Page 55 of Trick Shot

“I don’t joke about wine,” I say solemnly and hand her a glass. “One glass. Twenty minutes. And then you can go back to the land of overcooked meat and egos the size of hockey rinks.”

She stares at the wine, then at me—suspicious, intrigued, and definitely a little thrown off.

“You’re up to something.” Melody narrows her eyes and takes the glass from me.

“Always.” I grin.

“What stops me from drinking the wine by myself right here?” she asks, nodding towards the bottle.

“My unmatched charm.”

There’s a long beat while she bites her lip, considering her options.

Come on, baby. We don’t have much time.

Finally, she rises to her feet, sending a wave of relief over me.

“If this is some elaborate plot to get me naked…”

“I’m not that creative,” I lie.

We walk the trail behind the house, through a narrow sliver of trees and brush that most people wouldn’t even notice. Melody’s walking just a step behind me, eyeing the landscape like she’s ready to bolt at the first sign of a jumpscare.

“You’re not taking me to a dark cave, right?” she asks from behind me.

“No blood rituals today,” I chuckle.

“‘Today?”

“I said what I said.”

When the brush clears in a couple dozen feet, the view opens up.

The cove. My cove.

A quiet curve of sand, hidden between two jagged stone walls, the water smooth and glassy inside the protected inlet. There’s a massive driftwood log half-buried in the sand. Palm fronds rustle overhead. The waves outside crash, but here? It’s soft and gentle. Private and secluded.

Melody stops in her tracks after swatting a palm tree. I immediately turn towards her, loving the way her eyes round at the corners while she takes it all in. There’s still plenty of light—the sky has just started turning pink. The view stuns me each time I come here.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, completely transfixed by the view. I take the opportunity and gently guide her to the log. She’s too distracted by the view to fight me, so I keep my hold a second longer, loving the way she feels under my hand.

I lower myself down onto the sand and lean back against the log, cracking the wine open with my teeth. I don’t speak, not wanting to break her spell. I remember the first time I came here, feeling the same way, asking myself why anything else matters when places like this exist.

She doesn’t sit immediately. She just stands there, taking it in while I fill the glasses. The way the breeze wraps around her, tugging at her curls, at the edge of her loose beach dress. She’s still in that red bikini underneath—I can see it through the sheer fabric.

Finally, she sits next to me, tucking one leg under the other, accepting the glass of wine.

“Cheers,” I lift my glass, breaking the silence.

“Cheers,” she echoes, bringing her glass to mine before sipping.

She’s still trying to act like she regrets coming. She’s doing that thing—sitting sideways, elbow on her knee, wine glass dangling from her fingers like she’s half a second from getting up and walking out just to prove she can.

I’m not falling for it.

I lean back on my hands, legs stretched out in the sand, watching the waves roll against the rocks.

“So?” she asks, glancing over.