Chapter 2: First Night Tipsy

The grill still hissed on the deck as I flipped the last skewer of shrimp, their shells curling pink against the flames. Butter sizzled where it dripped onto the coals, sending up a smoky-sweet haze that mixed with the briny bite of the ocean rolling in below. Sarah had already poured herself a third glass of chilled pinot gris, the bottle sweating on the table beside a half-empty bowl of grilled corn slathered in chili-lime butter. She was mid-rant about her boss, voice rising with every sip, the way it always did when the wine loosened the knot of tension she carried from the city.

“—and then he has the nerve to email me on vacation, like I’m supposed to drop everything for his projections,” she said, laughing too loud at her own story. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy in the string lights we’d strung along the railing. She took another long swallow, the glass clinking against her teeth. Kayla sat across from her, nodding politely, but her gaze kept drifting toward me. I cracked open another cold beer, the can hissing in the humid night air, foam licking my thumb.

Dinner had been simple, the kind of meal that felt like vacation itself—shrimp charred just enough to pop between your teeth, corn kernels bursting sweet and smoky, a quick avocado salad tossed with lime and cilantro. I’d kept it easy so we could all unwind. Sarah dominated the talk at first, the way she always did after a long drive, her words tumbling faster as the alcohol worked its magic. By nine o’clock her laughs had turned into yawns she tried to hide behind her hand. She pushed her plate away, blinking slow.

“God, that drive really wiped me out,” she announced, standing on unsteady legs. The deck boards creaked under her bare feet. “I’m crashing early. Don’t stay up too late, you two.” She leaned down, pressed a quick, wine-warm kiss to my cheek—perfunctory, almost absent—and shuffled inside. Her footsteps faded up the stairs. A door clicked shut overhead. Then silence, broken only by the low rumble of waves and the faint hum of the hot tub jets already bubbling in the corner of the deck.

The air changed the second that door closed. It felt thicker, charged, like the night itself had been waiting. Kayla looked across the table at me, her expression shifting from polite to something softer, almost inviting. The string lights caught the faint sheen on her collarbones, still damp from the shower she’d taken before dinner.

“Guess it’s just us night owls again,” she said, voice lower than before, the words hanging between us like a secret.