Chapter 7

The salt air had clung to my skin like a second layer of silk, heavy and cooling in the night, but in the bed of the old rental cottage just off the dunes, I was warm. Too warm. My limbs felt like lead, tangled in sheets that smelled of driftwood smoke and the faint, intoxicating scent of him—cedar, sea spray, and that distinct, musky sweetness that was entirely, uniquely *him*. I blinked awake, the morning light filtering through the thin linen curtains in hazy, golden beams. For a second, I didn’t know where I was. The memories of the previous night rushed back in a tidal wave: the crackle of the massive driftwood fire, the crowd of people with their wine glasses, the way his hand had never left the small of my back as we navigated the sand, the way he had looked at me when he said, *“Stay with me.”* I shifted, and the weight on my chest shifted with me. He was still there. Deep asleep, one arm draped heavily over my waist, pulling me flush against his chest, his other hand tangled in my hair. His breathing was slow and deep, a rhythmic rumble against my