Page 47 of Where the Blacktop Ends

Running here has become a habit, a way to clear my head since making the Hamptons our home base. It would’ve been easier to stay in the city, closer to work, but that’s not the life I want for Liam. I watched what that world did to Max, the way it consumed him, and I refuse to make the same mistakes with his son.

I inhale deeply, the scent of salt and damp earth filling my lungs, then push forward. My feet pound against the sand, steady, rhythmic. With every stride, my mind sharpens, preparing for what’s coming.

By the end of the day, everything will be different, and I need to stay focused except my mind is churning like the waves crashing against the shoreline, replaying last night and Georgia’s kiss on a loop.

She’d had too much to drink—emotional, vulnerable, caught up in whatever connection she thought we had in that moment. Maybe she won’t even remember it happened. Because that would be what’s best. She’s young. Too young for me. Too tangled up in Liam’s life. Too…messy.

That’s the word that keeps coming back to me. My world is already filled with enough complications—I don’t need to add Georgia to the list. Reciprocating that kiss would’ve been a mistake—a temptation I can’t afford. She’s chaos. Unpredictable. And I don’t have room for that. I can only hope she’s already written it off as a drunken mistake. That we’ll move past it, no awkwardness, no tension, no need to talk about it. Just pretend last night never happened.

A five-mile run does little to quiet my thoughts, but by the time I make it back to the house, I’m more prepared to face her. The place is still dark, the early morning light barely creeping through the October sky.

As I climb the stairs, my mind drifts—memories of the city, of weekends spent wandering New York with Max. Art galleries, tiny cafés, the pulse of life humming around us. It was the perfect place for him, for his restless energy, his creativity. But it wasn’t right for Liam. He’s quieter, more introspective. The city would’ve swallowed him whole. The Hamptons are better for him. Here, he has space to breathe. And Georgia—I’m coming to realize—has already helped him in ways I couldn’t.

I reach the top of the stairs, careful not to make a sound as I pass her bedroom. The door is still shut, no light coming from beneath it.Good. Hopefully she spends the whole day sleeping and then forgets everything.

After a quick shower, I throw on a T-shirt and shorts and head downstairs. But just as I step into the kitchen, I catch sight of her through the window.

She’s curled up on the back deck, knees tucked beneath an oversized sweatshirt that’s wrapped around her body, staring out at the ocean. Not scrolling through her phone, not reading. Just…sitting there.

And for the first time, I wonder if I misjudged her ability to move past what happened last night. For a moment, I consider leaving her alone. She looks lost in thought, and the last thing I want to do is make things more uncomfortable between us by trying to make small talk.

But the part of me that values straightforwardness, keeping things professional, strictly business, tells me I should go out there, clear the air. Make sure she knows there’s no need forweirdness. I’m used to awkwardness—most people get that way around me, especially politicians who have something to hide or women who want to sleep with me—but Georgia? She’s not awkward. She’s just a young woman who made a mistake after a heavy conversation and lots of alcohol that resulted in a kiss.

And I’m just a guy who didn’t enjoy itat alland respected her vulnerability by not reciprocating.

Yeah. That’s exactly what it was. I didn’t enjoy it at all.I know I’m full of shit, but I push forward, hand on the sliding glass door, debating whether I should interrupt her. But instead of overthinking it further, I grab two mugs, pour some coffee, and head outside. The door slides open causing a soft squeak and her head snaps toward me. There’s a forced smile on her lips, like she wasn’t expecting me and isn’t happy about it either.

“Coffee?” I hold out one of the mugs awkwardly.

“Sure.”

She takes it then place the mug on the table beside her, not touching it, eyes fixed on the shoreline where I’d just been running.

I hesitate and rub at my jawline because it’s been a long time since I’ve lived with a woman and I’m feeling very out of my depth here. “Mind if I join you?”

She shrugs, still not looking my way.

Okay, maybe things are going to be awkward between us.

I sink into the chair beside her. Silence settles—thick, uncomfortable. She watches the waves while I watch her.

Her face is bare this morning, no makeup, and her shiny hair hangs loose, catching in the breeze and blowing the scent of her flower shampoo in my direction. Her knees are still tuckedunder that large sweatshirt, so she looks like a tiny, little blob and her feet are bare. I wonder if her ankle is feeling better.

There’s a softness to her like this, bathed in the light of dawn. Without all the layers and makeup that she was wearing last night, she’s even more beautiful—natural, raw. It reminds me of how she looked yesterday with just the moonlight on her skin before she kissed me.

“Were you going to tell me?” she finally says, her voice breaking through the stillness.

I blink, pulled out of my quiet admiration. “What?”

She turns to face me, eyes sharp. “About you running for governor of North Carolina.”

Oh.

“This wasn’t public information. The only people who knew were lobbyists, a few political allies, my campaign manager, and immediate family. I couldn’t risk this information getting out to the public. Trust me, the majority of New York and North Carolina are just as surprised you are by the news this morning.”

A long stretch of silence follows as I wait, and we stare at each other. Her brown eyes blink, sharp and cutting and I can’t get a read on what she’s feeling because I’m too distracted by her lips. Full, a soft, light pink with lots of cushion. She has the prettiest lips I think I’ve ever seen.

“So... you didn’t trust me to keep your secret?”

---