Francesca almost drowned here last night—now I’m the one who feels like she’s drowning. When the light turns green, I pull into the lot and park. I need time to clear my head. I’m too humiliated to face anyone. How blind I must have been not to see what was going on between Ezra and Soleil. How stupid.
I grab a flashlight and start toward the beach, where the bonfire had burned just the night before. It’s dark, and I click on my flashlight, cutting patterns into the sand. Fear creeps in, replacing my sadness. I don’t think I’ve ever come here by myself before. Does it always feel this eerie?
There’s the sound of a stick snapping, and I jump so high I nearly drop the flashlight. I swing around, shining the light in all directions until I hear the noise again on the other side of the boulder. There’s a faint glow, and I realize someone’s built a fire. I’m not sure if I should go any farther, but my curiosity wins out. I slowly step out into the amber glow.
“Harlin?” I say, surprised to see him sitting in the sand in front of a small fire, a sketch pad in his hands. His initial shock is quickly masked by that knockout smile.
He sets the pad aside on the blanket and crosses his arms over his chest. I can’t help but notice his bulging biceps again. “Hey, Claire,” he responds. “You following me?”
He’s trying to joke, but I can’t even return his smile. “Can I sit with you awhile?” I ask, feeling pathetic. “I’m having a shitty night.”
“Of course.” Harlin’s voice is twinged with concern, but he doesn’t press me for details. Instead he smooths out the edges of the blanket, swiping away sand before motioning for me to join him.
Although it’s dark here, in this little alcove next to the rocks it’s warm and inviting. I think more than a little of that comfort is radiating from Harlin. I sit, wrapping my arms around my knees, and he leans back on the blanket, resting on his elbows as he watches me. We’re silent for a while, my mood improving with each passing second. How does he do this to me? How does he make me forget about everything else?
“Who are you?” I ask, trying to figure out this effect he’s having on me. Harlin licks his bottom lip before answering, completely disrupting my train of thought.
“I think the real question is who you are. I’d like to find out.”
I turn away, shaking my head as I laugh softly. I can’t believe he’s feeding me lines and I’m not walking out of here. Ezra is downtown with Soleil, and here I am talking to another guy? “This is a bad idea,” I say, ready to get up.
Harlin straightens, his easy smile falling away. “No, please,” he says quickly. “Don’t go yet. I . . .” He glances around as if searching for an excuse for me to stay, and his gaze fixes on the sketch pad. “Can I show you something?”
I look at him doubtfully. “If it’s a drawing of me, I’m going to be freaked out.”
He chuckles, and then stretches over to grab the pad. “You have no idea how funny that statement is.” Harlin shifts his position until he’s next to me, our shoulders touching. He holds the sketch pad in front of us.
As he tries to find the page, I admire the lines of his face: the shape of his eyes, the curve of his lips. If I was to imagine the perfect guy—I might just conjure Harlin. Guilt hits me, reminding me that until twenty minutes ago, Ezra was my boyfriend. Technically, he still is. I shouldn’t be thinking about this guy at all. And then there’s what Lucy told me. She knows Harlin—and they’re not friends.
Although he must feel me staring at him, Harlin doesn’t meet my eyes. He taps his finger on the sketch pad, drawing my attention there.
“This was my girlfriend,” he says quietly. My heart dips, and I search the image, a little jealous even though I have no right to be. I’m not sure why he’s showing me this, but I find myself leaning closer to get a better look in the low light of the fire.
“She’s pretty,” I say, noticing the waves of her hair, her delicate features. I wonder if this is Lucy’s sister, and try to see the similarity between them. Harlin stares at the picture with a sad smile.
“She was beautiful.”
I look at him again. The tone of his voice is so final, lost. So incredibly sad—I ache for him. “Do you still love her?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, setting the pad aside like he can’t bear to see her face any longer. After a pause, he turns to me. “She always comes back, though.” His hazel eyes are sorrowful, but deep with a passion that reaches out, wrapping me up and pulling me in. This close together, I can barely catch my breath, drawn to him and his pain.
“And every time I find her,” he whispers, trailing his gaze over me, “we fall in love all over again. Helplessly.” He reaches to take my hand and presses it over his heart.
The heat of his skin burns through his shirt, the pulsing beneath fast and strong. He slides his fingers between mine, and the friction is so intimate, my eyelids flutter and I’m positively submerged in desire.
Without thinking, I lean forward and kiss him. The minute my mouth touches his, the world surrounding us disappears. He tastes lightly of cinnamon—his kiss soft and gentle, yet it consumes me. Harlin rests his hand on the back of my neck, and when his tongue grazes my lower lip, my entire body responds.
I’m lost in the passion of the moment, and I push him back on the blanket. “I’ve missed you,” I say, overwhelmed with the feeling. He’s devouring me, and I can’t get a clear thought—it’s all kisses and longing. Harlin’s touch is maddening as he teases with the hem of my tank top. In that moment, I’m willing to give him everything.
But then, in a crashing wave, my sanity returns from wherever it had retreated. I realize where I am and pull back, shocked—somewhat scandalized. I put my fingers on my still-tingling lips, mortified at my behavior. “Whoa,” I say, moving off him. “I’m sorry.”
Harlin, still breathing heavily, looks disoriented. “Believe me,” he says, sitting up, “you have nothing to apologize for. That was—” He stops when I climb to my feet, ready to run out of here.
My life has completely crashed and burned tonight, and this is another complication I’ve added to it. I have to get home. Harlin stands, his eyes wide as he follows me to where I’m bending to get the flashlight.
“You don’t have to go,” he says. “I won’t let you kiss me again.” He smiles, trying to lighten the moment, but it’s too late. My guilt has won out. Harlin reads the thought, and the sadness returns—a dark cloud over everything. “Don’t leave me,” he says in a low voice.