The Romance Revival(51)

“Thank you for telling me. I see you a little clearer now, I think.”

I groan. “That’s scary,” I say with a pained laugh.

“I think in this case, scary can be good.”





24 EMERY




I feel lighter as we walk.

Because it’s Wednesday, there are fewer people out than on our typical Sunny Sundays, and it’s awesome. Amazing how much more pleasant the world outside is when I get a real jump on the day. Who knew?

“Anything look familiar?”

He shakes his head. “Is this where we normally go?”

“No, but we’ve been here a few times. I picked this beach mostly because the ones near us are on cliffs or have steeper paths or staircases that lead to the water, and I was worried about your leg.”

“And this is where we had our first date?”

“I mean, our first date was probably something we did together in Vegas, but I’m not sure you can call it a date if you’re both already naked. Does room service count?”

He laughs. “Probably not.”

I wipe my hands on my shorts. I have no idea why the idea of referencing sex is making me more nervous-sweaty than I was unloading three years of lies. We’ve said the filthiest things to each other—recorded them, actually, as he now knows, in case he wants to verify—but this is different. “By the time we came here, we’d slept together in the hotel and at my apartment but hadn’t actually gone out anywhere.”

“I’m gathering it was a pretty intense start.”

“You could say that.”

“What a gentleman I was.”

“Trust me, you were. I was just a complete horndog for you.”

He laughs at this, my favorite laugh. He looks so at home near the ocean, the sun on his skin, the wind blowing the ends of his hair.

“So, I was thinking, if you want, we can start over here. I can pretend we’ve just met?”

“I actually want to hear more about our first date, if that’s okay.”

“You sure?” A pair of seagulls chase each other overhead. In the distance, a rainbow kite darts though the sky, its colorful tail fluttering behind it.

“Yeah,” he says. “We’ve had some pretty intense getting-to-know-you time already this morning. Let’s lighten the mood and talk about being horndogs.”

I laugh. “I know at some point we’d mentioned we were both living in California, but the morning we were supposed to head home, we were in your hotel bed and realized we didn’t just live in the same state, we were going to the same airport.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Let’s just say we didn’t spend much time talking.”

He lifts a brow, impressed. “I see.”

“Your flight was a few hours before mine,” I say, smiling as I remember his sweet impatience, the stream of texts he’d sent detailing exactly what he was going to do once he had me in bed again. “But you insisted on waiting at the airport once you landed.”

“Wow, calm down, Luca.”

“You’ve never really been one to play hard to get.”

“I’ll say. What happened when you landed?”

“You came home with me and we—”

“Didn’t talk some more?”

Laughing, I nod. “We do a lot of not talking. We are very good at not talking.” I swallow, realizing this is exactly why I was able to keep things from him for so long. Our eyes meet and he searches my gaze, looking for something. He seems to find it, because understanding clears his expression, awareness of some shared culpability. It wasn’t only you sweeping things under the rug, his eyes seem to say.

And then the expression shifts, turning playful.

“So let me guess,” he says, leaning in and lowering his voice. “We came here because we thought a crowd might keep us in line?”

His proximity sends a wave of warmth over my skin. “Pretty much. It is a family beach, after all.”

“Did it work?” His smile is flirtatious, a glimpse of my Luca making an appearance.

My voice comes out unsteady. “Not particularly.”

He makes a show of looking around. “I was going to say, it’s not very crowded today. Were we just walking?”

“Mostly. But we ended up over by some trees.” I watch as he turns away from me. “Where are you going?”

Tilting his chin, he motions for me to follow. “Come on,” he says, and walks to the base of a pair of palms growing in the sand near the cliff.

Even with the wind, I am immediately sweaty again. Luca doesn’t remember what we did. But I could never forget. I move to join him.

“Now what?” he says expectantly.

I look around before pressing my back to the rough wood of the trunk. “I was here.” The sky has become slightly overcast, just like he predicted. Not unusual in San Diego, when the marine layer hangs like a fog until early afternoon, but it could mean rain, too. The shadows blur together as the sun slips away. It feels darker, more private.

“And you—” With my hands on his forearms, I guide him to stand in front of me. Toe to toe.

“Like this?”

I nod, though it’s not completely true. That day there was no space between us. Today our hands are carefully at our sides, not barely restrained over fabric, fingers teasing at hems with whisper-soft caresses and promises of what we would do when we were alone.