The smell of salt and sea air wraps around us, and I breathe in deep, hoping it'll steady me. The sky bleeds into the horizon in endless shades of blue, and the setting sun casts everything in a golden glow that makes the world feel bigger than we'll ever understand.

We're alone now.

No cell reception, no distractions. Just us and the ocean. And it’s terrifying, because I realize I've never wanted anything more than to keep her all to myself. To freeze time and stay like this, just the two of us, away from everything that threatens to tear us apart. I grab the box Nick insisted we take, laughing under my breath.

"Nick wants us to try some new menu items for the restaurant."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "A food critic? Now that I can do."

I grin, pulling out the containers. "He did promise dessert too. But only if the feedback is good."

We sit on the deck, legs stretched out as the boat sways gently beneath us. The ocean stretches endlessly ahead, the setting sun painting everything in fire-bright hues of pink and gold. Nora sits across from me, her hair catching the last rays of sunlight, her skin glowing like it's been kissed by the dying day. Every time her eyes meet mine, my chest tightens with an ache I can't ignore. She's like the moon in the night sky—no matter where I try to run and hide, she's always there, lighting up the darkest parts of me.

"Can I ask you something?" Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, like she's treading on fragile ground. Her eyes flicker with uncertainty, but there's a quiet determination underneath that makes my throat go dry.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Something in me already knows what she's going to ask, and instinct screams at me to deflect, to run.

But I'm tired of running.

"The nightmares..." Her voice breaks through the quiet tension. "Are they always about your dad?"

She's sitting right in front of me now, her jade green eyes locked on mine, pulling at something deep inside me that I've kept buried for too long. It's like she's demanding all my attention, though she already has it. She always does.

Her hand brushes the top of mine, steady and warm.

"Nate, you can talk to me."

I look anywhere but at her. The water ripples around us in gentle waves, but inside me, it's like a storm threatening to break loose. I swallow hard, the words lodged in my throat like they've forgotten how to be spoken.

"I—"

She wants me to talk, but how do I put words to the things I've spent my whole life trying to bury? We shouldn’t be talking about me. We should be talking about her. My mind races trying to find ways to divert the conversation back to her. But then she does something that nearly breaks me.