The early light crept over the shoreline, painting everything in soft gold. The fire pit had long since dimmed to embers, and the quiet hush of the waves made the world feel smaller, tucked in between the sea and sky.
Rue stirred.
The hammock blanket draped over her felt warm and heavy. She blinked slowly, her body registering the fine grit of sand on her legs and the scent of salt clinging to her skin. It wasn't the sterile coolness of a hotel room. No ceiling fan. No alarm.
Then she remembered: the hammock. The bucket list. The oversized stuffed octopus still partially squashed against her side. How drunk had she been?
Her head throbbed in dull waves—not painful, just enough to remind her she'd been bold enough to threaten skinny dipping, buy barbecue at midnight, and sleep on the beach next to Elijah.
She shifted carefully.
Next to her, Elijah lay asleep on his side, one arm curled under his head, his brows relaxed in a rare expression of calm. The edges of his dark hair were tousled by the breeze, lips parted slightly. His whole posture radiated ease.
But Rue's stomach twisted—not because of him, but because of the real world waiting just beyond this blurry horizon of sand and sea.
She reached quietly for her phone. The screen glared back at her with no notifications. She opened her messages and typed a quick text.
Hi Tita. Just checking in. How's Papa this morning? Let me know if you need anything.
Send.
She stared at the screen for a moment longer, waiting, hoping for a read receipt, a reply, anything. But there was nothing yet.
A sigh escaped her lips, soft and tired. The guilt never left—it hung around her like a second skin. She hated that her first instinct was still to give, even to the man who had fractured their family. But hatred and love had long since blurred into something she couldn't untangle anymore.
Rue locked her phone and tucked it beside the octopus, curling her knees toward her chest.
The chill of the early morning air nipped at her arms.
Without thinking, she reached for the corner of the blanket hammock—only it didn't budge.
Elijah shifted in his sleep, a light jacket draped his torso.
Rue frowned, it was colder in the morning. She thought of waking him up to go back to the hotel room.
"Elijah.." she whispered, and shook his arm lightly. To her surprised, he woke up to her touch.
"Is it morning?"
His voice was low, hoarse—raspy. Rue's breath caught in her throat for a second. That voice was illegal.
"Yes, and I'm thinking we should probably go back to the hotel."
"You mean our room?"
Rue arched an eyebrow. "Don't get ideas."
"You'll have to carry me," he said with a dramatic sigh. "My bones are frozen."
She rolled her eyes. "You're ridiculous."
"Mm-hmm." He stretched lazily, muscles shifting under his shirt, and Rue looked away quickly—too quickly.
Rue stood up, and looked around her, instead of hopping in her comfortable hammock, she decided to dismantle it and share it with EJ. after all, it's all she can do to redeem herself from what she did last night.
With a sigh, she positioned the plushie between her and Elijah and sat beside him. She then draped the blanket over them.
"Better."
"It's for survival," Rue said flatly. "You're welcome."
Elijah blinked, eyes clearer now. A smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. "You always this generous with strangers you threaten to skinny dip in front of?"
Rue's cheeks flushed. "I was drunk."
He nodded, lips pressing into a line to stifle a smile. "Sure you were."
"I was."
Then Elijah asked, "So… what's number five?"
Rue blinked. "What?"
"On your bucket list," he said, feigning casual.
She squinted at him. "I don't recall."
"You mumbled it right before passing out."
"I was definitely drunk."
He bit his lip, smile curling as he glanced at the sky. "If you're still feeling brave, I'm still feeling generous."
Rue narrowed her eyes.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Number five." He smirked.
She stiffened. "I told you—I was drunk."
"Sure. So… should I wait until you're sober?"
Rue nearly choked on air. She turned away, clutching the oversized octopus to her chest like a barrier against nonsense, heat crawling up her neck.
A kiss under the stars.
Ridiculous. Why would she put that on the list? What was she thinking? Sentimental crap like that didn't even suit her.
She hated herself. She hated how casually he'd said it. She especially hated how he'd bit his lower lip right after.
And just as she tried to mentally fortify herself, her brain betrayed her.
Elijah fulfilling her fifth bucket wish.
Elijah kissing her.
Elijah and her—kissing under the skies.
The more she resisted, the more vivid it got. His hands framing her jaw, his voice whisper-soft. That steady gaze before he'd lean in. His lips—soft, deliberate—meeting hers like it was always meant to happen.
She blinked hard, willing the vision away.
Shut up, brain. Abort mission. Go back to barbecue or something.
But it was too late.
The images bloomed like fireworks behind her eyes—sweet, slow, entirely too vivid.
Knots twisted in her stomach.
Not the sick kind.
The kind that hinted at something dangerous.
The kind that meant you were standing on the edge of something big—and maybe you wanted to jump.
Beside her, Elijah let out a soft laugh.
Rue peeked at him.
He was still watching her. That smirk said everything.
The grin did nothing to help the knots. Or the rush of blood to her cheeks and ears.
He'd changed.
Not just in how he looked, but in the way he held himself now. More sure. More teasing. Like he knew exactly what effect he had—and wasn't afraid to test it.
Rue looked at him long and hard, then wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
"…Do you have a number six?"
Rue steadied herself. This is good, she thought. Redirect.
"Win a home dispute with a hermit crab."
Elijah stared. "You're joking."
"They steal shells," Rue said solemnly. "And dignity. I want justice."
He laughed—genuinely laughed—and Rue grinned.
They sat like that, under a widening sky, with the faint sound of the ocean washing away whatever burdens hadn't been spoken yet.