Page 9 of Cupid's Beau

“Neneh,” my mother calls as I head for the stairs. “Don’t forget, we need to go to town later. Valentine’s decorations, remember?”

I pause mid-step. “Ma, that’s not for another week.”

“Exactly. We need to get the good ones before they sell out.” She gives me a look that means resistance is futile. “After your walk?”

“Fine,” I sigh. “But nothing too…” I wave my hands vaguely.

“Too what?”

“Too Valentiney.”

My father’s laugh follows me up the stairs. “Good luck with that, kid.”

* * *

The morning air hits like a slap when we step outside, but it’s exactly what I need. The beach is empty this early, and this cold. It’s just us, the seagulls, and the endless ocean.

We walk in comfortable silence, our footprints marking the sand. It’s our routine when I’m home - these quiet morning walks, no pressure to talk.

I’m about to suggest heading back when I spot a figure ahead atthe water’s edge. Even from this distance, there’s no mistaking that height, that stance. Jack stands with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the sea.

“Maybe we should turn around,” I murmur.

He must hear us, because he turns our way. For a moment, we all just stand there, caught in the moment - until my father calls out a cheerful “Good morning!”

Jack nods in response to my father’s greeting, and for a second I hope he might keep walking in the opposite direction. Instead, he waits as we approach. Up close, I can see his cheeks are red from the cold, his hair windswept. He’s still in his running gear, a light jacket doing little against the February chill. The wind molds the thin layer to his body, tracing every hard line, each defined muscle. And my eyes can’t help but hungrily take it all in. Thick thighs, flat stomach, powerful pecs, strong shoulders. The cold is no match for the heat fizzling between my thighs…

“Beautiful morning for a walk,” my father says, thankfully oblivious to the cloud of lust I’m drowning in. “Though a bit cold for running.”

“I like the cold,” Jack replies with a smile. His eyes meet mine briefly before sliding back to my father.

A particularly strong gust of wind hits us, and I pull my coat tighter. “Well, we should probably head back-”

“Actually,” my father cuts in, “I promised your mother I’d check on the dock. The posts were looking wobbly yesterday.” He’s already backing away. “You two enjoy your walk.”

“Papa-” But he’s already turning, waving over his shoulder as heheads toward the docks in the distance.

Leaving me alone with Jack Ellis on an empty beach.

For a moment, we walk in silence. The waves crash against the shore, seagulls overhead, and I try desperately to think of something to say.

He beats me to it.

“They changed the lighthouse,” he says suddenly, nodding toward the structure. “It used to be white.”

“Yeah, about ten years ago.” I study his profile. “You really did come here as a kid.”

Something soft crosses his face. “My sister and I used to race down this beach. She always won.” Then, as if catching himself sharing too much, his jaw tightens. “It was a long time ago.”

We’re almost back to the inn when he speaks again. “The town’s smaller than I remember.”

“Funny how that happens.” I risk a small smile. “Though we did get a second coffee shop last year.”

His lips twitch and I take that as a win.

My mother’s waiting on the porch, surrounded by boxes. Her face lights up when she sees us.

“Oh good! Jack, we could use some help reaching the high spots. Unless you have plans this morning?”

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