Page 252 of Banter & Blushes

She groans as I make my way to the door, Winston probably already dreaming of bacon and not having to share the couch.

Keigan appears just as I’m unlocking it, holding a broom in one hand and looking entirely too proud of himself.

“I found it,” he says.

“I won’t be here.”

A growing part of me hated saying the words to him.

His expression shifts—just a tad, but enough. The crease between his brows deepens, and his mouth presses into something close to disappointment. Then, a small nod, almost resigned. "Guess I’ll see you around."

“I’m sorry,” I reply, and push the door open before he can ask anything else.

Behind me, Clara is still sighing.

But I’m already out into the night, the smell of the ocean close and the moon pretending not to listen.

And a small ache in my chest, which grows with each step.

CHAPTER 6

The morning sun filters through the blinds, waking me to a warm stripe. Winston sprawls on his back beside me, his soft snoring filling the quiet room, a gentle reminder of the peacefulness that comes with a day off.

I stretch, feeling the satisfying pull of muscles that have been overworked during the hectic summer season at the bar. Today is mine, a rare respite from the chaos.

Slipping into comfortable clothes, I clip Winston’s leash onto his collar. His eyes flutter open, and upon realizing the prospect of a walk, he springs to his feet with an enthusiasm that belies his small stature.

The coastal breeze greets us as we step outside, carrying the scent of salt and blooming jasmine. The town is already stirring; shop owners arrange their displays, and early risers jog along the shoreline.

We meander down the familiar path toward the beach, Winston’s nails clicking against the pavement. Seagulls wheel overhead, their cries blending with the distant sound of waves meeting sand.

As we approach the dunes, I notice a figure standing near the water’s edge, engaged in animated conversation with another man. The first man gestures broadly. The second man, dressed in a crisp button-down and sunglasses, exudes an air of polished authority.

Curiosity tugs at me, and I slow my pace, allowing Winston to sniff at a cluster of sea oats. The breeze carries snippets of their conversation.

“…need to lay low for a while. The paparazzi are relentless.”

“Keigan, I understand but the studio is anxious. They want assurances.”

“I just need a break from all the noise.”

I'm frozen. Absolutely frozen.

The animated man is Keigan.

Studio.

Paparazzi.

What?

I duck a little behind Winston, which makes no sense because Winston is shaped like a loaf of bread and offers zero cover, but the motion feels instinctive. He tugs at the leash, oblivious, determined to smell every clump this side of the Atlantic.

My eyes stay on Keigan.

He’s in profile, talking to the man in the button-down like he’s forgotten the rest of the world exists. His voice carries in waves, bits of sentences drifting in and out with the breeze.

“…I told them I’d finish the press tour after the Fourth, but I’m not stepping back into that circus yet. I can’t. I just?—”

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