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“No.” The admission is a whisper so soft he can barely make out the word. Melancholy lingers beneath her tough surface. “Not all the time. Usually, I do. But sometimes, especially here, tonight, I don’t.”
God, all he wants to do is shake her. Tell her she’s perfect the way she is. Kiss her, hold her tight, never let her fucking go.
“But you’re right. I don’t like Maui.” From her shuttered expression, the ice in her voice, it’s clear she’s done talking about it.
Emotion jackhammers at his chest as he covers her with a blanket. Talking with Ash sometimes feels like trying the password to a vault. Unless you get it right, it’ll stay locked up tight. But that doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying.
She slips a hand out from under the blanket and searches for his. “Will you stay with me?”
He links his fingers with hers. Squeezes. “You know I will,” he says thickly.
“No couch,” she grunts, tugging on his arm. “Bed. With me.”
He slides into bed beside her, tucking a slash of inky hair behind her ear. His room’s a mess. There’s sand in his sheets. But all he cares about is the riot of a girl in his bed. All bare skin, feral hair, red lips. Curled up like she belongs there.
“This doesn’t count, you know.”
“What?” Her voice is soft, tired. She’ll be asleep soon.
He lays a hand on her hip. “Staying over.”
She grins at him, eyes closed. “Why? Because I’m too sloshed full of alcohol?”
“Something like that.”
“Will you wake me?” she whispers, nuzzling close to him. “If I don’t hear my alarm?”
“I’ll wake you up.” He has no intention of sleeping tonight. He’ll stay up, make sure her blood sugar’s okay, so she doesn’t have to worry.
He squeezes her to him. His mind still locked on her words.
I’m not that person for you.
They’re like a punch to the stomach. He hasn’t made her feel secure. Given her any indication that this is more than a vacation fling.
He’ll do whatever it takes to make her believe the truth. That she’s the one he wants.
He has no doubt of that. And he wants to be the man she needs. The man she wants. To take care of her, to protect her always—especially from assholes like his father.
His grandfather’s words ring out in his head.
I’m glad I didn’t hold back my feelings.
He won’t. He won’t shut down like he did with Camellia. Or give up like his parents did.
Instead of worrying about how they’ll make it work, he’s ready to figure it out.
First, he has to tell her.
Nathaniel closes his eyes, presses his mouth against her brow. “You are that person for me,” he says softly. “And you don’t have to wear pearl earrings.”
Only he doesn’t know if she hears him.
She’s already asleep.
Ash wakes in a soft bed, blankets tucked up to her chin. She snow-angels her arms in the cool sheets, blinks her eyes open to blazing sunlight. “Ugh, fuck,” she groans, dropping a hand to her face. It feels like the morning after a night out with Tessie when they were young. Bleary eyes, dry mouth, throbbing head. The holy trinity of their best drunken nights.
That’s when the night comes back to her. Tearing Don a new one at dinner. Delaney and the tarot reading that rocked her world. Nathaniel plucking her from the sand like she was a drunken damsel.
