Page 95 of Reeves

“Reeves.”

There’s something in her voice that pulls my attention back to her.

I lean back on my forearms, stretching my legs out in the sand, grounding myself before I look up at her.

“You don’t need to drag some driver out here tonight and then make him do it again in the morning,” she says. “That’s ridiculous.”

She’s right. I know she’s right.

I keep my mouth shut because the easiest solution is the one that puts distance back where it belongs.

“You could stay at my house tonight.”

The words land between us and shift everything.

“You can take the sofa. I’ll drive you to get your truck in the morning, and then you can head back. Unless you’ve got somewhere you need to be, it just makes more sense.”

For a second, everything else drops out.

Stay at her house. Inside the same walls. Close enough to hear her moving around. Close enough that this stops being contained.

I push up from the sand, brushing it from my hands, putting a few inches of space between us that feels like the only thing holding the line.

“I’m sorry about all this,” I say, keeping it controlled. “I don’t want to impose or make things awkward for you. You don’t have to fix it.”

She makes a quiet, impatient sound and steps closer again, closing the space I just put there like it doesn’t count.

“You need to zip it right now. It was an accident. And it’s not awkward. It’s practical.” She tilts her head, holding my gaze in away that’s a little too steady. “You need somewhere to stay for a few hours, and I have a couch.”

“Charli, I can’t just?—”

“Can’t what? Sleep on a couch?” Her expression shifts. It’s sharper now, like she’s pushing on purpose. “You’ve slept in worse places than my living room.”

She’s not wrong.

That’s not the problem.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

The words come out steady, but it takes more effort than it should to keep them that way.

“Why not?”

Because standing this close to her already feels like stepping back into a dynamic that never stayed simple. Because another few hours in her space makes it harder to keep the distance I’ve barely managed to hold since I got here.

I don’t say any of that.

“I just don’t.”

She studies me for a long second, like she’s deciding how far to push, like she knows exactly what I’m not saying.

The waves roll in behind us, steady and slow. Down the beach, Benjy laughs as another crab disappears into the wet sand.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

My phone buzzes against my leg.

I pull it out and glance at the screen.