Page 95 of The Beach Trap

We continue to kiss, discarding clothing as we go, exploring each other in a languid way with hands and lips and the occasional bite. I’m struck by how comfortable this is; usually when I’m with someone for the first time, I get nervous, or I feel like I have to perform in some way. But it’s so easy with Henry, almost like we’ve done this before. His hand reaches between my legs and when he finds the perfect spot I sigh.

“Talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what you like.”

“I like this. I like it a lot.”

He touches me slowly and deliberately, taking his time until I can’t take it anymore and I ache with the need to feel him inside me.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask, praying the answer is yes. I brought some with me from Atlanta, but they’re upstairs in my bedroom, which feels too far away.

Henry smiles a guilty smile and reaches down for his discarded jeans, where he fishes one out of the pocket.

I take the foil package from his hands and rip it open with my teeth. It makes my heart sing that he thought ahead, that he planned for this. For us to have all night.

He leans back into the couch and watches as I slide the condom on him. I shift on his lap until we’re perfectly positioned. There’s a little fumbling, a little teasing, and he enters me. We both let out identical sighs of relief.

I lift my eyes to meet his, our faces inches apart. “I like this.”

He smiles. “I know.”

His arms wrap around me, and together we begin to move. In this position, straddling his lap with my knees on either side, I’m in control, and I love it. Henry lets me set the pace, but he matches me, going deeper when I ask for more, slowing down or speeding up when I need it. His eyes are impossibly dark, so deep I could sink into them and never hit bottom. I’ve never felt so safe, here with Henry’s arms around me. He’s gazing at me like I’m special, like I’m precious, like he never wants to let me go.

My eyes fill with tears and I bury my face in his neck; I couldn’t talk now if I tried. This emotion I’m feeling—it’s overwhelming. It’s like I’m caught in a riptide, being tugged into a vast, unending sea, and I don’t fight it. I let myself be dragged under the waves, relinquishing all control. He takes over, holding my hips and grinding me against him until I’m frantic with the need to come.

And then, when I’m hovering on the edge, ready to shatter in a million pieces, Henry lays a gentle kiss on my forehead and whispers, “You were worth the wait.”

My heart explodes, and I think I might just be falling for Henry Alexander, the boy—the man—with two first names.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

BLAKE

Seeing my granddad again has been the best feeling ever. Worth the insanely long drive from Destin to Minnesota with the dog in the back seat, worth the money I had to spend on a pet-friendly hotel room.

It took two days to move Granddad into his new room in the memory care building at Shaky Oaks, and during those two days he was agitated and confused. He had a few outbursts, and there was one painful moment when he didn’t recognize me. But it’s been three days since then and he’s doing well.

The staff have been friendly and professional, Martina has visited him every day, and I can already tell that he’s going to be safer here.

But leaving him again is going to tear my heart out.

“Oh, Blakers,” he says, enveloping me in a bear hug. “You’re gonna come visit again soon, right?”

Tears squeeze from my eyes as I nod. “Of course. I’ll be back before you know it.”

The Vanderhaavens will return from France in three weeks, so my plan is to drive back to Destin and finalize things, thenreturn to Minneapolis and get the Vanderhaavens’ house ready for their return. I wonder if the dog is going to want to sleep in my bed still; it’ll be strange sleeping without my personal foot warmer.

“You have a great drive back to France,” Granddad says as we separate from our embrace.

I try not to let my smile falter. Being away from him this summer has made me realize how quickly time is passing, how little I have left with him before his memory goes completely.

“Florida, Granddad,” I say.

An employee of Shaky Oaks pops her head in the room. “Ellis, the movie is starting in the common room. Would you like to join us?”

Granddad’s eyes light up. In an effort to make him feel welcome, the staff has played John Wayne movies every afternoon. Today they’re watchingThe Man Who Shot Liberty Valance—always a winner because it also features the handsome and talented Jimmy Stewart.

“Ready as I’ll ever be!” Granddad says.

“Have fun,” I tell him, and wave as he walks down the hall. I watch, heart aching, as my only remaining family member shuffles away.

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