Chapter Four: Late Nights and Lemonade
1058 Words
The storm rolled through after midnight, but Brooke barely noticed it. She’d dozed off on the couch with a book resting on her chest, the fire was dying down, and Jake had snuck off without a sound. When she finally woke up, there was a cozy quilt draped over her legs. Her empty cocoa mug was washed and drying in the kitchen, and the room felt warm and peaceful. It struck her how long it had been since someone did something nice for her without wanting something back. Funny how that can mess with your head.
The next morning, the air felt fresh and alive after the rain—crisp and bright. The waves were lively, and the sky was an unbelievable blue. Brooke threw on some yoga pants and a tank top, grabbed a coffee from the sunroom, and stepped out onto the porch. Jake was already there, of course.
He was sitting on the steps in a navy henley and jeans, barefoot, with a mug in hand, staring off at the horizon like he was expecting a message in a bottle. She didn’t say anything right away. But he scooted over to make room, and she just plopped down next to him without questioning why.
“Storm’s cleared,” he said.
“Looks like it.”
They sat there in silence—no phones, no to-do lists, no rush to fill the void.
Eventually, Brooke turned to him. “Do you really always wake up this early?”
Jake nodded. “Mornings are honest. Nothing’s pretending yet.”
She thought about that. “You say things that seem simple until I actually think about them.”
He grinned. “Is that a compliment?”
“Just an observation.”
“Same thing.”
She took a sip of her coffee. “I used to hate the quiet.”
“And now?”
“I’m honestly kinda scared of how much I like it.”
Later that day, Jake asked her to go to the farmer’s market.
She said no. Twice.
But by the third time—and the promise of homemade lemonade—she gave in.
The market was just a few blocks away in town, set up around the square. Booths with colorful signs were selling fresh herbs, local honey, sunflowers, jams, and other stuff Brooke hadn’t even seen outside of fancy Brooklyn shops. Kids danced around a fiddler while an older couple swayed to music near a pie stand.
On a whim, Brooke bought a peach pie.
Jake carried it without asking.
Every vendor knew him by name. One woman was openly flirting, offering him extra cinnamon rolls. Another called him “our hero in flannel.”
Brooke raised an eyebrow. “How do you walk through town without being adored?”
Jake shrugged. “They’re just grateful.”
“For what? Just looking like someone from a Hallmark movie and fixing screen doors?”
He laughed. “Not quite.”
She waited for him to say more. He didn’t. But there was something in the air between them, a shift, something deeper behind his smile.
She decided not to push.
They shared lemonade under an umbrella, feet stretched out, the sun warming their arms.
Jake took a sip and raised his glass toward hers. “To better weekends.”
Brooke gently tapped hers to his. “To less complicated men.”
He smiled like he knew she didn’t mean it.
They didn’t dive into her ex or his family or why Brooke felt like her life had expanded and shrunk all at once. They just coexisted. And that was enough.
That night, sleep wouldn’t come. The inn was quiet, the waves soothing, but her thoughts were loud. She padded downstairs in an oversized sweater, ending up in the kitchen, staring out the big bay window.
Jake was outside near the dunes, leaning against the railing of the lookout.
Without thinking, she made her way over to him.
He turned when she stepped onto the sand.
“Can’t sleep either?” he asked.
“Too quiet,” she joked. “I miss the sounds of sirens and broken air conditioners.”
Jake smiled. “Come here.”
She joined him.
He handed her a blanket and leaned on the railing. “This was my sister’s favorite spot.”
Brooke looked out at the calm ocean. “I can see why.”
“She used to say the ocean knows everything we can’t say out loud.”
Brooke swallowed hard. “What happened to her?”
“Breast cancer. Stage four by the time anyone knew. Stubborn as could be.”
Brooke didn’t say anything.
“She asked me to look after Dylan. I wasn’t sure I could do it, and I still have doubts.”
“You can,” Brooke replied softly.
Jake really looked at her then. Something heavy and sweet passed between them.
“Why don’t you think you deserve peace?” he asked.
Brooke blinked. “What?”
“You wear your ambition like armor, but it seems like it doesn’t fit anymore.”
She laughed, but it felt empty. “I chased after so much for so long—status, love, security. Only to realize I didn’t want any of it. I just wanted to be… enough.”
“You are.”
His words were quiet but certain.
She held his gaze, heart racing.
“Jake—”
And then he stepped closer.
He didn’t touch her; he just closed the space between them, their breaths mingling, his voice low.
“I’m not looking for anything,” he said. “But if I kissed you right now, it wouldn’t be casual.”
Her heart was pounding.
“I came here to be alone,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“This was supposed to be just temporary.”
“I know that too.”
He paused, eyes locked on hers.
“You’d just have to tell me to stop.”
Brooke stood there, frozen, every nerve alive.
She didn’t say stop.
But she also didn’t move.
After a long moment, Jake let out a breath and stepped back.
“I’ll walk you in,” he said, like nothing happened.
They didn’t touch on the way back to the inn.
But her fingers were still buzzing as if they had.
- Writer
