Chapter 76 Island Trip!
Malia's POV
The last stretch of the drive seems never-ending—twisting coastal highways pass through pine trees and salty air, windows are rolled down so we can feel the ocean breeze.
The music has long since given way to a comfortable silence; everyone is too sleepy or too excited to continue conversing. Aiden never once lets go of my hand as we walk, his thumb making lazy circles on my skin like he’s grounding us both.
At the end of the road there is a private dock and the sun is just about ready to set, painting the water with bright amber hues. A streamlined, white boat stands at the ready,engine already purring. Rowan turns the SUV’s ignition off and peeks back at us.
"Last leg," he says matter-of-factly.
We pile out, stretch our stiff legs and pick up our bags. The salt hits me first—clean, sharp, alive. I breathe it in deep, and I feel something that wasn’t connecting in my chest begin to loosen, knotting up that I hadn’t realize was there.
The boat ride is brisk, roughly 20 minutes, but it feels like each and every moment is teetering on the brink of a different reality. Waves slap softly against the hull, spray mists my face. July stands at the bow like a figurehead, arms wide open, shouting into the wind.
Freddy films her on his phone, laughing. Sitting close to the stern, his eyes are calm and steady as always locked on the horizon, Cian. Rowan pivots, hair blown by the wind. Aiden remains by my side on the bench seat, his arm around my shoulders, his chin resting lightly on the crown of my head.
When I catch sight of the island, my breath hitches.
It’s not massive—at most a mile in diameter—but it looks like something from a dream. Perfectly shaped, pristine white sand borders dense green palms and low cliffs.
There is a modern beach house perched on top of the dunes—glass walls, wide decks, white wood that shines in the late light. A long dock extends like an invitation. Nobody else's house. Nobody else's boats. Only us and the sea. Only us and the sea.
July lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit. You weren’t joking about private.”
Freddy keeps his mouth open. “This is… insane.”
Rowan eases the boat alongside the dock. “It was a gift. When we turned eighteen."
“Some gift,” I mutter.
Aiden squeezes my shoulder. “Come on.”
We tie off and step on to warm wood. The moment my bare feet touch the planks I feel it – the island is welcoming us. The air reminds you of salt and green things and freedom. So I just kinda stand there for a second breathing deeply, and everyone else as I do this is grabbing bags and starting up the path to the house.
Inside the place is even better. Open-plan living room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking onto the sea, white sofas, a huge stone fireplace.
The kitchen sparkles — marble counters, stainless everything. Glass sliding doors lead directly out onto a large deck complete with lounger chairs and outdoor dining table. Stairs lead up to four bedrooms, all of which have balconies.
We snatch up rooms in no time. July and Freddy take the room with twin beds and the best view of the sunrise. Rowan selects the smallest, quietest one at the end of the hall. Cian selects the one nearest the stairs—practical, always watching the exits. Aiden tugs me toward the master at the end: king bed, private deck, glass doors that lead directly to the sand.
He dumps our bags and leans me against him before I can even get a good look around. “This is the one for us,” he says against my temple.
I chuckle softly. “Bossy.”
“Always.” He kisses me – quick, firm – then he steps back. “Unpack. Then go explore.”
There’s no need to wait. I throw clothes into drawers, hang my swimsuit on the bathroom hook, put my toiletries on the counter. Aiden also slides up next to me, using every chance to make contact—his fingers brush my hip, his lips graze my shoulder. As we finish, the sun brushes the horizon.
Everyone gathers again on the deck. Rowan is already starting a fire in the pit down on the beach. July and Freddy race each other down the dunes, laughing like kids. Cian bears an armful of blankets and pillows. Aiden takes my hand.
“Walk?” he inquires.
I nod.
We slip away as the rest begin to unfold chairs and coolers. The sand is still warm from the sun of the day, it’s soft beneath my toes. Waves murmur softly against the shore, ebbing out in long silver sighs. Aiden laces our fingers together, his thumb running stock over my knuckles the way he always does when he’s thinking.
"It's so beautiful," I say softly.
Yeah." But he isn’t watching the ocean. He is looking at me.
Heat is crawling up my neck. “Stop .”
“Can’t.” He pulls me in, his arm sliding around my waist. You look good here.” Happy.“You look good here. Happy.”
“I am happy.”
He stops walking. The waves are at our feet, cool and foamy. Before I can say anything else he bends and picks me up, bridal style, disregarding my terrified yelp.
“Aiden!”
He grins. “Hold on.”
Then he goes full bore into the surf.
The first splash hits my legs – surprisingly cold after the warm sand. I squeal clinging to his shoulders. He laughs—deeply, genuinely, and without any reservation—and twirls us slowly around, the water pooling around his thighs.
“Cold!” I protest, but I am laughing too.
“You’ll live.” He lowers me just far enough to let my feet touch the bottom, then he lifts me back up against his chest. Salt water stings his lashes, glitters on his skin. His hair is wet at the tips, curling slightly.
My hands cradling his face, my thumbs glide over his cheekbones. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
“I do.” I laugh
He kisses me then— slow, salty, as if the ocean were kissing him. One hand cups the back of my head, the other solid on the small of my back, pressing me against him as the ocean sways us both. I kiss him until we are both breathless, my hands behind his neck. His forehead rests against mine when we part, breath mingling.
“Promised you privacy,” he murmurs.
“This counts,” I call back in a whisper.
He kisses me again, this time more lightly, more sweetly, and carries me back to land, only setting me down when the water is lapping at our ankles.
When we catch back up with the group, the bon fire is blazing.
Flames snap orange and gold in the twilight sky. Blankets are laid out in a loose circle, coolers are open, music is playing softly from the portable speaker. July has marshmellows on sticks already roasting. Freddy regales some over the top tale about a catastrophic family camping, arms flailing.
Rowan looks up as we come. His gaze bounces to our linked hands, then to my wet jeans, then to Aiden’s moist shirt. Something flickers across his face—it's fast, before I can describe it—but he just nods once and hands me a stick with two perfectly toasted marshmallows.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
He curves his lips into a small smile. “Sit.”
We do. Aiden drags me down between his legs, my back is to his chest, his arms are wrapped around me. His chin is on my shoulder, breath warm by my ear. The firelight flickers through all the faces—bright July, gesturing Freddy, content quiet Cian, still thoughtful Rowan.
Stories are the small—a memory from childhood, an embarrassing moment, the sort of things you only ever tell when the darkness makes it easier. July tells us about the time she set off the sprinklers at her middle-school dance.
Freddy admits to getting teary during every Pixar movie. Rowan shocks everyone by announcing he used to sneak into the greenhouse at night just to sit among the plants because they were quieter than people.
Cian says the least, but when he speaks, his voice is soft yet firm.
“First time we came here,” he says, looking into the fire, “we built a horrible sandcastle. Fell apart in ten minutes. Aiden cried.”
Aiden huffs a laugh in my hair. “I was eight.”
“Still cried” Rowan adds, smirking.
I hear the silent laughter rolling through Aiden’s chest. His arms tighten around me. "Worth it,” he murmurs, just for me.
The fire burns lower. Stars come out—sharp, endless. Someone passes around blankets. July leans against Freddy’s shoulder. Rowan pokes the embers with a stick.
Cian stares up at the sky like he is counting constellations. I lean back into Aiden, letting his warmth and the crackle of the fire and the soft murmur of my friends’ voices wrap around me.
This—right here—feels like the best kind of beginning.