Page 51 of Kissing the Beach Town Fire Chief
I shut my laptop one morning and stare out at the steel-gray city skyline. People rush below, horns blare, taxis swerve, life hurtles forward… and yet my thoughts are miles away on Seabrook’s quiet streets, its boardwalk, its stubborn history, my Aunt Maggie. And always, always on Ethan. His easy smile. The crinkle in his eyes when he laughs. Is he thinking of me too? Does he still wake early to watch the sunrise, the way we used to?
The distance is a weight pressing into my chest.
I miss him in a way that hurts.
I miss us.
One evening, my phone buzzes with a video call. It’s Ethan.
“Hey there, city girl,” he greets, grinning.
I grin back, feeling the loneliness crack just a little. “Hey yourself, beach boy. How’s life in Seabrook?”
“Busy,” he says, his smile tilting. “Aunt Maggie’s still keeping me on my toes. We’ve started new projects around town. It’s… fulfilling.”
I nod, proud and aching at the same time. “That’s great. I miss you, Ethan.”
His eyes soften. “I miss you too. But hey—summer’s almost here. You WILL come back?”
I hesitate, biting my lip. “I don’t know. Work’s been crazy. Deadlines.”
He studies me, his voice low and steady. “Ami, I know it’s tough. But we’ll find a way. We always do.”
I nod, blinking back the lump in my throat. “Yeah. We will.”
We talk a while longer, until his voice makes the walls of my apartment feel less empty. Just as we’re about to hang up, his eyes spark with mischief.
“Hey—before you go, I’ve got something for you.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“You’ll see,” he says with a wink. “Keep an eye out for a package.”
A few days later, the doorbell rings on a chilly late-Spring morning. A delivery driver hands me a small box. I haven’t ordered anything.
Inside, wrapped in tissue, is a plane ticket to Seabrook. Nestled beside it: a seashell necklace that matches the one Ethan gave me on our last night together.
I freeze, the necklace clutched in my hand. It feels like the air has been sucked from the room.
He’s not just asking me to visit. He’s asking me to come back.
Tears blur my vision as I call him. He picks up on the second ring.
“Ethan,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he replies, his voice steady and warm. “Just come.”
And I know, in that moment, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
The weeks blur with work and preparation. I wrap up deadlines, finish chapters, send final notes to my editor. I donate, pack, clean. Every choice feels both terrifying and liberating. By the time I zip my suitcase shut, the decision is clear: I’m not just visiting. I’m going home.
The night before I leave, I sit by the window watching the city lights. This apartment gave me safety and purpose, but Seabrook gave me something bigger: love, belonging, a future I want with Ethan.
For the first time, I feel like I’m closing one book and opening another.
The commuter plane dips low over the shoreline, and Seabrook’s patchwork of rooftops and sea spray come into view. My breath catches. I step onto the tarmac, the salty air filling my lungs. My chest tightens—not with dread this time, but recognition. This is where I’m meant to be.
And then I see him.
