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I’m content, basking in this moment of quiet. I watch the waves crashing against the shore for a few more minutes before I turn from where I’m standing and find Paxton laying supplies on the blanket.
This day is just getting started, and it’s already perfect.
Quiet and serene.
With zero power still on the island, it’s slim pickings for entertainment, but being with Paxton is enough for me.
After taking a long breath, I head over to where he is and sit on the blanket. We sit like this for hours, talking about life. He’s filled me in on his agency’s beginning and how he grew his contacts.
He has a friend who owns a fancy club. He’s rented out a VIP room every week to wine and dine current and future clients.
He’s smart.
I get a glimpse of his humor that I’ve been unable to appreciate due to our rocky relationship. He’s funny. Charming. Hot as hell.
Hours pass as we chat, cuddle, snack on the food he brought, and relax, far from the chaos that camp brings.
The sun is starting to set in the distance.
Streaks of pink dance across the sky.
Paxton sets off to gather some dry wood to build a fire. A task I’m sure is challenging after the storm. If anyone can find some, it’s Paxton. He’s determined to make this special.
He already has, and it’s something I won’t forget.
He returns with an armful of logs, no surprise there, carefully placing them in front of us. He pulls matches from his bag and my eyebrows lift.
“That’s cheating,” I chide, recalling he’s more than capable of producing fire without matches. “Boy Scout, my ass.”
He grins. “Don’t tell Stefan.”
I laugh, thinking about that day and how he’d tricked us all. It feels like a lifetime ago but isn’t.
“Stefan? Fuck that. I’m telling Brad.”
Paxton looks up at me with wide eyes. “He would mock me.”
“Most likely,” I agree.
“But it got the job done.” He gestures to the wood.
The flames are now licking the sides of the logs. The fire’s glow illuminates his face, and I can’t help but feel mesmerized. He looks like a god. Barefoot and shirtless, manning the fire.
“You hungry?” he asks, and I shrug.
“In this place? Always.”
“Good, because I brought plenty of food.”
“Oh my God, if you tell me we have to fish, I will kill you.”
He whips out whatever is in the bag. “And by fish, you meant s’mores?”
“S’mores? Oh, wow! You win.”
“Yes, I do. I know the way to your heart is through chocolate. Sorry, I don’t have wine.”
I can feel my cheeks flush. He remembered our conversation the other day about my favorite things. Chocolate and Sauvignon Blanc. He’s done all of this for me, and I’m overwhelmed in the best way.
“Let’s do this,” I say, trying to stave off the tears welling in my eyes.
I’m emotional for many reasons and don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Paxton.
The fire crackles and sparks, throwing orange light across the sand. “Do you have a stick?”
He gives me a look as if I’ve just asked the dumbest question in the world.
“I’m not an idiot. Of course, I have a stick.” He rolls his eyes at me playfully.
I respond with a mature gesture. I stick out my tongue.
“Sorry, I forgot you’re perfect at everything.” My mocking voice only has him laughing.
“You think I’m perfect?” His voice pitches animatedly, making me laugh alongside him.
When things die down, my mouth speaks the truth.
“You know you are.”
He nods. “You’re right. I am.”
Paxton doesn’t take compliments well. He’s constantly pushing them off with faux conceit. In reality, he’s not that guy.
“And you’re humble,” I deadpan.
“So glad you noticed.”
“And a jerk . . .” I bring my hand to my mouth to stifle the giggle threatening to spill out.
“Jeez. Can we just make these damn s’mores already?” He scoffs good-humoredly.
“Thought that might shut you up.”
Paxton reaches over and gives me a twig. It’s thick enough not to break but small enough to fit the marshmallow.
“Here you go, princess,” he says with a cheeky smile. I roll my eyes and stick the marshmallow on the twig.
The fire is like a furnace as I hold the marshmallow over the flames, watching as its surface bubbles and browns slowly. I’m so focused on getting it just right that I barely notice Paxton scooting up next to me.
“Need any help?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
I shake my head and keep rotating the marshmallow until it’s just how I want it. I pull away from the fire and gently place it on a graham cracker with some chocolate.
“My hands are too small.” I giggle as the marshmallow and chocolate ooze from the corners onto my hand. I switch the hand holding it, and when I do, Paxton laughs, too, grabbing the dirty one and lifting it to his mouth to clean off the extra mess.
