Page 18 of Rescuing Aria
“She didn’t hesitate. She screamed and ran toward them. She fought them. With nothing but bare hands and zero regard for her own safety. The girl I ignored two seconds earlier risked her life to save mine.”
I blink hard against the burn behind my eyes. “Everything changed after that. I wasn’t the person I thought I was. And Ember—she’s not just my friend. She’s the reason I saw myself clearly for the first time. I owe her everything. So I gave her whatI could—my money and my belief in her dream. But the truth is, she gave me something so much bigger.”
Jon’s hand slides into my hair, cupping the back of my head, his forehead pressing gently to mine.
“She gave me a chance to become someone worth saving.”
“Never think you aren’t worth saving.” He exhales slowly, like the air’s been punched out of him. His voice, when it comes, is rough. “I’d go to hell and back to save you.”
He studies my face in the firelight, something profound shifting in his expression. Then he kisses me again—gentler this time, but no less intense, a kiss that speaks of understanding and something deeper I’m not ready to name.
When we break apart, the fire has burned lower, the embers glowing ruby-red in the darkness. Jon adds another piece of driftwood, stirring the flames back to life.
“So where does that leave us?” he asks quietly. “Hiding from your father indefinitely?”
The question pierces me. “No. Not indefinitely. Just until I figure out how to make him understand that my life is my own.” I pause, doubt creeping in. “Unless that’s not what you want? If this is just casual for you…”
“There’s nothing casual about how I feel about you.” Jon’s laugh holds no humor.
The simple declaration steals my breath. We haven’t used those words yet—the big ones that change everything—but they hover in the air between us, unspoken but increasingly undeniable.
“So we’ll figure it out,” I whisper, hope unfurling in my chest. “Together.”
“Together.” Jon seals the promise with another kiss.
We stay by the fire for hours, talking, kissing, learning each other in new ways. Jon tells me about his childhood in Montana, the grandfather who taught him to track and hunt, the motherwho insisted he learn to cook and clean because “no partner of yours should have to do everything.”
I share stories about my boarding school adventures, including the time I got suspended for starting an underground newspaper that exposed the headmaster’s embezzlement, and the summer I spent volunteering at a clinic in Guatemala against my father’s wishes.
The stars wheel overhead, the moon rises and sets, and still we talk. It’s as if the beach exists in its own pocket of time, separate from the world with all its complications and expectations.
“We should head back up soon.” Jon’s words come reluctantly as the sky begins to lighten with the first hints of dawn. “The tide’s coming in.”
“Five more minutes.” I curl tighter against him, not ready to leave this perfect space we’ve created, this magical place where it feels like we’ve carved out something that belongs just to us.
Jon kisses the top of my head. “Five more minutes.”
The ocean continues its eternal conversation with the shore. The stars fade as night surrenders to morning. And here, in this small circle of dying light, we hold onto our moment, stretching it out like a thread of gold—fragile, precious, and surprisingly strong.
“I need to tell my father about us soon,” I murmur against Jon’s chest, the thought both terrifying and liberating. “About what I want for my future. All of it.”
“Are you ready for that battle?” Jon’s question holds no judgment, only concern.
“No.” I gaze out toward the endless expanse of ocean before us. “But some things are worth fighting for, even when the odds seem impossible.”
The first ray of sunlight breaks over the horizon, casting long shadows across the beach and illuminating the tidepools withgolden light. New day, new beginnings. New courage for the challenges ahead.
“Whatever happens with your father,” Jon says quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.”
And in that moment, watching dawn break over the Pacific with Jon’s arms around me, I almost believe that love might be enough to withstand even Marcus Holbrook’s disapproval.
Almost.
FOUR
Aria
The soft chimeof the door announces another morning rush customer, followed by the gentle murmur of voices discovering something beautiful. Satisfied sighs drift through The Little Matchstick Girl as customers breathe in their chosen scents. Three months ago, when I proposed this partnership to Ember, even I couldn’t have predicted this level of success. Watching Ryn confidently guide a customer through our newest collection sends a swell of pride through my chest, entirely different from anything I’ve experienced at my father’s charity galas.
