I gave them all two big thumbs up, and their chorus of laughter followed me all the way down to the water.
The warmth of the sand gave way to cool relief as I stepped closer to the shoreline, my feet sinking into the soft grains with each step. The breeze off the Mediterranean carried hints of sea salt and lemon, and I let it lift my hair off my shoulders, breathing in deep as I walked.
The laughter from our lounge chairs slowly faded behind me, muffled by distance and the rhythmic sound of the waveslapping against the shore. Out here, away from the teasing and the cameras, it was quiet. Still.
I wrapped my arms around my waist, not from any chill — because the Amalfi sun was generous — but from the ache that was blooming in my chest.
Six charters behind us and just a few left now. It was almost over.
And what a season it had been.
There were so many moments I thought I might break under the pressure — under the expectations, the long hours, the chaos. But somehow, I hadn’t. I’d kept things afloat, managed every detail, every guest tantrum, every crew conflict. I’d stepped up as a leader and earned the respect of the captain and crew. I was damn proud of that.
And still…
My father’s voice haunted me.
“This isn’t a real career, Ember. It’s a phase. A detour. You’re smarter than this.”
I blinked hard against the sting that came with the memory. It didn’t matter how many times I reminded myself that he didn’t understand; that he’d never even tried to. It still hurt. Worse than that, it made me doubt.
Was he right?
Was I chasing something fleeting? Something unworthy? Was I wasting time instead of building the kind of life that would make him finally look at me with approval instead of disappointment?
My eyes lifted from my toes in the sand to the horizon. Everything in me wanted to believe I wasn’t wrong. I wanted to trust that surge in my heart for this job, this life, for the people I’d grown to love and the passion I felt for what I did.
It meant something.
But even as I stood rooted in that truth, doubt whispered like the tide around my ankles, washing over me, pulling me back, tempting me to give in.
I sank into the sand where the surf kissed the shore, arms draped over my knees, toes half buried. I watched the waves, letting their rhythm soothe the war in my chest. I wanted to just have fun. It was a beach day, for fuck’s sake. And when I was with the crew, the alcohol buzzing through me made me silly and happy and carefree.
The moment I was alone, it made me sad.
I didn’t hear him approach, too lost in my own thoughts, but I felt the moment his shadow passed over me.
Finn settled into the sand without a word, close but not touching. I didn’t look at him, not right away. I just kept watching the sea, heart thudding at the nearness of him.
I felt his eyes on me.
Always, I felt him.
And just like the sea, he unsettled me — familiar and wild, beautiful and dangerous, capable of saving me or pulling me under.
“Hello, Firefly.”
I turned to face him, and then all the anxiety was swept from me with the next wave that hit my toes.
Because he was grinning at me, his hair a mess from the wind, his shoulders sun-kissed, and something about that made all the heaviness vacate my chest in an instant.
“You’re drunk,” I mused, tapping his red nose.
“I am,” he confessed.
“And you need sunscreen.”
“You going to rub it all over me?”