CHAPTER 2:

Emma's face burned as she clutched her shirt closed, mortification washing over her. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize…"

"It's fine." His back was still to her, his shoulders rigid. "Just... be more careful."

The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.

"Marcus, I really didn't mean…"

"I know." He turned back to face her, and his expression was carefully neutral now, controlled. "Accidents happen. You should unpack and settle in. Dinner will be around seven."

He moved past her toward the door, and she caught the tension in his jaw, the way he seemed to be holding himself back from something. "Marcus?"

He paused in the doorway but didn't look back.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For letting me stay."

For a moment, he didn't respond. Then: "Make yourself at home, Emma."

He left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Emma stood in her room, pressing her hands to her burning cheeks. The embarrassment from earlier still clung to her like the humid ocean air. She'd flashed Marcus Blake, her best friend's father, within the first hour of arriving.

Smooth, Emma. Really smooth.

She changed into denim shorts and a simple tank top, making sure everything was properly in place this time, then took a deep breath. She couldn't hide in here all evening. That would only make things more awkward.

When she emerged, the house was quiet except for the sound of the ocean through the open windows. She found Marcus in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with practiced efficiency.

He'd showered and changed into dark jeans and a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

"Can I help?" Emma asked from the doorway.

He glanced up, and she saw the moment of hesitation before he nodded. "You can wash the lettuce if you want."

They worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound of the knife against the cutting board and the water running. Emma was hyper aware of every movement, every time their arms nearly brushed.

"I really am sorry," she said finally. "About before."

"It was an accident." His voice was carefully neutral. "Let's just forget it happened."

But Emma noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way he kept his distance as they moved around the kitchen. The air between them felt charged, electric.

Lily burst through the door just as they were setting the table on the deck overlooking the ocean. "God, it smells amazing. I'm starving."

Dinner should have been easy; it was just the three of them, eating grilled fish and salad as the sun painted the sky in shades of orange and pink. But Emma felt Marcus's gaze on her several times, only to look up and find him quickly turning away.

She tried to focus on her conversation with Lily about their college plans, about the friends they'd miss, about anything normal. But her attention kept drifting to Marcus, the way his hands moved as he talked about his latest architectural project, the sound of his laugh when Lily teased him about something, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Halfway through dinner, Lily's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and her face lit up. "Oh! That's Jake. Dad, I meant to tell you, he's in the area visiting his cousin. Can he come by tomorrow? I really want you to meet him."

Marcus set down his fork. "How long have you been seeing this guy?"

"Three months. He's really great, Dad. You'll like him."

"Three months and I'm just hearing about him now?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Because I knew you'd do this, get all protective and interrogate him. He's a good guy. He's pre-med at Stanford, volunteers at a free clinic, and he treats me well."

"Still would've been nice to know my daughter has a boyfriend."

Emma watched the exchange with amusement. This was the Marcus she remembered, protective, a little gruff, but ultimately loving.

It made her heart ache in a way she didn't want to examine too closely.

Lily's phone buzzed again, and she glanced at it with a smile that made Emma's chest tighten with something that felt like envy. What would it be like to have someone look forward to your messages like that?

"Actually," Lily said, her voice taking on a tone Emma recognized, the one she used when she was about to ask for something she knew might be refused.

"Jake's cousin lives about an hour from here, and they're having this bonfire thing on the beach tonight. Could I...?"

"No," Marcus said immediately.

"Dad…"

"Lily, you just got here. We're supposed to be spending time together as a family."

"Emma's here too! She's basically family." Lily turned to Emma with pleading eyes. "You don't mind, right? We'll hang out tomorrow, I promise."

Emma's stomach sank, but she forced a smile. "Of course not. Go have fun."

"See? Emma's cool with it." Lily turned back to her father. "Please? I'll text you every hour. I'll be back by midnight. And you can meet Jake tomorrow, properly. He'll pick me up here; you can interrogate him all you want."

Marcus sighed, and Emma could see the moment he gave in. "Midnight. Not a minute later."

"Thank you!" Lily jumped up and kissed his cheek. "You're the best. I'm going to change."

She disappeared into the house, leaving Emma and Marcus alone on the deck. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of waves.

"You didn't have to do that," Marcus said quietly. "Do what?"

"Tell her it was okay. This was supposed to be your vacation, too."

Emma shrugged, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest at his consideration. "It's fine. Young love and all that."

He studied her for a moment, his blue eyes unreadable in the fading light. "You're eighteen. Shouldn't you be out there too? Having your own summer romance?"

The question hung between them, weighted with something Emma couldn't quite name.

"Maybe I'm not interested in boys my own age," she said before she could stop herself.

The air seemed to be still. Marcus's expression shifted, surprise, then something darker, more complicated, before he looked away.

"Emma…"

"Jake's here!" Lily called from inside. A car horn honked in the driveway.

The moment was shattered. Marcus stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the deck. "I want to meet him before you go."

Emma sat alone on the deck as Marcus went to interrogate Lily's boyfriend. She could hear voices from the front of the house: Lily's bright and cheerful, a male voice she didn't recognize, and Marcus's deeper tones asking questions.

A few minutes later, a car drove away. Marcus returned to the deck, his expression somewhere between resigned and irritated.

"So?" Emma asked. "Did he pass inspection?"

"He seems... fine. Pre-med. Polite. Still don't like the idea of my daughter going off with some boy I just met." He sat back down across from her. "But I suppose that's what fathers are supposed to say."

Emma smiled. "Lily's smart. She wouldn't date someone who wasn't good to her."

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration or weariness or both. "It's just... she's my only child. And she's growing up faster than I'm ready for."

There was something vulnerable in his admission, something that made Emma's heart squeeze.

"For what it's worth," she said softly, "you're a really good dad."

Their eyes met across the table, and Emma felt that pull again, that magnetic draw she'd been trying to ignore since she walked through the door.

Marcus looked away first. "We should clean up."

They worked together clearing the dishes, moving around each other in the kitchen. At one point, Emma reached for a serving bowl at the same moment Marcus did, and their hands collided.

The contact lasted only a second, but it sent electricity shooting up her arm.

"Sorry," she mumbled, pulling back.

"It's fine."

But his voice had gone rough again, the way it had earlier when he'd told her to cover herself.

Emma loaded the dishwasher while Marcus wiped down the counters. The silence between them had shifted from comfortable to tense, charged with an awareness that made her skin feel too tight.

When they finished, Marcus checked his watch. "It's still early. Did you want to watch something? Or I can show you where the books are if you'd rather read."

The idea of sitting next to him on the couch, in the dark, watching a movie felt both thrilling and terrifying.

"Actually, I think I might just go for a walk on the beach," Emma said. "Clear my head from the drive."

Something that might have been relief or disappointment flickered across his face. "There are flashlights in the mudroom. And a sweatshirt by the door if you need one. It gets cold once the sun's down."

"Thanks."

Emma grabbed the sweatshirt; it was his, she realized, when she pulled it on and breathed in the scent of his cologne, and headed down the steps to the beach.

The sand was cool beneath her bare feet, and the ocean stretched dark and vast before her.

She walked along the waterline, letting the waves lap at her ankles, trying to sort through the tangle of feelings in her chest.

She'd known this would be complicated. She'd known her crush on Marcus was impossible, inappropriate, something she should have outgrown. But seeing him again had only made it worse.

The way he looked at her sometimes, like he was seeing someone he shouldn't want to see. The tension in his voice when he told her to cover herself. The careful distance he maintained, as if he didn't trust himself to get too close.

Or maybe she was imagining it all. Maybe he just saw her as his daughter's friend, a kid he had to tolerate for two weeks.

Emma stopped walking and stared out at the dark water, at the moon reflecting on the waves.

She'd come here hoping... what? That somehow, magically, he'd see her differently? That she could make him want her the way she wanted him?

You're being ridiculous, she told herself. He's twice your age. He's Lily's father. This is never going to happen.

But even as she thought it, she remembered the heat in his eyes when her shirt had slipped, the roughness in his voice, the way he'd looked at her across the dinner table. Maybe it was impossible.