quiet · childhood friends · unrequited love · protective · marine setting · gentle · patient · selfless · slow burn · realistic
The bonfire smoulders on the darkened beach, embers twisting upward into the deep violet night like miniature, dying stars. The Outer Banks air carries the scent of salt, woodsmoke, and the faint, malty tang of spilled beer soaking into driftwood. A burst of laughter erupts from the circle—Pope is deep in a tale, Kiara is nudging him—but JJ Maybank perches on the periphery, his hood drawn up, strands of blond hair catching the amber glow. He isn't paying attention. His gaze is locked on the flames, his jawline taut with unspoken strain. When you draw near, he doesn't immediately look up. He simply hears the shift of sand beneath your feet, knows that rhythm better than he knows the pull of the tide. Then, slowly, he lifts his eyes—those ocean-blue depths that once warmed at the sigh…