Chapter 20 : Lines in the Sand

On the patio, Amy shifted looking at Mon while George was sleeping soundly on his arms. She initially was trying to focus on the cool ocean breeze rather than the scene unfolding before her but she couldn't help but be mezmerized with how George looked so comfortable in Mon's arms. It was giving her a warm feeling she couldnt understand.

Mon adjusted George in his arms, trying very hard to ignore the fact that Sicily was storming toward them. Amy noticed too, Mon noticed too, his usual smirk flickering just slightly. Oh boy

Sicily was walking up the steps, her heels clicking against the wooden deck with a purpose. She barely spared Amy a glance before setting her sights on Mon. "Mon," Sicily's voice was sharp, her eyes locking onto him like a target.

"Come with me," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Mon raised an eyebrow. "I'm busy." He nodded toward George, who was still nestled in his arms, sleeping soundly.

Sicily rolled her eyes. "Just come." Mon raised his eyebrow even more, "Wow. No please?"

Amy watched as Mon hesitated. For a second, he didn't move. His fingers tapped lightly against his bicep, and Amy swore she saw the flicker of calculation in his gaze.

He was curious. She didn't like that.

"You're holding a child," Amy said before she could stop herself.

Mon glanced at George, still fast asleep in his arms, and his lips twitched. "Guess that means I have an excuse, huh?"

Amy should've left it at that. Should've just turned away.

Sicily let out a small, annoyed breath. "So? Just put him down. You're not his dad."

Amy stiffened. Mon's jaw ticked, but his voice stayed light, playful—dangerous. "I could come with you…" He glanced at Amy, then back at Sicily. "But I don't really feel like it."

Sicily folded her arms. "Are you serious? You'd rather babysit?"

Amy's grip on the chair tightened. Babysit?

Mon sighed dramatically. "Tsk, tsk, Sicily. Jealousy's not a good look on you."

Sicily rolled her eyes but took a step closer. "I just want to talk." Then, lowering her voice, she added, "Alone."

But when Sicily sighed impatiently and leaned in closer—too close—Amy felt something sharp settle in her chest.

Mon hesitated.

Amy hated that he hesitated.

And she hated that she even cared.

Why do I care? she scolded herself. It's none of my business.

What the hell was that?

It wasn't jealousy.

It couldn't be jealousy.

She was married. Or… at least, she had been.

Amy swallowed hard, as the weight of that realization sank in. 

She was in the process of a divorce…. the reminder hit her like a slap—she wasn't even technically married anymore.

The realization felt… weird. Unsettling.

She exhaled slowly, shaking off the ridiculous thought just as Mon sighed dramatically. Mon saw the flicker of emotion in her eyes—and that decided it for him. "Fine. But let me—"

Before he could finish, George stirred in his arms.

Mon looked down just as sleepy little eyes fluttered open.

Amy felt something in her chest soften as George's small voice murmured, "Unca Mon?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

George yawned, then squinted at Amy face. "Is mommy okay? she looks sad."

Amy's breath caught.

George blinked, gaze sluggish as he looked between them. "Are you leaving?"

Amy opened her mouth, but Mon was already shifting gears, his voice gentle. "Nah, just stepping out for a bit." He looked at Amy, his expression unreadable as he carefully handed George over. 

Amy adjusted her hold on her son automatically. Amy was not expecting the small pang of disappointment that twisted in her chest.

Mon's fingers brushed hers in the transfer. Mon's voice softer now. "Don't overthink, okay?"

Amy blinked. "What?"

But he was already walking, leaving her there—confused, annoyed, and way too deep in her own head.

She ignored the warmth that shot up her arm.

"Good night, George," Mon said with a small smile before turning to Sicily. "Let's go."

Amy watched them disappear down the pathway, a strange feeling lingering in her gut.

She hated that she cared.

Because she shouldn't.

A small voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Mommy?"

Amy looked down at George, who was now studying her with quiet curiosity.

"Are you sad?" he asked, his voice soft.

Amy blinked. "What? No, sweetheart." She forced a smile. "It's late. Let's get you to bed, okay?"

George yawned but nodded.

And as Amy carried him inside, she ignored the little voice in her head that whispered—

Then why does it feel like you are?

On the RooftopCharlie turned and tried to lock the door before Sloan can even come close, exhaling.

Her hands were shaking.

Her whole damn body was on edge.

Because of him.

Because of the way Sloan looked at her—as if he was getting too close to the truth.

As if he was about to rip open something she wasn't ready to expose.

She turned away from the door, rubbing her temples. Just breathe.

And then—

Click.

The door creaked open.

Charlie's stomach dropped.

She spun around—just in time to see Sloan stepping inside.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "What the hell are you doing?"

Sloan's expression? Smug as hell. "Door wasn't locked."

Charlie's nostrils flared. "Get. Out."

"So," Sloan's voice broke through the silence, "are you gonna tell me why this place is actually off-limits?"

Charlie sighed, already annoyed. "It's a private space."

"You own the resort."

"Exactly."

Sloan took a slow step forward. Looking. Noticing. 

His eyes flickered over the rooftop's setup—the large couch with a blanket thrown over it. The easel tucked in the corner, paint still drying on the canvas, the large bathtub under the moon, the glass-paneled bathroom, The view—God, the view. The lighthouse, glowing against the night sky.

And then it clicked.

"This isn't just a rooftop," Sloan murmured. His voice was different now—lower, almost intrigued. "This is your place."

Charlie clenched her jaw. "I said get out."

Sloan ignored her, stepping closer—just enough to be in her space.

"You know," he said casually, "this would be the perfect spot for a podcast shoot. The lighting? The backdrop? It's got that exclusive, VIP feel."

Charlie's stomach tightened.

She knew what he was doing.

Pushing.

Testing the waters.

Seeing how much she'd give away.

So she shut it down immediately.

"No."

Sloan raised an eyebrow. "No?"

He grinned. "Damn, that was fast."

"Because the answer is no," Charlie said, voice firm.

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

Sloan let that linger between them before smirking. "Huh. Interesting."

Charlie groaned. "No, it's really not."

Sloan turned to her fully, stepping in just a little closer. "You always this defensive?"

"Only when people like you try to push past my boundaries."

He tsked. "People like me?"

She gave him a pointed look. "You know exactly what I mean."

Charlie folded her arms. "This part of the resort is off-limits to guests."

"Is it because of that?" he suddenly asked, nodding toward the lighthouse.

Charlie's breath caught for a fraction of a second.

Sloan didn't miss it.

His lips curved slightly.

"Bingo," he muttered.

Charlie turned back to the view, willing herself to stay composed. "It's none of your business."

Sloan hummed. "I think it is."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah." He tilted his head. "Because the way you looked at that thing? It's personal."

Charlie clenched her jaw. "Drop it."

Charlie's patience snapped.

Oh, you're gonna love this tweak. Let's slide it in smoothly, keep the tension sharp, and make sure it wrecks Sloan properly.

Here's the new version of the ending with that extra heat added:

Charlie's patience snapped.

"None of this is your business, Sloan." Her voice was sharp now, unyielding.

But Sloan just leaned in—so close she could feel the heat of his breath.

And then, in the cockiest, most maddening voice possible, he murmured—

"You know I'm gonna find out anyway, right?"

Charlie's brows shot up. "Excuse me?"

Sloan grinned, the cocky, slow-spreading kind that made her want to throw her coffee in his face.

"It's only a matter of time," he said.

Charlie held his gaze, pulse steady, not giving him an inch.

Then she took a slow sip of her coffee and said, "It's none of your damn business."

Sloan's smirk deepened.

His fingers twitched at his side, like he was considering reaching for her— closing the space—but before he could, he changed tactics.

He took a small step forward. Just one.

Not enough to be obvious. But enough that she could feel the heat radiating off of him.

Charlie tensed.

His fingers brushed—just barely—against the back of her hand.

A featherlight touch.

A test.

Sloan felt her sharp inhale. Saw the way her throat bobbed ever so slightly.

And for the briefest second—just a fraction of a moment—she didn't move.

She hesitated.

And that? That ruined him.

Because Charlie always had a comeback. Always threw his nonsense right back in his face.

But now—

Now she was just standing there.

Feeling it.

Realizing it.

Sloan's jaw ticked. His breath came just a little slower.

But before he could say something—before he could make a move that he might regret—Charlie snapped out of it.

She stepped back. Out of his reach.

Away from his gravity.

And with one last look, she turned on her heel, walking away without a second glance.

And that—

That was the part that got to him.

Because Charlie never backed down from their little battles.

And yet, this time—

She walked away.

Sloan exhaled, running a hand through his hair, watching her disappear inside.

Then his gaze flicked back to the lighthouse.

Something about all of this didn't sit right.

And now—

Now he was going to find out why.