Milo sits beside me, our legs loosely tangled. His deep, gravelly voice wraps around each word as he reads the final chapters of my favorite romance novel aloud. Somehow, he makes every line feel like I’m hearing it for the first time.
His hand rests casually on my thigh, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles just above my knee. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it anymore. Over the past two weeks, it’s become our secret language: the gentle press of his thumb when my thoughts start spinning too fast, the soft squeeze when I drift too far into my own head.
Right now, my brain is a whirlwind. In three days, we fly back to New York. I keep wondering what “seeing how things go” will look like once we’re no longer wrapped in this perfect island bubble. Will this steady, grounded feeling hold up to subway delays, work stress, and gray winter mornings? Or will the magic fade the moment we leave the turquoise water and palm trees behind?
Every time my knee starts its anxious bounce, Milo’s thumb presses a little firmer, anchoring me without a word. It’s as if he senses the nervous hum in my chest before I even notice it.
God, I’m so in love with him it’s terrifying.
I let out a slow breath and tilt my face toward the sun, trying to memorize the sensation of pure bliss on my skin.
Laughter bubbles up from the pool where Aria and Ethan are splashing each other like kids. Ethan has her in a playful headlock, and they shriek and giggle as water sprays everywhere. My parents and Ethan’s parents are settled under the nearby shaded cabana, all four sipping colorful cocktails with tiny paper umbrellas.
Dad is in the middle of telling the story about the time he tried to fix the kitchen sink and flooded half the house. Lillian is laughing so hard she has to set her drink down, and Mom is wiping away happy tears.
I turn to look at Milo. He’s wearing sunglasses, but I can still see his eyes crinkle with amusement when he glances my way. His skin has turned a warm golden bronze from all our days in the sun, and tiny droplets of water still cling to the hard planes of his chest from our earlier swim, catching the light with every breath.
The book rests open on his lap, but he’s mostly watchingmenow, that soft, almost smile tugging at his lips. My chest tightens with overwhelming affection.I’m so gone for this man.He slipped past every wall I had, like they were paper-thin.
“Stop staring,” he murmurs, his mouth twitching at the corner.
“It’s my civic duty,” I reply, nudging his leg with my foot. “Someone has to appreciate how unfairly hot you look right now.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest. His fingers give my thigh a playful squeeze. “Careful. Your parents are literally ten feet away.”
“They already know something’s going on between us,” I whisper back, grinning.
Before he can answer, Mom calls out cheerfully, “Lunch is ready, everyone! Come on before Dad eats all the shrimp again!”
Milo carefully marks his place with a napkin, closes the book, and stands. He offers me his hand, and I take it, letting him pull me up. Our fingers lace together as we walk to the long table under the cabana, and my heart does a happy little flip at how right it feels to hold his hand.
The food smells amazing. My stomach rumbles so loudly that Milo glances down at me, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smirk. I shrug in return, my cheeks warm. He lets out a soft laugh and settles beside me, his hand resting instantly on my thigh.
Lunch is pure joy. Conversation flows easily, laced with teasing and laughter. Ethan launches into a dramatic reenactment of Tom’s disastrous wedding dancing, complete with exaggerated hip thrusts that have the whole table howling. Even Dad is slapping the table in amusement, and Lillian is cowering in embarrassment.
Halfway through the meal, with most plates empty, Mom sets her fork down and looks between Milo and me with a warm, knowing smile.
“So…” she says, her voice warm yet direct. “Are we allowed to officially acknowledge what’s happening between the two of you?”
I feel my cheeks flush instantly. Under the table, Milo’s hand finds my thigh again, and his thumb resumes its steady, calming rhythm. That touch gives me the courage to answer honestly.
“Yeah,” I answer, my voice steadier than I expected. “When we get back to New York, we’re going to see how things go. No pressure, just… us.”
Dad leans back, looking pleased but trying to play it cool. “As long as he treats you right, honey. Though from what I’ve seen this week—and from the conversation Milo and I had the other night—I’m not worried.”
Milo’s hand tightens slightly on my thigh. “I plan to treat her better than that,” he says sincerely. “She deserves the world. I’m just lucky she’s letting me try.”
My heart melts. I glance between them, curiosity sparking. “And what exactly did you two talk about the other night?”
The tips of Milo’s ears turn pink. He sips his water slowly, clearly buying time. “Just… stuff.”
“Stuff…?” I press, head tilted with a grin.
“Hmm.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Maybe one day.”
