The Beach House Novels & Stories

If anyone had told me the weekend would go like this, I’d have called them a fucking liar. The beach house belongs to my roommate’s family. She offered it to me as a quiet escape after a brutal work week. “Just you, the ocean, and some peace” she said. What she forgot to mention is that her older brother and his two best friends decided to crash the same weekend for a last-minute guys’ trip. They arrive Friday night while I am already unpacked and halfway through a bottle of wine on the deck. Marcus, Jake, and Tyler. All tall, all athletic, all carrying that easy confidence that makes the atmosphere feel thicker the moment they walk in.

She gave me a pointed look, and I felt a fresh wave of panic, immediately realizing how much harder it would be to maintain my distance from Jace when there was nowhere to run. The atmosphere inside the SUV shifted abruptly as we turned off the highway and started driving down a densely wooded private road. The laughter died down, replaced by Anna’s directions and the crunch of tires on gravel. When we finally broke through the trees, the air changed—it became thick and salty with the sea breeze, and filled with the roar of the ocean nearby. The beach house wasn’t a house. It was a huge fortress built right into the cliffside, all clean lines, massive panes of

The house stood close to the water, against the backdrop of palm trees and open sky, clean lines and wide glass windows reflecting the fading light. Nora stopped in her tracks. “Wow,” she breathed. “Eli…” I watched her reaction, feeling something close to pride. “Yeah.” Movers were already bringing in furniture, boxes stacked neatly inside. She turned to me, eyes wide. “Did you really buy this place?” “No, the whole beach,” I said. “Yesterday. All the papers are done.” “That fast?” She blinked. “Wait, what? The whole beach?" “Yeah," I smiled proudly. “This is a private section of the beach residence, we have neighbors.” I pointed at the distant houses.

"No way. I already promised you, and besides, he needs to lighten up. Maybe having us around will remind him there's more to life than blueprints and client meetings." Lily reached over and squeezed Emma's hand. "Just... be on your best behavior, okay? Don't do anything to annoy him. He can be pretty intense when he's in work mode." "I'll be a model houseguest," Emma promised, though her pulse quickened. The beach house came into view as they crested the hill, a stunning modern structure of glass and weathered wood that seemed to grow out of the cliff itself, overlooking a private stretch of beach. Emma had been here twice before, years ago, but it still took

When the car finally slowed, I realized we had arrived at a private stretch of beach. The house stood there, facing the ocean. It was a luxurious two-storey beach house, modern yet warm, with wide glass walls that reflected the soft glow of the moonlight. The sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air, steady and calming. The exterior was lined with pale stone and dark wood, giving it a quiet elegance that didn’t need to be loud to be impressive. “This is…” I paused, taking it in. “My place,” she said simply, though there was a hint of pride in her voice.

The SUV glides off the highway onto a narrow coastal road. Palm trees whip past, dark silhouettes against the moonlit ocean. Damien doesn’t speak. Neither do I. The silence is thick, charged with everything we haven’t said yet. He pulls up to a low, modern beach house with glass walls facing the Atlantic, a flat roof, and no visible neighbors. The driveway is gravel. The ocean crashes steadily and low beyond the dunes. He kills the engine. “Beach house,” he says, as if that explains everything.

We don’t speak again for the rest of the drive. I looked for you. He said it like a fact. He actually looked for me. I sit with that the whole way there. I hear the water before Marcus cuts the engine. The beach house sits at the end of a long gravel drive, white weatherboard walls, wide porch. The sound of the ocean comes through the window before I see it and there’s a second, just a second where I think, this could be okay. A whole week of that water. Salt air and no school and maybe room to say the things I need to say.

I hurriedly dressed from the shower, wearing a cutoff T-shirt and a sexy pair of Lycra running shorts. I checked myself in the mirror to ensure I'd not gone too far over the top. I bought and refurbished my beach house with seduction in mind. All the rooms faced the beach. Many casual friends became lovers under the influence of wine, reefer, and a moonlit beach. I joined them on the deck, where they laid out the salad and opened two bottles of white wine.

I muttered. “Almost there,” Macmillan muttered beside me. The turnoff for the beach house was easy to miss if you didn’t know it a gravel drive half-hidden by tall grass and a weathered wooden post with a faded number. It was indeed private and quiet. The house itself came into view after a short curve: low and weathered gray, cedar shingles gone silver from years of salt air, a wide porch facing the water. Jordan was out of the car before it fully stopped, already heading for the porch steps with his tote.

I told her. We placed our bags in the back of Isabella’s car and pulled the address into the GPS. It took us all of two hours to get to the shore. As soon as I caught sight of the ocean, I felt a significant weight being lifted off of my shoulders. That awful worry of Barrett lurking in the shadows, was beginning to fade in my mind. Isabella pulled the car up to what had to be the most breathtaking beach house I had ever seen in person. The two of us stared with our mouths hanging open at the three-story, white brick house with dark blue shutters.