Reallylooks at me.
And I don’t see the years anymore. I don’t see Sienna. I don’t see the man I’m supposed to be.
I see the teenaged boy who suppressed his unwanted feelings all those years ago, sweaty and stupid and desiring the impossible.
Jake brushes his hand against mine.
Barely.
But it’s enough.
I don’t remember moving, only that in a flash I’m touching his jaw, my fingers grazing his blond stubble.
His breath hitches.
And I kiss him.
I kiss Jake.
It’s not soft. It’s not gentle.
It’s desperation. Nostalgia. Years of denial pouring out in one reckless and perfect moment. His lips are firm, familiar and foreign all at once. He grips my shirt like he needs something to hold onto before he shatters.
I forget the island.
Forget everything except the heat of Jake, the way hetastes of warmth and spice, the way some broken piece of me stitches itself back together under the weight of this kiss.
He kisses like a man—or the way I’ve always imagined a man would kiss, as I’ve never actually kissed one until now. We battle for control, and it’s…
It’s fucking exciting, exhilarating.
And then?—
A sound.
A breath.
Something shifts.
I pull back, dizzy and dazed, and turn toward the movement.
And I see her.
Sienna.
Standing in the sand, barefoot, her expression frozen. Eyes wide. Arms limp at her sides.
She’s so fucking beautiful, my Sienna.
Her heartbreak is a quiet thing. No screaming, no gasping. Just that look.
Thatlookguts me more than anything Jake ever did.
She sees us.
Me.
Jake’s hands still tangled in my shirt.
