Yet here I am.
“I meant it,” I whisper, so quietly I’m not sure if he can hear me. “What I said earlier. The wine might’ve helped a little, but I really don’t want this to end. Like, I want to see where this goes… you and me, in New York.”
His eyes light up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “But Milo… I’m scared.”
His arms tighten around me, one hand sliding up my back in a soothing stroke. “Talk to me, baby.”
I rest my forehead against his, our noses brushing. The water rocks gently, as if the ocean itself is holding its breath with me.
“I’ve never been good at staying,” I admit. The words feel raw, vulnerable. “Settling down has always felt like a cage. I’ve spent years running from that feeling, and it’s always worked… until I met you.”
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “You make me want to try. And that terrifies me. What if I’m not built for it? What if I ruin this? What if one day I wake up and the restlessness wins and I hurt you?”
Milo listens without interrupting, his gaze steady and warm. When I fall quiet, he brushes a wet strand of hair from my cheek, his thumb lingering on my skin.
“Sienna,” he says softly, his voice deep and reassuring. “I’m not asking you to settle down and become someone else. I’m not looking for a quiet life behind a white picket fence if that’s not what you want. I see you—the girl who needs to chase the horizon, scream from mountaintops, and book last-minute flights wherever the wind takes her. I don’t want to clip your wings. I just want to be the one who gets to watch you fly… and maybe fly with you sometimes.”
He rests his forehead against mine again, our breaths mingling in the cool night air.
“I know you’re scared. I’d be worried if you weren’t. But you don’t have to have it all figured out right now. We live one stupid block away in New York. We have time. Days. Weeks. Months. However long it takes. No pressure. No ultimatums. Just… us. Figuring it out together. One day at a time. Only if you want to, okay?”
Tears prick at my eyes, mixing with the salt on my lashes. “You really mean that?”
“I mean it,” he says, his voice low, steady, and certain. “You’re not a project I’m trying to fix. You’re the person I like being with—exactly as you are. Chaotic, restless, beautiful you. And if you need to run sometimes, I’ll be right there, packing the bags with you. As long as you come back to me.”
The last of my defenses crumbles. Something warm and bright blooms in my chest, pushing the fear aside, even if only for tonight.
I kiss him then, pouring every unspoken feeling into it. He kisses me back with the same quiet intensity, one hand cradling the back of my neck, the other holding me close to him. The water laps gently around us as the kiss deepens, growing sweeter and more tender.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing harder, our foreheads touching.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his lips. “For not trying to change me.”
“Never,” he murmurs. “I’d never change who you are.”
I smile, then push forward and kiss him again because, for once in my life, the fear I’ve always felt doesn’t feel quite so loud, and that’s all because of him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sienna
The following day,after spending half the night naked beneath the stars, we’re lounging by the pool like we have all the time in the world.
I’m stretched out on a thick-cushioned lounger in the shade, legs lazily crossed at the ankles, wearing the tiniest pink bikini I packed and Milo’s oversized button-down draped over it like a half-hearted cover-up. It smells like him, and every time I shift, the scent wraps around me again, making my chest feel strangely tight.
I tell myself it’s just comfortable.
My body knows better.
Milo is beside me, shirtless in navy board shorts, his skin a warm golden bronze from days in the sun. He’s propped up on one elbow, reading one of my well-worn romance novels aloud in that low, gravelly voice that turns every line into something dangerously intimate.
The book is dog-eared and cracked at the spine, with pages marked by colorful sticky notes I stuck in during past reads. Every few sentences, he pauses to glance at me, checking if I’m still listening. Every time he does, my stomach does a slow flip.
Because I’m not listening.
I’m staring at him hopelessly.
