I settle onto the board and glance toward shore.
They’re all there.
Kai stands waist-deep in the shallows, demonstrating foot placement to one of the newer instructors with exaggerated patience. He runs the surf school properly now – expanded it, modernised the booking system, introduced structured training programmes – and yet somehow the place still feels like him. Loud. Bright. A little chaotic around the edges in ways that make people relax instead of tense.
He pretends not to watch me.
He fails.
Sol is at the beachside grill, sleeves rolled high, forearms now permanently bronzed from three summers in the same sun. Smoke curls lazily around him as he flips something on the flat top with the focused calm of someone who treats food like both craft and offering. The queue stretches halfway down the promenade. It usually does.
He built the menu slowly. Pop-ups first. Then weekend-only service. Then five days a week. There are whispers now – food writers passing through, quiet recommendations, talk of regional awards.
He pretends it doesn’t matter.
It does.
Koa stands on the terrace of the hotel, phone pressed to his ear, posture relaxed but sharp. He manages everything – weddings, staffing, renovations, expansion plans – with a steadiness that never falters. The place used to feel imposing. Formal. Slightly cold.
Now it feels warm.
Intentional.
Booked months in advance.
Finn is on the sand, barefoot, trousers rolled, jacket slung over his shoulder despite the heat because he refuses to stop dressing like he might be called into a boardroom at any moment. He flew in late last night from Paris – another meeting. Another quiet dismantling of the structures his father once controlled.
He doesn’t talk about those meetings.
But I know what they cost him.
The Nyugen name doesn’t loom over this town anymore. It’s simply one of many.
He did that. For himself. And for us.
A swell rises beneath me and I let instinct take over. I stand smoothly, knees bending with the shift of water, the boardslicing cleanly through the wave as it curls toward shore. Salt spray catches sunlight in golden flecks, wind tugging at my hair.
And beneath it all – steady, unwavering – the bond hums in my chest. Not burning. Not demanding. Glowing. Four threads anchored deep.
I ride the wave in and step off into sand, laughter caught in my throat.
Kai reaches me first, towel already slung over his shoulder.
“You were showing off,” he accuses lightly.
“I always show off.”
He grins like that’s the correct answer and kisses me – quick, warm, unapologetic.
Sol joins us next, brushing salt from my shoulder with his thumb before pressing a kiss to my temple. His hands smell faintly of smoke and spice and lemon oil.
“Lunch in ten,” he murmurs.
“Bossy.”
“Efficient.”
Koa approaches with that quiet focus that never quite fades, phone finally pocketed. He doesn’t rush the kiss he gives me – it’s slow, deliberate, like he’s grounding himself in the simple fact of me.