“I like my comforts. And I’d rather not crisp in the sun like a tater tot.”

Killian snickers. “I’ll be the tater.”

I pull off my tee and ease out of my jean shorts. “You do that. But don’t come crying to me if you burn. I’m not rubbing aloe on your back.” Lie. I’d be far too happy to rub him.

“You will, Libs.” His voice is oddly faint, distracted. “You’re all bark, babe.”

“Babe? That’s no way to get me to…” I glance up to find him watching me. Not leering, but definitely looking.

And I have the urge to pull my top back on. My black bikini is made for comfort rather than sexiness, and it covers as much as my bra and panties would. But I’m not used to a man seeing so much of me. I’m not ashamed of my body—though I wouldn’t cry if I suddenly had a smaller butt and bigger boobs. I’m a B-cup, so I don’t have to wear a bra every day, and I’m not exactly filling it out when I do. Something tells me Killian has seen his fair share of spectacular boobs. It annoys me that I fear I’ll be found lacking.

I catch his gaze, and the air around us seems to take a pause. Killian’s dark eyes narrow, his expression hooded. I wonder what the hell he’s thinking, and my heart starts to pound, little zings of heat going haywire low in my belly.

I don’t know how long we stand there, looking at each other as if we’re strangers who happened upon each other on this beach. It’s probably only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Then he blinks, cutting that cord, and makes a pretense of looking all around the beach. We’re alone here. Though, far in the distance, a few people are walking along the shore.

“I’m going for a swim,” he says. “Want to come?”

“You don’t want your sandwich?” Something in my chest squeezes tight because he’s kind of twitchy now, as though he wants to take off.

Killian eyes the cooler and lets out a breath. “Right. Forgot about that.”

He plops down next to me on the beach blanket, close enough that his thigh nearly brushes mine, and I can feel the heat of his body. He’s got nice legs, muscular and dusted with dark hairs, his skin already deeply tanned.

I shouldn’t be noticing his damn legs. I shouldn’t be fidgeting with plates.

“You come here a lot?” he asks.

“I visit the beach almost daily.”

“With your friends?”

I wipe my hands down my thighs. “No. By myself.”

He takes a bite of his sandwich, his gaze on the sea. “No friends?”

God, the man is like a bloodhound. Or an annoying rat, chewing away at all my weaknesses. With that lovely image floating before my eyes, I set my sandwich down. “Not much of a social life here. Most of my friends are online.” And when was the last time I talked to any of them? It’s a slap to the system to realize I haven’t emailed anyone in months. And no one has emailed me either.

I’m not shy. But I am an introvert. Going out has never been my thing. But when did I grow so isolated? Why hadn’t I noticed? Or cared?

“Anyway, I like my privacy, doing my own thing…” My neck tightens, and I take long gulps of my lemonade.

I have no idea what Killian is thinking. He just nods and eats his BLT in neat but big bites. A sigh of contentment leaves him before he peers down at the cooler, a little frown between his eyes.

“Here.” I pass him another sandwich. “I packed you three.”

His grin is quick and wide. “I knew it. All bark.”

I won’t smile. I won’t. “Eat your sandwiches.”

“I see that smile, Libs.”

“I can take back the food.”

He grabs the third sandwich and sets it on his lap, hunching protectively over it as he wolfs down the second one. “You grow up here?” he asks me after swallowing a huge chunk.

“No. I grew up in Wilmington. The house was my grandmama’s place. She left it to my parents when she died, and they left it to me.” There. I said it. And it only hurts a little. A dull pain, like a boulder crushing down on my ribs. “I was living in Savannah, but after… Well, I just wanted to go home. This was the closest place to it for me.”

Killian frowns, but his voice is gentle. “When did they die, Libby?”

I don’t want to answer. But silence is worse. “A little over a year ago.” I take a breath. “My mom and dad went out to dinner. Dad got drunk but drove anyway.”

I can’t tell him that my dad was always drunk in those final days, missing a lifestyle he’d vowed to give up when my parents had me. Was I the cause of my father’s bad choices? No. But some days, it sure felt like it. I swallow hard. “He crashed into a family van. Killed the mother in that van, himself, and my mom too.”

“Fucking hell.”

I try to shrug and fail. “It is what it is.”

“It’s fucked up, honey.”

Nodding, I search through the cooler for another lemonade.

“Liberty?” His voice is so soft and tentative that I immediately still and lift my head.

Killian squeezes the back of his neck, his jaw bunched. But he doesn’t look away, even though it’s clear he wants to. “I… Fuck…” He takes another breath. “I’m sorry. For the way we met. For tearing up your lawn and puking on you.” His cheeks redden, which is kind of cute. “But most of all, for forcing you to take care of a drunk driver.”

He flicks a few grains of sand off his knee. “It was fucked up. And I’m not that guy.” His dark eyes are wide and slightly haunted. “Or I wasn’t until recently. I just…had a rough time lately,” he finishes with a mumble before frowning at the sea.

“And you turned to the bottle.” It isn’t my place to criticize. And I try to make my voice gentle. “It never works, you know.”

He snorts. “Oh, I know.” He glances back at me, and his lips curve on a bitter smile. “I failed spectacularly at that experiment in oblivion.”

“If you’d failed,” I say softly, “you’d be dead.”

Killian blanches. “I guess you’re right,” he says in a thin voice.

We’re quiet for a moment, the crash of waves and the cries of gulls filling the air. Then I hand him his sandwich. “I’m glad you didn’t.” I’m glad you’re here. With me. But I don’t have the courage to say that.