Chapter 3 The Line We Crossed

The ocean hadn't slept that night, and neither had I. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Ethan's mouth on mine again, tasted the salt and heat of him, heard the words he whispered like confessions too dangerous to speak in daylight.

By morning, my lips still tingled. My body remembered, even when I tried to forget.

I told myself I would keep my distance. Pretend it didn't happen. Pretend I wasn't still trembling from the way his hands had claimed me, the way his voice had broken open something in me I didn't know was waiting.

But then there he was, standing barefoot in the sand outside the little café where I worked summer mornings. His shirt clung to his chest, his hair a mess from the sea breeze, and his grin lazy, reckless, beautiful was aimed straight at me.

"Coffee," he said, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter. "And maybe a chance to see you smile again."

I almost dropped the tray in my hands. "You can't just show up here like that."

"Why not?" His eyes glinted. "You kissed me back."

Heat flushed through me. "You kissed me first."

"And you didn't stop me."

I hated how my pulse betrayed me, how it fluttered every time he leaned closer, every time his voice dipped lower. "Ethan, we can't-"

But his hand brushed mine across the counter, and my words dissolved. Sparks shot up my arm, straight to the place where I ached for him most.

"We already did," he murmured.

Later that evening, we walked along the shoreline, the sky painted in streaks of fire and gold. The tide licked at our feet, and the whole world felt too still, too perfect, as if holding its breath for us.

"Do you ever wonder," he asked, his voice softer now, "if this was always supposed to happen? If maybe we were just waiting for the right summer?"

I turned to him, and the vulnerability in his face undid me. This wasn't just heat, wasn't just desire it was something deeper, something that had lived in us long before we admitted it.

"Maybe," I whispered. "But what if it doesn't last?"

"Then we burn for as long as we can," he said simply, taking my hand. "And if it ends, at least we'll know we lived it."

His fingers wove through mine, strong, certain, and my chest ached with a sweetness that felt almost unbearable.

That night, I let him walk me home. The world was quiet, the cicadas humming low, the night air warm against my skin. At my doorstep, I should have said goodbye. I should have gone inside and shut the door before my heart betrayed me.

But he stepped closer, his hand cupping my face, his thumb brushing my bottom lip like a question.

"Tell me no," he said again.

I couldn't. I didn't want to.

So I pulled him inside.

The small beach house glowed faintly with the moonlight slipping through the curtains. I felt the thrum of the ocean in the distance, but louder still was the pounding of my heart. Ethan's eyes darkened as the door clicked shut behind him.

"Lila..." My name was a warning on his lips, a plea, a promise.

And then there was no space left between us.

His kiss this time was slower, deeper-like he wanted to memorize me. His hands explored carefully at first, reverent, then rougher when my body arched into his, answering his hunger with my own. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper, until I was drowning in him.

Every touch burned. Every sigh fed the fire. When his mouth trailed down my neck, heat coiled low in my stomach, unbearable, undeniable.

"Ethan," I breathed, my voice trembling.

"Say you want me," he whispered against my skin.

"I want you." The confession slipped out, raw and certain. "I've always wanted you."

His groan was low, rough, desperate. He lifted me, carried me across the room as though I weighed nothing, setting me down on the couch like I was something both fragile and necessary. His body hovered above mine, his gaze searching, almost breaking.

"We're crossing a line," he murmured.

"Then let's cross it together."

And we did.

The night unfolded in fire and whispers, in kisses that tasted like forever and touches that felt like first times all over again. It wasn't perfect-it was messy, breathless, too fast and too slow all at once-but it was real. It was ours.

By the time dawn painted the sky pale and new, I lay tangled in him, my head against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. For the first time in years, I felt whole.

"I'll never let you go again," he whispered into my hair.

And though fear tugged at the edges of my heart, I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe this summer wasn't just heat and temptation, but something lasting, something true.

Because whatever tomorrow held, I knew this: Ethan and I had stepped into the fire. And nothing would ever be the same again.