Page 50 of Kissing the Beach Town Fire Chief
I take a breath. “Okay, here it is. I kinda, sorta, really like you, Ami.”
Her eyebrows lift, but the corners of her mouth tug upward. “Oh, do you now?” Her voice is teasing, but her eyes shine, wide and bright, like she’s been waiting for this.
“Yeah,” I mutter, heat crawling up my neck. “I really do.”
She closes the space between us with a light touch on my arm, her fingers lingering longer than they need to. “Good,” she says softly, her gaze locking with mine. “Because I like you too. A lot.”
Her admission is quiet, but her eyes… they burn with everything she hasn’t said.
I grin like an idiot. “Wait. Seriously?”
She laughs, but there’s no hiding the tremor in her voice. “Seriously. I’m not ready to say goodbye just because summer’s ending.”
“Then let’s not,” I blurt. “I know long-distance is tough, but I’ll take tough if it means I still get you.”
She laughs again, lighter this time, and it spills out like a promise. “Count me in.”
The moonlight paints her silver as the waves crash behind her, and for the first time I let myself believe she’s mine.
Back at her house, Ami suddenly boots up her laptop. Her expression is one of amazement, or joy, or … something Ijust can’t describe.Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, as her fingers fly over the keys. I sit close, just watching—because she looks like she is in a trance, and laser-focused. She bites her lip when she’s thinking, laughs under her breath when the words come fast, and every little thing she does makes my chest ache.
When she finally stops, she leans back, eyes shining. “There!” she shouts. “I’m done, done, done.” So, I lean in to read.
In the end, it’s not about the grand gestures or the sweeping romances. It’s about the quiet moments shared under the stars, the laughter that echoes through the streets, and the feeling of being truly seen and understood. It’s about realizing that love isn’t a destination; it’s a journey. Sometimes, the most beautiful destinations are the ones we find along the way. It’s not about the places we search or the dreams we chase. It’s about the moments we share, the bonds we forge, and the love thatsurrounds us. Sometimes, what we’ve been seeking all along is right in front of us.
My throat tightens. She doesn’t even realize she’s writtenuson that page. Everything I’ve felt—everything I couldn’t say—she’s just laid bare without knowing it.
“Ami, this is… incredible,” I whisper.
She looks up, and for once she doesn’t joke, doesn’t deflect. Her eyes search mine, wide and searching, as if she’s asking for more than my words, “You really think so?”
I can’t look away. “Yeah. I really do.”
Her lips part like she’s about to say something else, but she doesn’t. Instead, her hand brushes mine under the table, lingering, deliberate. And in that touch, I feel everything she can’t quite say out loud.
As the lamplight warms the room, as the night folds in around us, I know the truth: I don’t just want one more sunrise, one more summer.
I want every season. Every year. Every tomorrow.
Ami isn’t just my summer.
She’s my always.
Chapter twenty-eight
Ami
Winter is about to end, and it’s been six months since I left Seabrook. The memories remain, vivid and bittersweet, always humming in the background of my life in the city. I’ve fallen back into my old routine—coffee runs, late nights hunched over my laptop, crowded subway rides, and streets that never sleep.
Life goes on, but something in me doesn’t. There’s a constant ache, a longing that follows me through each day… because part of my heart is still in Seabrook. Long-distance with Ethan is both a lifeline and a torment. We videocall when we can, but sometimes the days blur, and whole weeks slip away without his voice. When he does appear on my screen—rumpled shirt, tired eyes, smile that still undoes me—it’s like sunlight through a window I didn’t realize had gone dark.
He tells me stories from the station. They’ve had serious calls lately, and I hear the weariness in his voice when he talks about them. But then he grins and says he passed off another “cat-in-a-tree” to Jake, and I laugh so hard I nearly spill my coffee. Jakewill never live down the nicknames:Meow-Man,Nine Lives Jake,Chief Meow-ster. Inside jokes like that tug me closer to Ethan, closer to his real life—the life I ache to be part of instead of watching through a screen.
And he’s still helping Aunt Maggie, even without the mayor’s title. I hear his pride when he describes the small wins—restoring an old mural, getting approval for historic signage, saving a cottage from demolition. He doesn’t say it out loud, but I can tell he’s proud of being needed, proud of standing shoulder to shoulder with her.
Meanwhile, I’m deep into book two, pouring my feelings into the pages. Book one is officially under contract with a publisher, and they want more. It’s exhilarating… and terrifying. Sometimes I can’t help but think about how the campaign speeches, the practice writing with Jake, the endless edits—it all pushed me here. Without that summer, I might never have had the courage to call myself a writer. I’m still employed too, and constantly busy with new projects.
But even in the middle of my career dreams, the pull is stronger. With each new season I feel myself drifting back toward Seabrook in my mind—toward Ethan.
