Page 47 of Chasing Sunsets

“You’re a menace,” I tell him as I kick my feet, splashing him, but he just grins, ducking away easily.

We keep up the teasing for a while, the rest of the group completely unfazed by our antics. Eventually though, the energy starts to shift—people getting tired, the buzz of the night mellowing into something slower.

One by one, everyone starts making their way inside, the promise of food and dry towels too tempting to resist.

Avie is the last to leave, dragging her exhausted but still-protesting daughter from the water. She pauses at the edge of the pool with a knowing look in her eyes as she glances between me and Anson.

“We’re eating in the kitchen,” she says pointedly. “You two … take your time.”

She winks, then disappears inside, leaving us alone in the water.

The night settles around us, thick and quiet, the distant hum of cicadas filling the air.

Anson floats beside me for a long moment, then exhales, running a wet hand through his hair.

“Finally,” he mutters. “Thought they’d never leave.”

I smirk. “It’s their party.”

His gaze flicks to mine, something dark and amused lingering there. “I know, but they were hogging you. I want you to myself.”

Heat curls in my stomach, surprising and immediate.

I swallow, pushing off the pool wall, letting myself drift closer. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches out, his fingers brushing over my wrist beneath the water, slow and deliberate.

I realize I should say something teasing or lighthearted to ease the tension, especially since we’re not alone. I can still hear everyone talking and laughing behind the French doors.

But the way he’s looking at me makes my throat go dry.

“I like this,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now. “Being here with you.”

Something in my chest pulls tight.

I don’t know how to respond to that. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Not when my heart is doing something stupid and fluttery in my ribs.

So, instead of speaking, I do the only thing that makes sense.

I reach for him.

Anson doesn’t hesitate. The second my fingers graze his shoulder, he’s moving, closing the space between us in one smooth, effortless motion.

And then his mouth is on mine.

It’s not hurried. Not rushed or desperate.

It’s intentional.

Slow and deep and real.

His hands find my waist, pulling me against him, the water lapping around us. I curl my fingers into his damp hair, anchoring myself as he deepens the kiss, his lips warm and insistent.

And I don’t want to fight it.

I just want to feel.

When we finally pull back, my breath is uneven, my heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with the heat.

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