They drove with the top down and sea air curling through their hair, the last glow of daylight casting everything in gold. Riz had one hand on the wheel, the other resting between them—fingers occasionally grazing Cleo's knee. The town came into view like something from a movie: cobbled streets, string lights crisscrossed between rooftops, and the smell of grilled seafood and garlic butter thick in the air.
They found a restaurant right on the water—an open-air terrace built out over the docks, where the waves lapped softly below. The hostess sat them at a corner table framed by warm lamplight and blooming jasmine.
"I feel like we're in a postcard," Cleo murmured as he settled into his chair.
Riz leaned back, stretching lazily. "That's the point. I wanted tonight to feel like something we'd remember."
The waiter came by with a wine list, and Riz handed it to Cleo with a smirk. "Pick something fancy. Pretend we're grown-ups."
Cleo arched an eyebrow. "We're adults. We just happen to like chicken nuggets and Mario Kart."
Dinner arrived in courses: grilled prawns in lemon butter, a crisp salad drizzled with balsamic glaze, and handmade pasta tossed with fresh herbs. Between bites, Riz told stories about his first year in architecture—how he nearly glued his hand to a model, how Bea once replaced his building sketch with a doodle of a shrimp.
Cleo laughed until he nearly choked.
But beneath the laughter, something quieter pulsed between them. The kind of ease that only came when both people felt deeply, and knew it was safe to show it.
As dessert came—a shared plate of dark chocolate torte—Cleo reached across the table, lacing their fingers.
"Thank you," he said, voice soft. "For all of this."
Riz met his gaze. "You're worth it."
The breeze stirred the tablecloth, and for a moment, everything outside the warm glow of that terrace melted away.
After dinner, they walked hand-in-hand along the docks, their steps slow and lingering. Somewhere, someone was playing soft guitar. The scent of salt and sugar lingered in the air.
Cleo paused at the edge of the pier, gazing out at the moonlit water. "You know... if you keep doing things like this, I might start thinking you're in love with me."
Riz stepped closer, brushing his knuckles down Cleo's arm. "Too late."
Cleo turned to him, heart full and eyes brighter than the stars. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Riz said. "Every minute. Every day. Especially right now."
There, with the waves whispering and the moonlight catching in their eyes, they kissed—slow, unhurried, like the promise of a hundred more nights just like this.
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As they strolled back toward the car, Riz tugged Cleo gently in the opposite direction.
"We're not heading home?" Cleo asked, though he didn't sound upset—just curious, his fingers still loosely laced with Riz's.
"Nope," Riz said with a grin. "One more surprise."
They wandered through a quieter part of town, where the cobbled streets narrowed and the noise of the boardwalk faded into the hum of crickets and the rustle of wind through hanging plants. Finally, Riz stopped in front of a small, ivy-covered inn with warm lights glowing through curtained windows and flower boxes spilling over with lavender and sweet alyssum.
Cleo blinked. "Riz..."
"I booked it this morning. Just one night," Riz said, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Thought it'd be nice to not rush back."
The innkeeper greeted them like they were old friends, handed over a room key, and pointed them up a winding staircase. Their room was tucked in the corner—quaint and softly lit, with white sheets, exposed wooden beams, and a balcony overlooking the sea.
Cleo stepped inside first, running his hand over the windowsill. "This feels like a dream."
Riz wrapped his arms around him from behind. "Then stay in it with me."
They stood like that for a long moment, watching the waves roll beneath the stars. Then Riz gently turned Cleo around, cupping his face.
"Can I ask you something kind of ridiculous?" Riz murmured.
"Always."
"If we were to do this again—another surprise weekend, another hidden beach town—would you still say yes?"
Cleo leaned in, resting his forehead against Riz's. "I'd say yes to anywhere, as long as it's with you."
Their kiss was slow, tender at first, then deepening with every breath. Clothes were shed piece by piece, not in haste, but with reverence—like they were memorizing each other all over again.
They made love by candlelight, in a room bathed in golden flicker and the soft, rhythmic hush of the sea just beyond the balcony. The bed smelled faintly of lavender and sea salt—familiar, calming, like the breeze after rain. Everything about the space seemed to hold its breath, wrapping them in quiet reverence.
There was no rush, no frantic need. Just two hearts finding rhythm in each other.
Cleo lay back against the pillows, his eyes catching the way the candlelight painted golden shadows along Riz's face. For a moment, he didn't speak. He just looked—taking in the man he loved. The softness in Riz's eyes, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the faint smile that curved at the corners of his mouth when he realized he was being watched.
Riz leaned over him, their foreheads brushing. "You okay?" he whispered.
Cleo nodded, voice quiet. "More than okay. I just... I want to remember this."
Riz kissed him then—not hurried, not showy, just slow and lingering. A promise whispered against lips. A thousand unspoken things passed between them in that single, molten moment. Hands slid over familiar skin like rediscovering a language only the two of them knew.
Every touch was deliberate. Every sigh shared.
They moved together in a quiet dance, one led by love more than anything else. There was laughter when Cleo's fingers got tangled in the bedsheet, and a breathless hush when Riz kissed the inside of his wrist, as if worshiping each part of him in turn. And there were the words they whispered between kisses—soft, unfinished sentences spoken through the heat of being so close.
"I love the way you look at me..."
"You feel like home."
"I never want to be anywhere else."
"I love you."
"I want this. Us. Forever."
The waves outside crashed like a lullaby, steady and unending, mirroring the rhythm they found in each other. And when they finally lay still, tangled together in warm sheets and salt-kissed skin, Riz pulled Cleo close, pressing his face into his neck.
They didn't speak. They didn't need to.
Outside, the moon kept its silent vigil. Inside, time seemed to pause around two people who had, after everything, finally found a place where they could just be—safe, seen, and entirely theirs.
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Sunday Morning — Just Before Dawn
Cleo stirred as the early light began to spill through the sheer curtains. The scent of the sea lingered in the room, mingling with the fading traces of lavender and candle wax. He turned slowly, feeling the shift of the sheets as Riz, still half-asleep, instinctively reached for him.
"You're up early," Riz mumbled, his voice husky with sleep, a hand resting on Cleo's waist.
Cleo smiled, brushing hair away from Riz's eyes. "Couldn't sleep. The sunrise is calling."
Riz cracked one eye open, then groaned. "Are you asking me to watch the sunrise or make out on the beach?"
Cleo arched a brow. "Why not both?"
The sand was cool beneath their feet as they walked barefoot toward the waterline, wrapped in light throws stolen from the hotel bed. The sky was still painted in soft pre-dawn shades—lavender, blush, and blue—blending seamlessly with the ocean's horizon. The world was hushed and still, as if holding its breath.
Cleo dropped the throw and stepped into the water first, the waves lapping gently at his ankles. Riz followed, close behind, his eyes never leaving Cleo's silhouette against the breaking light.
When Cleo turned, there was a smile playing on his lips—not playful, but open and soft, like he was offering something sacred. Riz crossed the small distance between them and cupped Cleo's face in his hands, his thumb brushing across his cheek.
They kissed there, under a sky blushing with morning, slow and unhurried.
Their bodies pressed together, warm despite the sea breeze, moving instinctively like waves meeting shore—natural, rhythmic, inevitable. They sank into the sand, wrapped in each other, the rising sun washing them in gold.
There was laughter in between kisses—quiet and breathless. Whispers too: confessions, reverent and tender, slipping from lips like prayers.
"You're my favorite view," Cleo murmured, lips at Riz's ear.
Riz closed his eyes, letting the words settle in his chest. "And you're my every morning."
When the sun crested the sea, casting the beach in brilliant light, they lay side by side in the sand, hands clasped, hearts steady.
It wasn't about heat or urgency. It was about presence. Connection. A perfect, sun-kissed beginning to a forever they'd chosen, again and again.
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End of Chapter Sixteen.