same as participating. “I've managed to get home for some holidays,” he continued. “And I've been back at other times when my schedule allowed. My parents have come out to visit, too, which helps. They love Hawaii, although my dad spends approximately half the trip explaining things about the local environment that nobody asked him to explain.” His grin returned. “Last time, he got into a conversation about volcanic geology with somebody who actually knew what they were talking about. I think it might've been the highlight of his vacation.”

He laughed quietly at the memory before giving her hand another gentle squeeze. “But yeah, I miss them. I'm not going to pretend I don't. That's probably the hardest part of living this far away, especially when you've got a family you genuinely enjoy spending time with.” He glanced at her with a softer expression. “I can understand why you wanted to stay close to yours. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that. You've got a good life here. People you love, work you're excited about, a place that feels like home. Doesn't seem like something you should feel obligated to leave just because other people expected you to.”

Her description of the house she'd once imagined having stayed with him as well. He could picture it surprisingly clearly: somewhere near the water, filled with natural light, an outdoor space large enough for family gatherings, and Sloane moving through it with the same enthusiastic attention to detail she brought to everything else. There would undoubtedly be flowers, carefully selected furniture, and some elaborate organizational system that only she fully understood. But what interested him most wasn't the house itself. It was the way she'd described wanting people around her, the idea of building a place where friends and family felt welcome without needing a special occasion. He liked that. It was different from the future he'd imagined at seventeen, when independence had seemed synonymous with being able to go wherever he pleased without answering to anybody. Somewhere along the way, he'd discovered that having people worth coming home to was considerably more appealing than he'd once appreciated.

“I liked what you said about wanting a place where everybody feels comfortable showing up,” he told her. “That sounds like a pretty good life to me. Although I have a feeling your definition of somebody casually stopping by might still involve having fresh flowers arranged and something homemade waiting in the kitchen.” His smile was affectionate rather than mocking. “But I get it. I grew up in a house where people were always coming and going. Friends, relatives, neighbors. My parents were pretty relaxed about having people over, and I liked that.” He looked toward the water again, considering the difference between his childhood expectations and the things that mattered to him now. “I think when you're younger, you get caught up in imagining what everything's supposed to look like. The house, the job, the person you're going to marry. Then you get older and realize most of the important stuff doesn't necessarily happen on whatever schedule you came up with when you were ten.”

He hadn't missed her admission about wanting a husband and children someday, although he didn't interpret it as an invitation to begin discussing their own future in those terms. It was simply something he hadn't known about her before, another piece of the life she hoped to build. He found himself liking that she wanted those things without treating them as accomplishments she needed to collect by a particular birthday. At twenty-seven, he was old enough to understand that relationships required considerably more than finding somebody attractive and enjoying spending time together, but he was also young enough that he didn't feel any particular urgency to have everything settled immediately. His career complicated the question of where he might eventually live, and he wasn't interested in making promises about a future he hadn't fully figured out himself. Still, he knew he wanted a family someday, and he liked that Sloane seemed to approach the idea with both enthusiasm and a reasonable understanding of what it involved.

“For what it's worth, I don't think twenty-four-year-old you is doing too badly,” he added, returning his attention to her. “You've got a career you're good at, your own place, friends who apparently have access to enough embarrassing photographs to ruin your reputation, and a family that loves you.” His smile turned mischievous. “And you've got a very charming guy taking you for a walk on the beach. I mean, really, what more could you ask for?” He laughed at his own deliberately obnoxious assessment before allowing his expression to soften. “Seriously, though. I like that you're not in a hurry to check things off a list just because you thought you were supposed to have them by now. You've got time to figure out what you want. There's nothing wrong with enjoying where you are while you do it.”

They'd reached a quieter stretch of sand by then, and Wes slowed slightly as a small wave washed farther up the beach than the others. He shifted their path a little closer to the dry sand, taking care not to pull Sloane along with him as he adjusted their direction. There were families enjoying the afternoon nearby, a couple of children enthusiastically digging a hole that seemed unlikely to survive the incoming tide, and a few people stretched out beneath the shade farther up the beach. The ordinary activity around them was pleasant enough, but Wes found himself paying considerably more attention to the woman beside him. She'd spent much of brunch asking questions about his life, and he appreciated that she hadn't treated their different backgrounds as something that required constant explanation. She'd listened to him describe Fort Collins with the same genuine interest he'd given her stories about growing up on Oʻahu, and he was beginning to think that was one of the things that made spending time together so easy.

“By the way, I'm not letting that trivia comment go,” he informed her after a comfortable stretch of walking. “You seemed awfully confident for somebody who has absolutely no evidence she can beat me.” His grin widened as he considered the possibilities. “We should actually do that sometime. Find a trivia night somewhere, get a couple of friends together, make an evening of it.” He paused thoughtfully. “Although I feel like putting us on opposite teams might be dangerous. You're competitive, I'm competitive, and neither of us seems particularly interested in admitting when we're wrong.” His expression suggested he considered this an excellent argument in favor of the idea rather than a reason to avoid it. “We could make it interesting. Loser buys dinner. Or dessert. Something with actual stakes.”

He wasn't particularly concerned about winning, although he'd certainly enjoy the opportunity to prove that his confidence was justified. The more appealing part was the possibility of doing something together that didn't necessarily qualify as a traditional date. He liked taking Sloane out, finding places they hadn't visited together, and spending evenings with her when their schedules allowed. But he also liked the idea of gradually becoming more familiar with one another's everyday lives. She had Maya and her own social circle; he had friends from the Navy and people he'd met since moving to the island. It seemed natural that those separate parts of their lives might eventually overlap. He wasn't proposing that they combine every aspect of their social lives, and he certainly didn't expect Sloane to adopt his friends simply because she was dating him. But the thought of having her there during an ordinary evening with people he liked was an appealing one.

“And speaking of meeting people,” he continued, remembering her enthusiastic response to the possibility of meeting his family, “I wasn't just being polite earlier. I really do think you'd get along with them.” He glanced toward her, his expression growing a little more thoughtful. “They know about you, by the way. Not that I've been giving them a detailed report of everything we've done for the past four months, but I've mentioned you.” His mouth curved into a small smile. “My mom knows we've been seeing each other. Hannah knows, too, although in her case I think she figured out something was going on before I actually told her.” He shook his head, amused by the memory of his sister's curiosity. “Apparently, answering a question about my weekend plans with a woman's name more than once is enough to make her suspicious.”

He'd never made a habit of discussing every date with his family, particularly during the early stages of getting to know someone. But Sloane had become a recurring part of his life, and it would've felt strange to pretend otherwise. He'd mentioned their outings during conversations with his mother, occasionally brought her up when Hannah asked what he'd been doing, and gradually realized that his family was becoming familiar with her name even though they hadn't met. It hadn't been a deliberate announcement or some carefully considered relationship milestone. He'd simply found himself talking about someone he enjoyed spending time with, the same way he might mention a friend or something interesting he'd done over the weekend. Now, however, he understood why the prospect of introducing her properly felt increasingly natural.

“Hannah's already asked what you're like,” he admitted, giving Sloane an amused sideways look. “I told her you're smart, funny, very pretty, and occasionally a little bossy.” His grin widened. “She said the last part sounded promising.” He could still remember the satisfaction in his sister's voice, as though she'd discovered that Wes had finally found someone capable of challenging him. “So I think you're going to get along just fine. Probably too well, actually.” He let the joke settle before adding more sincerely, “I'd like you to meet them someday. Whenever it works out. I think it'd be fun.”

He didn't elaborate beyond that, partly because the sentiment seemed perfectly clear without additional explanation. He wasn't asking her to plan a trip to Colorado or suggesting they needed to arrange a family gathering immediately. But he wanted her to know that the possibility was real to him, not simply something he'd mentioned because it sounded nice. There was a distinction, and he thought it mattered. He liked Sloane enough to want the important people in his life to know her, and he saw no reason to conceal that behind unnecessary ambiguity.

The breeze had picked up slightly as they walked, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and sunscreen. Wes glanced toward the ocean again, watching sunlight catch along the crest of a small wave before it dissolved into the shallows. He wasn't particularly accustomed to spending an entire morning discussing his childhood, his family, and the things he'd once imagined doing with his life. Most dates didn't involve that level of autobiographical detail, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd voluntarily recounted so many embarrassing stories in a single sitting. Yet he hadn't minded. Sloane had a way of making the conversation feel enjoyable rather than interrogative, even when she asked questions that required him to think a little more carefully about his answers. He liked that she was curious, and he liked that she seemed willing to offer equally personal pieces of herself in return.

He looked down at her with a smile as they continued along the beach. “You know, I'm starting to think your mother and mine would get along pretty well, too. Between the two of them, they probably have enough childhood photographs to keep us thoroughly embarrassed for the rest of our lives.” He laughed quietly, imagining the inevitable consequences of allowing Becca Callow and Sloane's mother access to one another's collections. “Although I should warn you, my mom has absolutely no loyalty when it comes to embarrassing pictures. She loves me, obviously, but if she thinks something's funny, she's going to show it to you.” His expression turned playfully resigned. “And Hannah would help. Without hesitation.”

The thought made him smile rather than dread the possibility. He'd grown up in a family where affection was expressed as often through teasing as through more serious conversations, and Sloane seemed to understand that dynamic instinctively. She could hold her own in an argument, laugh at herself when she was in the mood, and give as good as she got. He suspected his family would enjoy her company for reasons that went well beyond his obvious interest in her, although he wasn't naive enough to imagine they'd refrain from making that interest a source of entertainment.

After another few steps, Wes slowed near a stretch of sand where the shoreline curved gently away from the busier part of the beach. He turned slightly toward Sloane, keeping their hands linked, and looked at her with the easy warmth that had accompanied most of their afternoon. “And since we're apparently establishing precedents today, I should probably warn you about something.” His tone was light, but his expression carried a sincerity that made it clear he wasn't entirely joking. “I like spending time with you, Sloane. I like taking you out, I like talking to you, and I liked staying over last night. I'm not doing any of that because I feel obligated to.” His thumb moved slowly against her hand as he considered her for another moment. “So if you want to make a habit of mornings like this, I'm definitely not going to complain.”

He hadn't planned to say quite that much when they'd left the restaurant, but now that he had, he was glad. It wasn't an elaborate declaration, nor did it require her to respond with anything more significant than she wanted to offer. He simply liked the idea of being clear about something that had become increasingly obvious to him. His Navy schedule wasn't always predictable, and he couldn't promise that every weekend would be available or that he'd never have to rearrange plans at the last minute. Those realities weren't going away, and he wouldn't insult either of them by pretending otherwise. But when he did have the opportunity to spend time with her, he wanted to take it. That was a choice he was making willingly, and it felt good to acknowledge it.

Of course, he wasn't about to allow the moment to become so serious that Sloane forgot who she was dealing with. His smile gradually turned mischievous again as he glanced farther down the beach. “Now, I believe you mentioned something earlier about possibly getting distracted by cute shops and flowers and whatever else happens to catch your attention.” He lifted his eyebrows. “I'm willing to accommodate a reasonable number of detours, but I want it officially documented that I was promised a beach walk. If we somehow end up shopping for decorative pillows, I'm going to have questions.” He gave her hand another affectionate squeeze, his expression suggesting that he wasn't particularly concerned about the possibility. “Although I suppose I should be careful. You're probably capable of turning an innocent walk into a full itinerary before I realize what's happening.”

He laughed softly and resumed their leisurely pace, entirely content to let the afternoon unfold without much of a plan. He wasn't thinking about the time, the work waiting for him during the coming week, or the countless things he could've been doing instead. There would be plenty of opportunities to worry about those matters later. For now, he had the ocean beside him, warm sunshine overhead, and Sloane's hand comfortably tucked into his. He liked the simplicity of it, particularly after a morning filled with stories about the lives they'd lived before meeting one another. There was something satisfying about discovering that getting to know someone didn't always require elaborate dates or extraordinary circumstances. Sometimes it was enough to spend a few hours together and realize that, even after all the talking, neither of you was particularly eager to leave.

Wes glanced toward her once more, a crooked smile settling across his face. “Besides,” he added, returning to her earlier accusation about his navigational abilities, “I think I've demonstrated excellent leadership so far. We successfully left the restaurant, located the ocean, and haven't required a single rescue operation.” He looked pointedly toward the stretch of beach ahead of them. “Pretty impressive, considering my history. I feel like I deserve some recognition.” His smile widened as he leaned a little closer, lowering his voice with an unmistakably playful note. “Maybe even another kiss, if the commanding officer is feeling generous.”

Sloane turned her head toward him, looking thoroughly pleased with herself as an amused smile spread across her face. “Oh, sweetheart, I figured that out a while ago. I was just being gracious enough to let you maintain the illusion that you were mysterious.” She gave his hand a little swing between them, laughing at his assessment of her standards. “And excuse you, my character evaluations are extremely thorough. You should feel honored that you’ve made it this far. Four months is practically a lifetime when you’re trying to impress me.” The mention of her childhood garden party had her lifting her chin with renewed satisfaction. “Thank you. Finally, some accountability around here. My father was completely out of line, and I’m glad you’ve recognized the seriousness of his actions.” Her expression remained perfectly composed for approximately two seconds before she broke into another grin. “And I have excellent childhood stories. Although, for the record, Rafe is responsible for at least seventy percent of the embarrassing ones. I was an angel.”

As they made their way onto the sand, Sloane adjusted her hold on his hand, carefully navigating the uneven ground before looking up at him with immediate interest when he returned to the subject of his teenage musical ambitions. The revelation of the band’s name earned an absolutely delighted gasp. “The Static!” she repeated, practically bouncing beside him. “Wes, that is incredible. That is exactly what four fifteen-year-old boys would name their band.” She was already laughing before he’d finished describing their less-than-successful rehearsals. “Wait, hold on. Your drummer didn’t even have drums? Oh, honey.” She pressed her free hand against her chest, shaking her head with exaggerated sympathy. “You were doomed from the beginning.” The idea of four teenage boys seriously debating graphic T-shirts and a band logo was almost too good. “I’m actually devastated that you never made merchandise. I would’ve worn a Static T-shirt. Obviously, I would’ve made it fashionable, because there’s only so much I can do with a terrible graphic tee, but I would’ve supported you.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “And I think it’s deeply unfair that you’re denying me a private concert. Three chords are three chords, Wes. I’m not asking you to headline a music festival.”

Her amusement only increased when he proposed exchanging childhood photographs. “Oh, so we’re negotiating now?” she asked, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Interesting. Very interesting.” She considered his terms with the seriousness of someone reviewing an important business contract. “I’ll agree to the garden party pictures in exchange for photographic evidence of your park ranger era. But the bangs are a separate negotiation, and I reserve the right to approve anything you see beforehand.” The mention of Maya had her throwing her head back with a laugh. “First of all, how dare you threaten to bribe my best friend? Second, you’re absolutely correct that she’d betray me for an iced coffee, which is why I’m going to have to speak to her about loyalty.” She shook her head, although her smile softened when she thought about the possibility of seeing Wes as a little boy, camping with his family and dreaming about becoming a park ranger. “I really do want to see those pictures, though. I bet you were the cutest little thing. Probably running around telling everyone facts about trees and making sure nobody disturbed the wildlife.”

The conversation gradually settled into something gentler as Wes explained the realities of visiting his family while serving in the Navy. Sloane listened with genuine interest, occasionally glancing up at him as they continued along the shoreline. She’d known his career came with sacrifices, but hearing him describe missing holidays brought those sacrifices into sharper focus. She couldn’t imagine Christmas morning without the familiar chaos of her own family, much less spending it thousands of miles away from everyone she loved. “That must be really hard sometimes,” she admitted, her thumb brushing affectionately against his hand. “I know it’s part of what you signed up for, but that doesn’t mean you magically stop missing everyone.” Her expression brightened at the story about his father. “Okay, but your dad sounds adorable. I love that he found someone willing to discuss volcanoes with him. Honestly, I’d probably encourage him. I’d ask a million questions and then he’d never get rid of me.” She smiled at the thought before adding, “And for what it’s worth, if you’re ever here for a holiday and can’t make it home, you’re always welcome with my family. I should warn you that we don’t really do quiet holidays, and my mother believes feeding people is a competitive sport, but you’d have a good time.”

She appreciated that he understood why she’d chosen to build her life on Oʻahu rather than leave simply for the sake of experiencing somewhere new. “I’ve never thought there was anything wrong with wanting to stay,” she said. “I mean, look around us. People spend their entire lives saving money to vacation somewhere I’ve been lucky enough to call home.” Her gaze wandered briefly toward the ocean before returning to him. “I love traveling, and there are so many places I still want to see, but I’ve never felt like I needed to move away to prove I could make something of myself.” She paused, smiling to herself. “Although I would like to see Colorado someday. Especially if there are mountains involved. And snow. Actual snow, not the kind you see in a Christmas movie and pretend you understand.” She glanced at him with a little grin. “You’ll have to tell me whether I’d survive a Colorado winter. Be gentle with your assessment.”

His comments about her dream home earned another smile, particularly his remarkably accurate prediction about fresh flowers and homemade food. “Okay, first of all, fresh flowers are not an unreasonable expectation. They’re beautiful, they smell nice, and they make a house feel welcoming.” She lifted her eyebrows as though daring him to disagree. “And I never said everything had to be perfect. I just want people to feel happy when they walk through the door.” It was something she’d thought about for years, long before she’d started planning events professionally. She liked the idea of Sunday dinners that turned into evenings, children running through the backyard, friends appearing without having to schedule an appointment three weeks in advance. “I want the kind of home where people don’t feel like guests after five minutes,” she explained. “Where they can kick off their shoes, help themselves to something in the kitchen, and stay as long as they want.” Her smile turned playful again. “But yes, the flowers will probably be arranged beautifully, and I refuse to apologize for having excellent taste.”

She laughed when he began listing all the reasons twenty-four-year-old Sloane Laurent was apparently doing just fine. “Well, when you put it that way, I suppose my life is pretty fabulous,” she agreed, giving her hair a little toss. “And I do have a very handsome man taking me for a walk on the beach, although I’m still evaluating the charming part.” Her expression softened slightly as she considered what he’d said about expectations and timelines. “I know I don’t have to have everything figured out right now. And I don’t want to rush into something just because I decided when I was twelve that my entire life would be perfectly organized by twenty-five.” She gave a small laugh. “Which, by the way, was an extremely ambitious plan considering twelve-year-old me also thought I’d have a closet the size of a department store.” There was still a part of her that hoped she’d be engaged by twenty-five, but wanting that didn’t mean she was willing to settle for the wrong person simply to meet a deadline. “I know what I want eventually. I just think getting it right matters more than getting it exactly when I originally planned.”

The suggestion of a trivia night immediately caught her attention. “Oh, absolutely. We’re doing that,” she announced with the confidence of someone who had already decided the outcome. “But I think you should prepare yourself emotionally for losing, because I’m not particularly gracious in victory.” She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “Actually, that’s not true. I’m wonderful in victory. It’s losing that brings out my less attractive qualities.” She laughed, already considering whom she could recruit for her team. “And we should definitely be on opposite teams. Otherwise, one of us is going to insist the other is wrong about an answer, and I don’t think the general public deserves to witness that argument.” She gave his arm a playful nudge. “Loser buys dinner. Somewhere nice, too. I’m not letting you get away with buying me a cookie and calling our wager settled.”

It was the revelation about his family, however, that caused Sloane to look up at him with genuine surprise. “Wait, your mom knows about me?” she asked, her smile appearing almost before she’d finished the question. “And Hannah?” There was something unexpectedly sweet about discovering that she’d become a topic of conversation in his family, particularly when they lived so far away. She knew she talked about Wes to Maya, and his name had certainly come up around her own family, but hearing that he’d been doing the same made her feel a little flutter of happiness she hadn’t anticipated. “Well, now I need to know everything. What exactly have you been telling them about me?” Her eyes narrowed playfully. “Because if you’ve been telling your mother I’m some terrifying little blonde who orders you around, we’re going to have a problem.”

His description of her personality made her burst into laughter. “Occasionally bossy? Oh, that’s very generous of you. I appreciate you trying to make me sound manageable before your family meets me.” She looked positively delighted by Hannah’s reaction. “And I already like your sister. Clearly, she has excellent judgment.” Sloane gave his hand a gentle squeeze, shaking her head with a fond smile. “You know, I’m actually incredibly self-aware. It’s one of my best qualities. I know I’m difficult. I know I’m stubborn, and particular, and occasionally a little dramatic. Sometimes I even annoy myself, which I think deserves some recognition because not everyone is capable of that level of personal reflection.” She laughed at herself, but the humor gradually gave way to something more thoughtful. “I’ve had boyfriends who thought I was too much. Too opinionated, too emotional, too excited about things, too particular about how I wanted something done. And I think some of them genuinely liked me at first, but then they’d get frustrated when they realized I wasn’t going to suddenly become this quiet, agreeable version of myself just because we were dating.”

She’d never particularly enjoyed remembering those relationships, not because she still wanted any of them, but because there had been moments when she’d wondered whether she really did make things more complicated than necessary. “My mom and dad used to tell me all the time that the right person wouldn’t think I was too much,” she continued, her voice remaining conversational despite the sincerity beneath it. “That I wouldn’t have to make myself smaller or pretend I didn’t care about things just to keep somebody interested.” A small smile returned to her lips. “And they were always very sweet about it, although my dad would usually follow that up by reminding me that being right about something didn’t necessarily mean I needed to argue about it for forty-five minutes.” She rolled her eyes affectionately. “Which was incredibly rude of him, considering I was usually right.” Her gaze lifted toward Wes again, warmth mixing with the familiar mischief in her expression. “Anyway, you’ve made it four months without filing a formal complaint, so either you have an extraordinary amount of patience or your judgment is significantly worse than I originally thought.” She pretended to consider the possibilities. “I’m leaning toward the second one.”

Despite her teasing, there was something about how easily Wes seemed to accept her personality that she appreciated more than she was quite ready to articulate. He challenged her, certainly, and occasionally seemed to take genuine pleasure in being deliberately impossible, but she never felt as though she had to measure every enthusiastic reaction or apologize for having an opinion. It was a refreshing difference, especially because he managed to tease her without making her feel foolish. When he mentioned wanting her to meet his family someday, her expression brightened again. “I’d really like that,” she admitted, smiling up at him. “I think it would be fun, too. And honestly, after everything you’ve told me, I already feel like I know them a little.” She laughed softly. “Although now I’m going to be nervous about making a good impression. Not because I can’t make one, obviously. I’m delightful. But because I really want them to like me.”

The idea of their mothers getting together over childhood photographs nearly made her groan. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. We cannot allow that alliance to form.” She shook her head, already imagining the consequences. “My mother has boxes of photographs, Wes. Boxes. And she’s one of those people who thinks every embarrassing childhood moment is precious and deserves to be preserved forever.” She laughed, giving his hand another playful squeeze. “Actually, now that I think about it, your mother and mine probably would get along beautifully. Which is wonderful for them and absolutely catastrophic for us.” She looked up at him with an amused smile. “And if Hannah starts helping, I’m going to have to recruit someone from my side. Probably Rafe, although he’d just make everything worse. Maya would be slightly more trustworthy, provided nobody offered her coffee.”

The sincerity in his next admission caught Sloane a little off guard, although not unpleasantly. She slowed with him, turning her body slightly so she could look at him properly. For once, she didn’t immediately reach for a clever response. She appreciated the way he’d been so open with her throughout the morning, especially because she knew his schedule could make even the simplest plans complicated. She wasn’t expecting him to promise that every Sunday would look like this, and she certainly didn’t need him to rearrange his entire life around her. But hearing that he genuinely wanted to make more room for her in it mattered. Her smile softened, and she stepped a little closer. “Well, that’s good,” she replied warmly, her free hand coming to rest against his arm. “Because I like spending time with you, too. A lot, actually.” Her expression grew playful for a moment. “Even when you’re being completely insufferable.” She laughed quietly before adding, “And I really liked this morning. I liked waking up with you there, having breakfast together, and getting to do something as simple as this.” She glanced briefly at their joined hands. “I know your schedule isn’t always going to cooperate, and that’s okay. I don’t need every weekend planned out. I just like knowing that when we do have the time, we both want to spend it together.”

She gave him another affectionate smile before his warning about potential shopping detours sent her straight back into laughter. “Decorative pillows? Really? That’s what you’re worried about?” She looked almost offended on behalf of her impeccable taste. “For your information, I would never drag you into a store just to look at decorative pillows.” She paused, her eyes sparkling. “Unless they were really beautiful pillows. Or there was a sale. Or I happened to see something that would look absolutely perfect in my apartment.” Her grin widened as she shrugged. “But I can compromise. I’m a very reasonable woman, despite what certain people might tell you.” She glanced farther along the beach, then back at him. “And I promise not to turn our afternoon into an itinerary. Although I do think it’s a little unfair that you’re trying to limit my opportunities for spontaneous discovery.”

His final request brought another delighted smile to her face, and Sloane stopped walking altogether. She turned toward him, adopting an expression of exaggerated professional consideration as though his performance truly required a formal evaluation. “Hmm. Well, you did successfully locate the Pacific Ocean, which is quite impressive considering how notoriously difficult it is to find.” She tapped one finger thoughtfully against her chin. “And you managed to get us out of the restaurant without losing me, which I suppose deserves some credit.” Her eyes flickered toward his mouth before returning to his. “I think the commanding officer can authorize a small reward for exceptional service.”

She rose onto her toes, sliding her free hand up to rest against his chest before leaning in and pressing a warm, lingering kiss to his lips. It was affectionate and unhurried, the sort of kiss she was becoming increasingly comfortable giving him simply because she wanted to. When she finally drew back, she remained close, looking up at him with a pleased little smile. “There. Official recognition for your outstanding leadership.” She gave his chest a light pat, looking thoroughly satisfied with her decision. “Don’t let it go to your head, though. You’re still on probation.” Her laughter returned as she reached for his hand again, threading their fingers together. “Now, come on, handsome. You’ve got an entire afternoon to impress me, and I’m not getting any younger.”

Sloane barely made it another step before deciding that one kiss hadn’t been nearly enough. She turned back toward Wes with a mischievous little smile, giving his hand a gentle tug to bring him closer. Without offering an explanation, she rose onto her tiptoes again, resting her free hand against his chest as she pressed another kiss to his lips. This one was a little more spontaneous, accompanied by the faintest giggle against his mouth before she pulled away. “Okay, that one was just because I wanted to,” she admitted, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “Don’t get used to all these compliments. You’re going to become absolutely unbearable.”

Her attention shifted toward the ocean, and almost immediately, a new idea seemed to occur to her. A delighted grin spread across her face as she tightened her fingers around his hand and began tugging him toward the shoreline without another word. Her long blonde hair fluttered around her shoulders in the warm breeze, and the hem of her dress swayed around her thighs as she hurried across the sand. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, laughing as she continued leading him toward the water, apparently having decided that their leisurely beach walk needed a little more excitement.

Only when she reached the darker, damp sand did she remember the sandals still strapped to her feet. Sloane stopped abruptly, looking down at them with a small, amused huff before releasing his hand long enough to bend down and undo the delicate straps. “Okay, minor technical difficulty,” she announced, slipping out of one sandal and then the other. She gathered both in one hand, straightened, and immediately reached for him again. Her expression brightened as a small wave rolled toward them. Without giving him much opportunity to anticipate her next move, she gave his hand another playful tug and stepped into the shallow water. The cool ocean washed over her toes, drawing an excited squeal from her as she laughed and instinctively lifted one foot. “Oh, my God, that’s cold!” she exclaimed, grinning up at him. “Come on! You’re not making me do this by myself!”

Wes looked down at Sloane with an expression of considerable amusement as she defended her childhood reputation, particularly the extraordinary claim that she'd been an angel. “An angel? Really?” he repeated, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “That's interesting, because I've heard several stories today that suggest otherwise. I'm starting to think I need to interview Rafe and compare notes.” He laughed at the look she gave him, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll give you plenty of notice before the investigation begins. Wouldn't want to violate any of your scheduling requirements.” He knew perfectly well that siding with her brother was an excellent way to provoke her, but he also knew that Sloane was more than capable of returning the favor. She'd spent four months proving it, and he'd grown rather fond of their particular brand of affectionate antagonism.

Her enthusiasm over The Static was even better than he'd anticipated. Wes laughed when she practically bounced beside him, looking far more excited about his nonexistent musical career than anybody had been when the band actually existed. “Hey, don't underestimate us. We had ambition. We had confidence. We had a drummer who didn't own any drums.” He shook his head, smiling at the memory. “Looking back, there might've been a few problems with our business model.” Her declaration that she would've worn their merchandise earned another laugh, particularly because he could absolutely imagine her transforming an awful graphic T-shirt into something fashionable. “You would've been our entire fan club. Probably our manager, too, because there's no way you would've let four fifteen-year-old boys operate without some kind of organization. We'd have had merchandise, promotional photographs, and a calendar of performances before we'd even learned a complete song.”

He considered her request for a private concert with exaggerated reluctance, although he was enjoying the attention far too much to pretend otherwise. “I'm telling you, those three chords were a long time ago. About twelve years, actually, which is a deeply unpleasant thing to realize.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I'm pretty sure if you put a guitar in my hands right now, I'd spend the first ten minutes remembering which end I'm supposed to hold.” His expression turned mischievous as he glanced toward her. “But maybe I'll surprise you someday. I could probably relearn something simple if I really wanted to.” He wasn't making any immediate promises, particularly when he suspected Sloane would be perfectly delighted to record the results for future entertainment, but he didn't entirely dislike the thought of picking up a guitar again. If nothing else, it might be worth the effort to see her reaction.

Her proposed photographic exchange seemed reasonable enough, although Wes had absolutely no intention of allowing her to dictate every term without a little negotiation. “All right, garden party pictures for park ranger pictures. That's fair,” he agreed, swinging their joined hands lightly between them. “But I'm going to need the full collection. I want to see the invitations, the seating arrangements, everything. You can't spend all morning telling me about this legendary event and then produce one photograph of yourself standing next to a flower arrangement.” His grin widened as she insisted the haircut pictures were a separate matter. “And relax. I'm not actually going to bribe Maya behind your back. If you want to keep the bangs classified, I'll respect that.” He paused just long enough to make the next part particularly suspicious. “Although if she ever brings them up herself, I can't promise I won't be curious.” Wes was beginning to suspect that exchanging childhood photographs would become considerably more entertaining than either of them anticipated. His mother had never been especially selective about which pictures she preserved, and he was fairly certain there were entire albums of questionable childhood fashion choices waiting to be discovered.

The invitation to spend a future holiday with Sloane's family caught his attention in a different way. He glanced toward her as she spoke, appreciating the easy generosity with which she'd offered to include him in something that clearly mattered to her. Wes had never been particularly intimidated by the idea of meeting someone's family, although he understood that the Laurents occupied a rather different world from the one he'd grown up in. Still, the prospect of a lively household filled with people who enjoyed one another's company sounded more familiar than foreign. “That's really nice of you, Sloane. Thank you,” he told her, his expression softening. “If I'm stuck here for Thanksgiving or Christmas sometime, I might take you up on that. And you can tell your mom she's got nothing to worry about. I'm very easy to feed.” He gave her an amused look before adding, “Although you should probably warn her that if she keeps offering me food, I'm going to keep eating it. I have absolutely no problem being an appreciative guest.”

It was a thoughtful offer, and he didn't intend to dismiss it with humor alone. He'd spent holidays with friends from the Navy before, occasionally putting together informal celebrations when duty schedules prevented anyone from traveling home. Those gatherings had been enjoyable in their own right, but being invited into Sloane's family traditions felt different. He liked the idea of getting to know the people who'd helped shape her into the woman he was increasingly fond of, particularly because family seemed to occupy such an important place in both their lives. “And the invitation goes both ways,” he added. “If you ever want to spend Christmas in Colorado, I think my family would be pretty happy to have you. My mom's big on the holidays, and my dad takes breakfast on Christmas morning very seriously. Hannah mostly takes her responsibility to annoy me seriously, but that's a year-round commitment.”

Her excitement about experiencing a proper Colorado winter made him look her over with deliberately exaggerated consideration. The floral dress, delicate jewelry, and sandals were perfectly suited to their afternoon on Oʻahu, although he suspected her wardrobe would require some adjustments before she attempted to survive a December in Fort Collins. “Well, first of all, we're going to have to get you a coat,” he informed her. “A real one. Not something that's technically outerwear but only covers approximately forty percent of your body.” He laughed at his own assessment before adding, “But I think you'd love it. The mountains are beautiful, especially when there's snow. I'd take you to some of the places I used to go with my dad, show you around town, maybe find somewhere with a fireplace and good food after you've decided you've had enough of the cold.” His smile turned mischievous. “And I'm absolutely taking you sledding. I feel like that's an experience everybody deserves at least once.”

He could picture her enjoying herself, although he suspected she'd have strong opinions about the inconvenience of winter clothing once the novelty wore off. Growing up in Colorado had given him plenty of experience with snow, and he'd always liked the mountains in winter, even when they required considerably more preparation than a day at the beach. “You'd survive just fine,” he assured her. “Might complain a little, but I'd make sure you had everything you needed.” He glanced toward her with a crooked smile. “Although I'm warning you now, if you start a snowball fight, I'm not automatically letting you win. Being cute only gets you so far, Laurent.” He could already imagine the indignant response she'd offer to that particular statement, and the anticipation made him laugh.

Her description of the home she hoped to have someday was something he understood more readily than she might have expected. His parents' house had always been a place where people came and went without much ceremony, and some of his favorite childhood memories involved afternoons when a casual visit turned into dinner because nobody was particularly interested in leaving. He liked that Sloane wanted the same welcoming atmosphere, even if he suspected she'd approach the decorating with considerably more enthusiasm than his parents ever had. “For the record, I'm not criticizing the flowers,” he assured her. “I think you'll have a beautiful house someday. And I like that you want people to actually feel comfortable being there.” His mouth curved into an affectionate smile. “Although somebody who made her own father RSVP to a garden party might have to make a few exceptions for unexpected visitors. You can't have people showing up for Sunday dinner and finding out they've missed the registration deadline.”

He laughed, then gave her hand another gentle squeeze. “Seriously, though, I get what you're saying. Having somewhere people want to come back to is a pretty good goal.” He wasn't especially interested in maintaining a home that looked impressive but felt uncomfortable to live in, and it pleased him that Sloane's ambitions went beyond beautiful furniture and expensive finishes. She loved the idea of bringing people together, something that had evidently been part of her personality long before she'd chosen a career in hospitality. Wes could appreciate that, particularly because he'd grown up with parents who'd made their home welcoming without putting much conscious effort into the matter. He suspected Sloane would achieve the same result, albeit with significantly better table settings.

The trivia challenge was considerably less sentimental, and Wes turned toward her with an expression of amused disbelief. “Somewhere nice? You've already decided I'm losing, and now you're picking out where I'm taking you to dinner?” He shook his head, looking thoroughly unimpressed by her confidence. “All right, you're on. Separate teams, loser buys dinner, and absolutely no complaining about the questions afterward.” His grin widened as he considered her admission about being a less-than-gracious loser. “Actually, I want that last part in writing. I have a feeling you're going to be very creative about explaining why the competition was unfair if things don't go your way.” He was looking forward to the prospect of an evening with their friends, particularly because he suspected Sloane would be enormously entertaining when presented with a challenge she genuinely wanted to win. Besides, he wasn't opposed to buying her dinner regardless of the outcome, although he certainly wasn't going to tell her that before they'd had an opportunity to compete.

Her surprise at discovering his family knew about her was unexpectedly endearing. Wes had mentioned Sloane often enough that her name had become familiar at home, but he hadn't particularly considered whether she'd realize that. “What have I been telling them?” he repeated, pretending to think about it. “Well, obviously, I've warned them that you're a very intimidating woman who has strong opinions about breakfast and refuses to share her pancakes.” He laughed before she could protest, giving her hand another affectionate squeeze. “I'm kidding. I've told them about you. What you do, where you work, things we've done together. My mom asks how you're doing sometimes, and Hannah's been curious ever since she figured out I was seeing somebody.” He looked down at her with a small smile. “And I've told them I really like you. That's usually enough to get their attention.”

He'd never been particularly secretive about the people he dated, but he wasn't someone who introduced every passing romantic interest to his family either. With Sloane, there hadn't been a specific moment when he'd decided to start talking about her. She'd simply become a recurring part of his days, and eventually it would've felt stranger not to mention her than to acknowledge that he'd been spending time with someone. His mother had been pleased, naturally, and Hannah had immediately developed a suspicious number of questions about the woman who kept appearing in his weekend plans. He'd answered most of them, avoided the more ridiculous inquiries, and generally left his family with the understanding that Sloane was someone he enjoyed having in his life.

When she began talking about previous boyfriends who'd found her too opinionated or too enthusiastic, Wes listened without interrupting. He wasn't particularly interested in passing judgment on people he'd never met, and he understood that relationships sometimes ended because two people simply weren't suited to one another. But he didn't like the thought of Sloane having felt she needed to apologize for the very qualities he enjoyed about her. He'd seen enough of her personality over the past four months to know that she could be stubborn, occasionally dramatic, and impressively determined to have the final word. None of those things had come as a surprise, and he'd never been under the impression that dating her would involve having someone agree with everything he said.

“You know, I think your dad might've had a point about the forty-five-minute arguments,” he remarked, giving her an amused sideways look. “But I don't think you're too much, Sloane.” His tone remained easy, although the sincerity beneath it was unmistakable. “You're opinionated, sure. Sometimes you're a pain in the ass. So am I, if we're being fair.” He smiled, allowing the teasing to soften what he wanted to say without obscuring it. “I like that you get excited about things. I like that you know what you want, and I like that you're not afraid to tell me when you think I'm wrong. Doesn't mean we're always going to agree, but I'd rather have an actual conversation with you than spend all my time guessing what you're thinking.”

He wasn't promising that they'd never irritate each other or that every disagreement would be enjoyable. He knew himself well enough to recognize that his own competitive streak and occasional stubbornness could make him difficult company when he was in the wrong mood, and Sloane certainly wasn't immune to those tendencies herself. But that was part of learning how to be with another person. He didn't need her to be endlessly agreeable, and he wasn't particularly interested in dating a version of her that had been carefully edited to avoid inconveniencing him. “And for what it's worth,” he added, his mouth curving again, “I think your parents gave you pretty good advice. You shouldn't have to make yourself smaller for somebody. But you're still allowed to be wrong occasionally.” He lifted his eyebrows in mock warning. “I realize that's going to be a difficult adjustment.”

Her admission that she wanted his family to like her earned a softer reaction. Wes appreciated that she cared about making a good impression, but he didn't want her worrying about something he suspected would come naturally. “You don't have to audition for them, sweetheart. They're going to want to meet the woman I've been telling them about, not some perfectly behaved version you've invented for the occasion.” He smiled at the thought of his mother and sister getting to know her. “Just be yourself. My mom will love hearing about your work, my dad will probably find something you two can talk about for an hour, and Hannah's going to ask questions that make me regret introducing you.” His grin returned as he added, “And honestly, if you two get along half as well as I think you will, I'll probably be the one who needs help surviving the visit.”

The prospect of their mothers combining their collections of embarrassing childhood photographs made him laugh, particularly when Sloane immediately began considering ways to prevent such an alliance. “Yeah, I think we're in trouble there. My mom's the same way. She's got boxes of pictures that nobody's seen in years, and somehow she can find exactly the embarrassing one you're hoping she's forgotten.” He shook his head, remembering more than one occasion when Becca had produced photographic evidence of a childhood disaster with almost alarming efficiency. “And I wouldn't count on Rafe or Hannah respecting any rules we come up with. They're both younger siblings. Making our lives difficult is practically their responsibility.” He glanced at Sloane with a grin. “We might as well accept that they're going to have a great time at our expense.”

Her response to his suggestion of making more mornings together had pleased him, particularly because she'd acknowledged the limitations of his schedule without treating them as something he needed to apologize for. Wes knew there would be times when his responsibilities interfered with plans, and he wasn't going to pretend otherwise. But he appreciated that she understood the difference between having limited control over his time and choosing not to make an effort. “That's what I like about this,” he told her. “We can go out and do something fun, or we can spend a morning at your apartment trying to locate your slippers. Either way, I'm having a good time.” His expression warmed as he looked at her. “And when I've got the time, I want to spend it with you. It's really not much more complicated than that.” He was pleased to hear that she felt similarly, especially because he'd enjoyed the ordinary familiarity of waking up beside her more than he'd anticipated.

Naturally, the conversation couldn't remain serious for long once Sloane began defending her right to make spontaneous shopping detours. “So what you're telling me is that you would never make me stop to look at decorative pillows unless they were beautiful, on sale, or happened to catch your attention,” he summarized, looking thoroughly impressed. “Very reasonable. Glad we cleared that up.” He laughed at her expression before adding, “For the record, I don't mind going into shops with you. I'm just saying that if we leave here with six decorative cushions and a lamp, I'm going to want an explanation.” He'd already discovered that Sloane could find something interesting almost anywhere they went, and although his own shopping habits were considerably more straightforward, he didn't particularly object to accompanying her. Spending time together was the point, and he wasn't going to complain simply because she occasionally wanted to stop and look at something pretty.

Her formal evaluation of his navigational performance was considerably more entertaining, and Wes stood a little straighter as she began listing his accomplishments. “Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate the recognition,” he replied with exaggerated solemnity. “Finding the Pacific Ocean was particularly challenging, but I believe my training really paid off.” He was still smiling when she rose onto her toes and rested her hand against his chest, and the joke lost most of its importance as soon as her lips met his. His free hand settled naturally against her waist, steadying her as he returned the kiss with easy affection. He liked the warmth of her against him, the familiar scent of her perfume, and the simple pleasure of kissing her without having to consider whether either of them needed to be somewhere else. When she finally drew back and announced that he'd received official recognition for his outstanding leadership, he looked thoroughly pleased with himself. “Well, that's definitely going on my résumé,” he informed her, brushing his thumb lightly against her waist before letting his hand fall away. “Although I'm beginning to think probation isn't such a bad arrangement if this is how you reward good behavior.”

He laughed when she announced that he had the entire afternoon to impress her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as they started walking again. “No pressure, then. Just several more hours to prove myself worthy of your continued attention.” He shook his head with exaggerated concern. “Should've brought references.” He'd barely finished speaking when Sloane tugged him back toward her, catching him pleasantly off guard with another kiss. Wes leaned down to meet her without hesitation, smiling against her mouth when she giggled, and this time he was a little slower to let her pull away. There was something particularly appealing about the spontaneity of it, the way she'd simply decided she wanted another kiss and acted on the impulse. “Well, that's a pretty good reason,” he told her when she admitted as much, his expression warm. “You're welcome to do that whenever you feel like it, by the way. I promise I'll try to remain humble.”

He was still smiling when she abruptly changed direction and began tugging him toward the ocean. Wes allowed himself to be pulled along for several steps before laughing at the sudden burst of enthusiasm. “Where are we going?” he asked, although the answer was becoming increasingly obvious. Sloane had apparently decided that their peaceful walk required a little more excitement, and he wasn't particularly inclined to object. He enjoyed watching her become enthusiastic about something, especially when the idea seemed to occur to her out of nowhere. There was something infectious about the way she committed herself to whatever caught her attention, whether it was organizing an elaborate event or deciding that an ordinary Sunday afternoon required a spontaneous trip into the water. He'd barely finished appreciating the sight of her hurrying toward the shoreline when she stopped to deal with her sandals, bringing their little expedition to an abrupt halt.

“Minor technical difficulty?” he repeated, laughing as she bent to undo the straps. “I thought you were supposed to be the organized one. Seems like appropriate footwear should've been covered during the planning stages.” He stepped out of his own sandals while she gathered hers, taking them in one hand before reaching for her again. He'd barely adjusted his grip when she tugged him toward the incoming water, evidently satisfied that the necessary preparations were complete. Wes followed her into the shallows, the cool water washing over his bare feet just as Sloane gave an excited squeal and instinctively lifted one foot. Her reaction made him laugh, particularly because she'd been so determined to get there in the first place. “You know, you're the one who dragged us down here,” he reminded her, looking entirely too entertained. “You can't act surprised that the ocean's wet and a little colder than the sand.”

He stepped a little farther into the water beside her, letting the next small wave wash around his ankles. The temperature was pleasant enough once he'd adjusted to it, although he could understand why the contrast against their sun-warmed feet had caught her off guard. “Come on, you're not abandoning the mission already, are you?” he teased, giving her hand a gentle tug as another wave approached. “You were very enthusiastic about this approximately thirty seconds ago.” He shifted his footing as the water receded, the sand moving slightly beneath his feet, and glanced down at her with a grin. He briefly considered splashing her but decided that deliberately soaking her dress would probably be an excellent way to bring their romantic afternoon to an unnecessarily dramatic conclusion. Instead, he dipped his fingers into the shallows and flicked a few harmless droplets toward her bare ankles.

“There. Now you're officially initiated,” he announced, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Welcome to the Pacific. Lovely place. Bit damp.” He laughed, fully expecting some kind of retaliation, and reached for her hand again before she could decide whether to return the favor. It was a ridiculous little moment, standing ankle-deep in the ocean with their sandals dangling from their hands, but Wes was enjoying it. He liked that their afternoon had developed without much planning, progressing from brunch to a leisurely walk and now to an impromptu visit to the water. There hadn't been any particular reason for it beyond wanting to spend time together, and that suited him just fine. His schedule didn't always allow for this kind of freedom, so he was perfectly content to appreciate it when the opportunity presented itself.

Another wave rolled toward them, and Wes shifted a little closer to Sloane as it reached their feet. “You know, you've spent a good portion of today criticizing my childhood expeditions, but you've managed to turn a perfectly ordinary walk into an aquatic adventure without bringing towels or anything else we might need.” He glanced pointedly at the sandals in his hand before returning his attention to her. “Very questionable planning, Laurent. I'm starting to think we've got more in common than you want to admit.” He gave her fingers a playful squeeze, smiling when the water retreated and left the sand beneath them smooth again. The comparison was mostly an excuse to tease her, although there was some truth to it. They were both capable of becoming enthusiastic about an idea before considering every practical detail, even if the consequences of their present adventure were considerably less severe than those of his childhood misadventures.

He watched another small wave roll in, then turned his attention back to Sloane. Her blonde hair had been lifted into a slightly windswept arrangement by the ocean breeze, and she looked thoroughly pleased with herself, apparently delighted by the afternoon she'd helped turn into something more spontaneous than either of them had planned. Wes liked seeing her that way. He liked the carefully dressed woman who'd sat across from him at brunch, defending her pancakes as though they were a matter of international importance, but he liked this version just as much. There was something appealing about being around someone who could enjoy a beautiful restaurant and a barefoot walk through shallow water with equal enthusiasm.

His gaze lingered on her for another moment before he glanced down at their joined hands. He'd noticed the way she'd caught herself during brunch, stopping just short of calling him something more specific than the man she'd been dating. He'd also noticed her brief hesitation around the word relationship later, although she'd recovered quickly enough that someone who wasn't paying attention might have missed it. Wes hadn't wanted to embarrass her by drawing attention to either moment, but he'd been thinking about them since. They'd been seeing each other for four months, and while he'd enjoyed allowing things to develop naturally, he was beginning to realize that there wasn't much reason to leave their relationship undefined when he already knew what he wanted.

He wasn't interested in dating anyone else. He hadn't been for a while, if he was being fair. His time with Sloane had become something he looked forward to, and he'd reached the point where spending an entire night with her had felt less like an unusual occasion and more like something he hoped they'd do again. He liked having her around, liked the way they talked, and liked that their different lives seemed to fit together without either of them having to pretend to be someone else. None of that required an elaborate explanation. He'd simply reached a point where calling her someone he was seeing no longer seemed to do justice to what they were building.

Wes looked back at her, a small smile appearing as he made up his mind. There was no need to find some perfect moment later, particularly when he was standing beside her on a beautiful afternoon with absolutely nowhere else he wanted to be. “Hey,” he said, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Can I ask you something?” His tone was easy enough, although there was a little more intention behind the question than there had been during most of their playful conversation. He turned toward her properly, keeping his hand comfortably linked with hers as another small wave moved around their ankles. “I've been thinking about us a little lately. And before you start worrying, that's a good thing.”

He smiled, finding it surprisingly easy to say what he'd been considering. “I really like what we've got going on, Sloane. I like spending time with you, and I like that we can do things like this without needing some big occasion.” He glanced briefly toward the water before meeting her eyes again. “But I don't want you thinking I'm keeping things casual because that's all I want. I'm not interested in dating anybody else, and I haven't been for a while.” He paused, his expression warm and open. “I probably should've said something sooner, but I guess I've been enjoying getting to know you and didn't want to rush anything.”

There was no uncertainty about what he wanted, and he didn't feel the need to disguise that behind a joke or some complicated explanation. He'd had enough experiences over the years to recognize the difference between enjoying someone's company and genuinely wanting to build something with them. With Sloane, it was becoming increasingly obvious which direction his feelings were taking him. He wasn't promising her an entire future that neither of them had figured out yet, but he knew he wanted to be part of her life in a way that went beyond occasionally arranging dates around his work schedule. And he wanted her to know that without having to wonder whether she'd somehow misunderstood his intentions.

“So,” he continued, his mouth curving into a slightly crooked smile, “I was thinking we could stop pretending we're just casually seeing each other and make this official.” He gave her hand another gentle squeeze, looking at her with an affection that made the question feel considerably more personal than the teasing they'd exchanged throughout the afternoon. “I'd really like to be your boyfriend, Sloane. And I'd like you to be my girlfriend.”

His smile widened just a little as he added, “What do you think? Would you want that, too?”

Sloane turned her head toward him, looking thoroughly unimpressed by his sudden interest in conducting an investigation into her childhood. “Oh, absolutely. Go ahead and interview Rafe. I’m sure he’ll give you a very fair, completely unbiased account of my upbringing.” She laughed, swinging their joined hands between them. “And while you’re at it, ask him about the time he broke one of my mother’s favorite decorations and convinced everybody I did it. Or the time he told me our parents had found me on the beach and decided to keep me.” Her expression shifted into exaggerated indignation. “I believed that for an entire afternoon, Wesley. An entire afternoon.” She shook her head, although the affection beneath her complaints was obvious. “My point is, if you’re going to investigate my childhood, you should probably consider whether your primary witness has a documented history of psychological warfare against his little sister.”

The more she learned about The Static, the more convinced Sloane became that the entire endeavor deserved to be commemorated somehow. She could practically picture four fifteen-year-old boys sitting around a basement, completely convinced they were destined for fame despite having accomplished almost nothing musically. “See, that’s exactly why you needed me,” she insisted, looking positively delighted. “You had all this enthusiasm and absolutely nobody making sure you were doing anything productive with it.” Her eyes brightened as another thought occurred to her. “And I would’ve made an excellent fan club president. I would’ve designed little shirts, organized your promotional pictures, convinced people at school to come to your shows. You could’ve been the most professionally marketed band in Colorado without ever successfully performing a song.” She paused, laughing at the absurdity. “Honestly, that might’ve been more impressive than actually becoming famous.”

His reluctance to promise a private concert only made the idea more appealing. Sloane tilted her head, studying him with a smile that was entirely too pleased. “You know, I don’t actually care whether you’re good,” she informed him. “I just think it’d be cute watching you try.” She pressed her lips together, already imagining the scene. “Picture it. You, a guitar, me sitting there being an incredibly supportive audience. I’d even resist the urge to sing along.” A brief pause followed. “Well, I’d try. I make absolutely no promises about my behavior if you start playing something I recognize.” Her smile softened a little. “But seriously, I think it’s sweet that you used to do that with your friends. Even if it only lasted three weeks. I bet you had fun.”

His insistence on seeing the entire collection of garden party photographs earned an amused little scoff. “Oh, now you’re getting greedy,” she informed him. “I agreed to a photograph exchange, not unrestricted access to the Laurent family archives.” She gave him a playful look before reconsidering. “But fine, I’ll see what I can find. Just remember that I expect equally embarrassing evidence of your aspiring park ranger years.” His promise not to bribe Maya was somewhat reassuring, although Sloane remained suspicious of his curiosity. “And if Maya brings up those bangs herself, you’re welcome to ask questions. Just don’t expect me to sit there and provide commentary on one of the worst decisions of my teenage life.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Honestly, I’m beginning to regret telling you that story.”

His acceptance of her holiday invitation brought a pleased smile to her face. “Oh, you should absolutely come if you’re here,” she told him. “And trust me, being easy to feed is probably the greatest compliment you could give my mother. She considers sending people home hungry a personal failure.” She laughed, remembering how often her mother had insisted guests take leftovers with them, even when they’d already eaten more than enough. “She’ll ask what you like, make sure it’s on the table, and then spend half the evening asking whether you’ve had enough. It’s a whole production.” Her expression softened as she looked up at him. “But I’d really like having you there. Especially if you can’t make it home to your own family. Nobody should have to spend the holidays alone if they don’t want to.”

The invitation to Colorado, however, caught her by surprise in the nicest possible way. Sloane looked up at him, her smile widening as she considered the possibility of spending Christmas somewhere entirely different from the island she’d always called home. “Really? You’d want me to come?” she asked, sounding genuinely pleased. She’d visited colder places before, of course, but the thought of experiencing a proper Colorado Christmas with Wes and his family sounded especially wonderful. “I would actually love that. I’ve always wanted to wake up on Christmas morning and look outside to see snow everywhere. You know, the whole ridiculous movie experience. A fireplace, beautiful decorations, hot chocolate, maybe somebody wearing a Christmas sweater that should’ve been retired fifteen years ago.” She laughed softly. “And I would absolutely participate in your father’s Christmas breakfast tradition. Although fair warning, I get very excited about Christmas morning. I’m not one of those people who can sleep until ten while everybody else waits downstairs.”

His assessment of her winter wardrobe made her mouth fall open in immediate protest. “Excuse you, I own coats,” she informed him, lifting her chin. “Beautiful coats, actually. Some very expensive ones.” She paused, considering the distinction he was making, before adding with a reluctant little smile, “Whether they’re appropriate for actual freezing temperatures is a completely different conversation.” She laughed, already imagining herself standing in front of her closet and realizing that half her outerwear had been selected for appearance rather than warmth. “Fine. If we ever go, you can help me find something practical. But I’m choosing the color, and I’m absolutely not wearing one of those enormous coats that makes you look like a sleeping bag with legs.” The mention of sledding brought an entirely different reaction. “Oh my God, yes! I’ve always wanted to go sledding. Proper sledding, down an actual snowy hill.” She glanced up at him, looking thoroughly delighted. “Although you have to promise you won’t laugh if I fall off. Actually, never mind. You’re absolutely going to laugh. I can already tell.”

She was even less impressed by his warning about snowball fights. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s adorable. You think I’d expect you to let me win?” She shook her head, smiling sweetly. “No, no. I fully intend to win because I’m clever, resourceful, and willing to play a little dirty when necessary.” She gave him a pointed look. “You might have the advantage of growing up around snow, but I’ve spent my entire life competing with Rafe Laurent. I know how to survive an unfair fight.” Her laughter returned as she imagined the two of them outside in the snow, bundled up in winter clothes, attempting to outmaneuver one another. “And for the record, if you throw a snowball at my face, I’m putting snow down the back of your shirt. Consider that your warning.”

The subject of her future home made her smile as they continued along the shoreline, although she gave him an exasperated look when he questioned whether she’d allow unexpected visitors. “Wesley, I was ten,” she reminded him. “I think I’ve evolved slightly since then.” She paused before adding, “Besides, there’s a difference between hosting a formal garden party and having somebody stop by because they’re hungry and want to hang out.” She liked the idea of a house where people felt comfortable arriving without having to announce themselves, where the kitchen was always the busiest room and nobody felt awkward about staying an extra hour. “I’d probably have a permanent supply of snacks specifically for people who decide they’re visiting without warning. Especially Rafe, because that man treats every refrigerator within a ten-mile radius like his personal property.” Her smile became a little more thoughtful. “I think that’s one thing my parents did really well, though. Our house was always somewhere people wanted to be. I’d like to have that someday.”

She gave him a small, appreciative smile at his encouragement before the conversation moved naturally toward their proposed trivia competition. The challenge brought an immediate spark of interest to her expression. “Oh, I’ll happily sign something agreeing not to complain,” she announced. “But I think we should establish what constitutes a legitimate complaint. Because if somebody asks a question with an objectively incorrect answer, I reserve the right to defend the integrity of the competition.” She laughed, already picturing Wes’s reaction. “And yes, I’ve started considering restaurants. That’s called being prepared. You should try it sometime.” She looked especially pleased with herself as she added, “Actually, I’m going to let Maya help me choose. Between the two of us, I think we can come up with a wonderfully expensive way to celebrate my victory.”

Hearing what he’d told his family about her made Sloane’s teasing expression soften almost immediately. She hadn’t expected a particularly elaborate answer, but there was something unexpectedly lovely about knowing his mother occasionally asked how she was doing. That meant she’d become a familiar enough part of Wes’s life for someone thousands of miles away to remember her. “Your mom asks about me?” she repeated, unable to suppress her smile. “That’s actually really sweet.” She glanced down at their hands briefly before looking back at him. “And I’m glad you’ve told them about me. Although now I feel like I should probably make sure I don’t embarrass you whenever we eventually meet.” Her smile widened. “You know, nothing too dramatic. Just making a nice first impression so your mother doesn’t immediately wonder what on earth you’ve gotten yourself involved with.”

His reassurance about her personality caught her more deeply than she’d expected. Sloane had grown accustomed to being described as opinionated, and she wasn’t particularly interested in pretending otherwise. She knew she could be stubborn. She knew she sometimes became overly enthusiastic and occasionally pushed an argument considerably farther than necessary simply because she hated admitting defeat. But there had been people in her life who’d treated those qualities as things she needed to correct, and hearing Wes acknowledge them without suggesting they made her difficult to love was something she appreciated. She looked at him for a moment, her smile becoming quieter. “You know, I think that’s one of the nicest things you’ve said to me,” she admitted. “Not because you called me a pain in the ass, obviously. That part was incredibly rude.” A small laugh escaped her. “But because you’re not expecting me to suddenly become somebody else.”

She considered his words for another moment before continuing. “I know I can be a lot sometimes. I get excited, I talk too much, and occasionally I have very strong opinions about things that probably don’t deserve that much attention.” Her lips curved into a sheepish smile. “But I don’t want to spend my life feeling like I need to apologize for having a personality.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “And I like that you disagree with me sometimes. Even when you’re wrong.” Her expression brightened again, a little mischief returning. “Especially when you’re wrong, actually. It gives me an opportunity to explain things.” She laughed, then added more sincerely, “I know we’re not always going to agree. I’m okay with that. I’d rather know what you really think than have you tell me whatever you think I want to hear.”

His reassurance about meeting his family eased some of Sloane’s nerves, although she still gave him a playful look. “Okay, first of all, I can be myself and still want to make a good impression,” she pointed out. “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive, sweetheart.” She laughed, brushing a loose blonde wave away from her cheek. “I’m not planning to invent an entirely new personality. I’m just going to spend an unreasonable amount of time choosing the perfect outfit, probably change my earrings six times, and ask Maya whether I look nervous.” Her expression softened into a small smile. “They’re important to you, Wes. Of course I want them to like me. And I’d like to get to know them, too.”

His assessment of their families’ willingness to embarrass them earned a resigned laugh. “Well, that’s reassuring. So basically, we’re both doomed.” She shook her head, looking amused rather than particularly concerned. “I suppose trying to establish rules would only encourage everybody to find creative ways around them.” When he mentioned their siblings, however, she immediately lifted a finger in correction. “Although, sweetheart, Rafe is the older sibling. I’m the innocent little sister, remember?” She smiled, looking entirely too pleased with that description of herself. “Which means Hannah and I have completely different experiences. I think we should compare notes. I’d love to know what you were like as an older brother when you were growing up.”

When Wes returned to the idea of spending more ordinary mornings together, Sloane smiled without immediately making a joke. She appreciated that he wasn’t promising anything his Navy schedule might prevent him from following through on. He was simply telling her that when he had time, he wanted to spend it with her. That was enough to make her happy. “I like that, too,” she admitted. “Not everything has to be a whole production. Sometimes it’s nice just having somebody around.” She paused, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Although I’m making a rule that if you stay over again, you’re not allowed to make fun of whatever I look like first thing in the morning. I have a reputation to maintain.” She laughed softly. “And maybe next time we can make breakfast together. Something easy. I feel like between the two of us, we should be capable of producing one respectable meal.”

His continued fascination with decorative pillows made her laugh, and Sloane shook her head in disbelief. “You know, you’re awfully concerned about what I might do to your apartment considering I’ve never actually threatened to redecorate it.” She glanced up at him with a mischievous smile. “But since you keep bringing it up, I’m starting to think maybe I should.” She paused, considering the possibilities before laughing again. “Relax. I’m not going to show up with a truck full of furniture. Although if I ever see something that would look perfect in your living room, I make absolutely no promises about keeping that information to myself.” She leaned against his arm for a moment, smiling. “Besides, I happen to like what we’re doing right now. No shopping required.”

She was thoroughly entertained when he accepted her mock praise for successfully navigating them to the beach. “You’re very welcome,” she replied with exaggerated politeness. “It’s important to recognize exceptional achievements when they occur.” But the amusement in her expression softened as she rose onto her toes and kissed him, her hand settling comfortably against his chest. When she drew back and he suggested adding the experience to his résumé, she laughed against his mouth. “Oh, absolutely. Put me down as a reference. I’ll tell them you demonstrated excellent initiative, maintained a positive attitude, and successfully earned the affection of a very demanding woman.” She brushed her fingertips along the front of his polo, smiling up at him. “Although I should probably warn you that continued recognition will require continued effort.”

His remark about wishing he’d brought references earned another laugh, but Sloane found herself considerably more interested in kissing him again than continuing the joke. She reached for the front of his shirt and drew him back toward her, rising onto her toes to meet his lips with an affectionate little giggle. There was something wonderfully satisfying about being able to do that whenever she wanted, particularly when he responded with the same enthusiasm. When she finally pulled away, her smile was bright and entirely unguarded. “Oh, don’t worry. I fully intend to take advantage of that permission,” she informed him. “Although if you start getting too pleased with yourself, I might have to reconsider.” She pressed one last quick kiss against his cheek before taking his hand again, apparently deciding she’d given him quite enough encouragement for the moment.

The sudden decision to head toward the water had seemed perfectly reasonable until she found herself trying to remove her sandals while standing on uneven sand. Sloane laughed at his commentary, briefly resting her hand against his forearm for balance. “Excuse me, I planned the important part. I wanted to go to the beach, and here we are. The footwear situation is a minor logistical adjustment.” She finally freed her feet, gathering her sandals by their straps before straightening with a triumphant little smile. “See? Problem solved.” She didn’t bother dignifying his remarks about her planning abilities with another response, instead reaching for his hand and guiding him toward the edge of the water.

Of course, the moment the first wave reached her ankles, she gave an involuntary little squeal and lifted one foot out of the water. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed, immediately laughing at herself. “Okay, I wasn’t expecting it to be that cold.” She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes when he started teasing her. “Don’t even start. I’ve lived here my entire life. I’m perfectly aware that the ocean contains water.” She stepped forward again, determined not to let the initial surprise defeat her. “And I’m not abandoning anything, thank you very much. I simply needed a moment to adjust.” She held her sandals a little farther from the water as another wave approached, this time remaining in place while it washed over her feet. “There. See? Completely fine.”

The unexpected droplets he flicked toward her ankles earned a startled gasp, followed by an expression of absolute disbelief. “Wes!” she protested, laughing as she instinctively stepped away from the little splash. “Oh, you’re asking for trouble.” She glanced down at the water, considering her options before bending slightly to drag her free fingertips through the shallows. With a delighted laugh, she flicked a small spray of water toward his lower leg, looking thoroughly pleased with her retaliation. “There. Welcome to the Pacific yourself.” She straightened, still smiling as she reached for his hand again. “And don’t even think about getting my dress wet. I happen to really like this dress, and I refuse to spend the rest of the afternoon looking like I fell into the ocean.”

His comparison between their spontaneous beach visit and his childhood expeditions made her tilt her head toward him with an expression of exaggerated offense. “I’m sorry, but I think you’re overlooking one very important difference,” she informed him. “My expedition has an actual destination. We can literally see it.” She gestured toward the ocean with the hand holding her sandals. “And I don’t believe towels are necessary for getting our feet wet. Unless you’re planning to do something considerably more dramatic than we’ve discussed.” She gave him a suspicious little look before laughing. “Although I suppose I should’ve known that spending an afternoon with you would eventually involve somebody getting splashed. You do have a history of questionable adventures.”

She was still smiling as the water retreated around their ankles, leaving the sand shifting beneath her feet. For a moment, Sloane simply enjoyed the sensation, glancing down at the ripples moving across the shallow water. Her long blonde hair had become slightly windswept, and she knew she’d probably have to fix it before taking any photographs, but she couldn’t bring herself to care particularly much. The afternoon had been wonderful, and she was beginning to think that some of her favorite moments with Wes were the ones that happened without either of them making elaborate arrangements beforehand.

When he asked whether he could tell her something, Sloane looked up from the water, her expression immediately attentive. “Of course,” she answered, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. She noticed the change in his tone, although she wasn’t entirely certain what to make of it until he mentioned that he’d been thinking about them. Her stomach gave a small, unexpected flutter. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t wondered when they’d eventually have this conversation. Four months of dating had given her plenty of opportunities to consider what she wanted, and the answer had become increasingly obvious. But she’d never quite known whether Wes was thinking along the same lines, particularly when his career demanded so much of his time.

As he continued, Sloane found herself growing unusually quiet. The playful response she’d ordinarily offered was nowhere to be found. Instead, she listened, her gaze remaining on his face as he explained that he wasn’t interested in dating anyone else and hadn’t been for some time. She blinked once, feeling a wonderful little rush of relief that she hadn’t entirely anticipated. She’d been so careful about not pushing him, so determined to let things develop naturally, that hearing him acknowledge what she’d privately hoped for caught her almost completely off guard. Her lips began curving into a smile before he’d even finished speaking, and by the time he mentioned making things official, she was practically beaming.

For a moment, Sloane simply stared at him, as though she needed another second to appreciate what he’d actually asked. Then a delighted laugh escaped her, and she lifted her free hand toward her mouth before remembering she was still holding her sandals. “Oh my God, Wes,” she said, laughing again as her cheeks turned pink. “Are you serious?” It was a ridiculous question, considering how clearly he’d just explained himself, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Her smile widened until she was quite certain she looked completely ridiculous. “Yes! Of course I want that.” She stepped closer, her expression bright with unmistakable happiness. “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

There was something wonderfully freeing about finally saying it aloud. She’d spent weeks trying not to overthink every affectionate gesture or wonder whether she was becoming more attached than he was. She’d wanted to ask him where things were going, but she’d also wanted him to arrive at that decision because he genuinely wanted the same thing. Now, standing barefoot in the water with her sandals dangling from one hand, she felt an almost overwhelming sense of happiness. “I’ve actually wanted that for a while,” she admitted, her smile turning a little bashful. “I just didn’t want to make you feel like I was rushing you into something.” She paused, then laughed softly at herself. “Which is impressive, honestly, because patience has never exactly been my strongest quality.”

She shook her head, still smiling as she looked up at him. “And I haven’t wanted to date anybody else, either. Not for a long time.” Her voice softened, the playful excitement briefly giving way to something more sincere. “I really like you, Wes. And I know your schedule isn’t always going to be easy, and we’re still figuring things out, but I want to do that with you.” She gave his hand a little squeeze before adding, “Not because I think we need to have everything planned out right now. Just because I really like what we have, and I’d like to see where it goes.”

Then the full absurdity of the setting seemed to catch up with her, and she glanced down at the water swirling around their ankles before breaking into another delighted laugh. “I cannot believe you just asked me to be your girlfriend while we’re standing in the ocean,” she exclaimed. “I’m literally holding my shoes, my hair is probably a disaster, and approximately two minutes ago I was threatening to splash you.” She looked back up at him, her smile softening into something wonderfully affectionate. “You know what’s funny? I plan romantic moments for other people all the time, and somehow I never would’ve thought to plan something like this.” She paused, looking out toward the water for a moment before returning her attention to him. “But I love it. I really do.”

Without bothering to say anything else, Sloane moved closer, slipping her free arm around his neck while her sandals remained clutched rather awkwardly in her other hand. She rose onto her toes and leaned in to kiss him, the gesture considerably more enthusiastic than the playful kisses she’d given him earlier. She lingered against his lips, smiling before drawing back just enough to look at him. “Hi, boyfriend,” she whispered, immediately dissolving into another happy little laugh. The word felt wonderful, and she wasn’t remotely interested in pretending otherwise. She kissed him again, slower this time, her fingers resting affectionately against the back of his neck as the water moved gently around their ankles.

When she finally lowered herself onto her heels, Sloane remained close, her cheeks warm and her smile showing absolutely no signs of disappearing. “You know, I was trying so hard to be cool about all of this,” she confessed, laughing at herself. “I was going to be mature and sophisticated and let everything happen naturally.” She glanced down at her sandals, then back up at him with a helpless little grin. “And apparently all it took was you asking me one question for me to lose every ounce of composure I’ve ever possessed.” She shook her head affectionately. “But I’m really happy. Seriously.”

She brushed her fingertips lightly along his cheek before stealing another quick kiss, apparently deciding that having an official boyfriend was an excellent excuse to be particularly affectionate. Then she slipped her hand back into his, looking up at him with a smile that was equal parts delighted and mischievous. “I should probably warn you about something,” she announced. “I’m going to be absolutely insufferable for at least the next twenty-four hours.” Her eyes sparkled as she gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. “And you’re going to have to deal with it, because you’re officially my boyfriend now.”