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“Are you going to stop fighting me now?” He asked. “Turn in your notice. Pack up your shit and get your ass to Florida where it belongs.”

His eyes flickered under the moonlight. “As much as I love you bossing me around in bed, because I do, it’s not the same in real life.” I saw the anger on his face. “I have a job. I’ve been completely on my own for eight years. You think you’re going to be in charge of my every move?”

“Do you want me to be?”

And that was the question. How far did I want his control to go? When I was seventeen and had given myself to him it was different. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was young and naïve. But I’d made it on my own since then. I went to journalism school and paid for it myself. I never took a cent of his dad’s money.

I sighed. “I’ll give my notice.” I held up my finger. “But I want another job first. I want to move and have something on my own.”

“Fuck, Sierra. You do have something. You have me.”

And we were back to the impasse. To the thing that kept us on separate sides of the same goal.

“I know. But can’t you see I want something too? You have football. I’m not asking you to give up being a quarterback. I’m not asking you to leave the AFA. You don’t have to quit your job. You just have to be patient.”

“I’ve waited eight fucking years for you. Damn it. Don’t do this.”

“I’m only asking for a little time. I have to get my resume together and call some contacts in Orlando. I should be able to have something in six months. My work in Dallas is really strong.”

“Six months?” And that’s when I knew he was over the talking. He was done with all of it.

There wasn’t enough moonlight on the water. There wasn’t enough sparkly champagne or romantic slow songs. He was done.

I looked up. “It’s not that long.”

He buckled his pants.

I wiggled trying to rearrange the skirt of my dress. It was full of sand.

“When you think you’ve found the love of your life again and she tells you to hold off because it’s not convenient, you start to think otherwise.”

He started walking toward the small set of trees that separated us from the reception.

“Blake, don’t go like this. Stay. Please stay.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Good luck, Sierra. I mean it. Good luck this time.”

“No.” I ran barefoot to chase him. “Just stop. Please.”

“I can’t. Not this time.”

He stormed through the brush onto the manicured lawn at the edge of the party. No matter what I said, or did he wasn’t going to turn around.

“Don’t do this, Blake. Don’t say goodbye. Please.”

I watched as his dark silhouette disappeared. I lost him when he joined the crowd.

I stood, trying to cover up my lacy bra, and realized I was more bare than I’d even known.

I looked up at the house where I had spent part of the summer. The breeze blowing off the sound skirted through the wind chimes. Three weeks ago, I had thought I was going to hate my trip back to the island. It was only going to drudge up painful memories. And maybe for the first week that was true, but looking out across the sound to where the lighthouse stood, I knew I had grown to love this place and all its quirks all over again.

I had fallen in love a second time. I didn’t know it was possible.

I tossed my purse in the front seat. I knew I was stalling, but everything about this moment was surreal. It felt like I was walking through a fog.

I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. I didn’t want to drive over that bridge a second time without saying the words. But Blake wouldn’t answer my calls. He didn’t answer the door when I knocked.

He wasn’t in the boat barn. I couldn’t find him anywhere on the island.