CHAPTER 10:

"Let go," Emma just said without hesitation, but she didn't pull away.

Marcus looked down at where his hand circled her wrist, at the rapid pulse beating beneath his fingers. Every rational thought in his head screamed at him to release her, to step back, to maintain the boundaries he'd so carefully constructed.

But standing there with Emma, feeling the heat of her skin against his, seeing the way her eyes had gone dark with something that wasn't anger, Marcus felt his carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble.

"I can't," he said hoarsely.

"Can't what?" Emma's voice was barely audible over the crash of the waves.

Marcus's thumb stroked unconsciously over her pulse point, feeling her heartbeat quicken. "I can't—"

"DAD! EMMA!"

Lily's voice carried across the beach, bright and cheerful and completely oblivious. Marcus dropped Emma's wrist as if scalded, stepping back just as his daughter appeared over the dune with Jake and his friends, carrying bags of food.

"We got tacos!" Lily announced happily. "Emma, I got you the fish ones you like!"

Emma's face was flushed, her breathing uneven. "Thanks," she managed, her voice strained.

Marcus couldn't meet anyone's eyes. His hand still tingled where he'd touched her, his heart racing with the knowledge of how close he'd come to crossing a line he could never uncross.

But as Lily distributed lunch and chattered about their afternoon plans, Emma looked at him one last time. And in her eyes, Marcus saw a truth that terrified him:

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

The real question was: how long could he keep running before he finally broke?

The Word That Changed Everything:

Come in the evening when the air had turned cool, carrying the salt-sweet smell of the ocean through the open windows of the beach house. Lily had gone out with Jake again, their third date in as many days, leaving Marcus and Emma alone in the sprawling silence.

Marcus sat on the back porch, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of orange and purple. He'd been avoiding this moment all day, but there was nowhere left to run. The house felt smaller somehow, the air thicker, charged with unspoken words.

"You can't hide out here forever, you know."

Emma's voice made him tense. She stepped onto the porch carrying two glasses of wine, her expression carefully neutral. She'd changed into jeans and a soft green sweater that made her eyes look impossibly bright.

"I'm not hiding," Marcus said, though they both knew it was a lie.

"Right." Emma looked at him before she handed him a glass and settled into the chair beside him, leaving just enough space between them to be proper. "You're just enjoying the view."

Marcus took the wine, grateful for something to do with his hands. "Something like that."

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the tension between them palpable. Emma was the first to break it.

"So, tell me about your wife."

Marcus's whole body went rigid. "Emma—"

"Please," she said softly. "I want to understand. I want to know about the type of woman you loved, and why you divorced her?”

"Why?" Marcus's voice came out harsher than he intended. "What possible good could come from—"

"Because she's the ghost standing between us," Emma interrupted, her eyes steady on his face. "Because every time you look at me, I can see you comparing. Measuring. Wondering if—"

"I'm not," Marcus cut her off. "That's not what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?" Emma challenged. "Because from where I'm sitting, you won't talk about her, won't talk about us, won't talk about anything that actually matters."

Marcus set his wine down with more force than necessary. "There is no 'us,' Emma. How many times do I have to say it?"

"Until you start believing it yourself," Emma shot back. "Which clearly hasn't happened yet."

Marcus stood abruptly, walking to the porch railing. His hands gripped the wood, knuckles white. "You want to know about my wife? Fine. Cynthia, my wife,” he said, and continued. “She was brilliant, kind and funny. She was the love of my life. She left us three years ago, and I was not the reason why she left, and I watched it happen slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left but—" His voice broke. "But memories and regret."

Emma was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was gentle. "I'm sorry. That must have been—"

"Don't," Marcus said, not turning around. "Don't pity me. That's not why I told you."

"Then why did you?"

"Because you asked." He finally looked at her, his eyes tired. "Because you're right. She is a ghost. But not in the way you think."

Emma stood slowly, moving closer but not touching. "Then help me understand."

Marcus laughed bitterly. "What's there to understand? My wife left us with Lily, our daughter, the time she needed to feel her as a mother but she couldn't think that way. And now my daughter needs me.

And I've spent three years just... existing. Going through the motions. Until—" He stopped himself.

"Until what?" Emma pressed.

"Until you," Marcus admitted quietly. "Until I looked at you and felt something I had no right to feel."

The confession hung in the air between them, dangerous and electric. Emma's breath caught.

"Marcus—"

"No," he said firmly, stepping back. "We're not doing this. Let's just... talk. About anything else. Please."

Emma studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

Marcus returned to his chair, picking up his wine. "Tell me about yourself. Your real self, not the version you show Lily."

Emma tilted her head, considering. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Marcus said before he could stop himself. "What you love. What do you dream about. What keeps you up at night?"

A small smile played at Emma's lips. "That's a dangerous question, Marcus." Marcus smiles softly.

"Maybe," he acknowledged. "But I'm asking anyway."