Chapter 85 An unwanted guest : The ex

Chapter 85 An unwanted guest : The ex
Lila didn’t sleep well.

The ceiling fan spun lazy circles above her bed, pushing warm air around the bungalow, but it did nothing to cool the restless heat under her skin.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Caleb standing over her on the beach, water sliding down his chest, that half-helpless look in his eyes when he had admitted he still thought about her.

By six a.m. she gave up, pulled on a thin tank top and shorts, and walked barefoot down to the water.

The resort was quiet, the sky a soft pearl gray just beginning to blush pink.

Waves lapped gently at her ankles as she waded in up to her knees, letting the cool Caribbean rinse away the last traces of last night’s tension.

Or trying to.

She stayed until the sun crested the horizon, then headed back for coffee on her private terrace.

The day stretched ahead, pool, spa appointment, maybe a kayak tour.

Plenty to keep her busy and far away from bungalow twelve.

But when she stepped out of the outdoor shower, towel wrapped loosely around her, she found a small woven basket on the teak table outside her sliding door.

Inside was a fresh mango, sliced and arranged in a fan, alongside a note in handwriting she knew by heart.

I couldn't sleep either.
Breakfast on the beach at 8?
No pressure. Just food.

She stared at the note longer than she should have, thumb tracing the bold slash of his initial.

Then she ate half the mango, the sweet juice running down her wrist, and told herself she was only going because she was hungry.

At eight sharp she walked to the open-air restaurant overlooking the water, wearing a simple white sundress over her bikini and oversized sunglasses as armor.

Caleb was already at a corner table, dressed in a faded gray T-shirt that clung to his shoulders and linen pants rolled at the ankles.

He stood when he saw her, an old habit he had never broken and pulled out her chair.

“You came,” he said quietly, relief flickering across his face.

“I’m starving,” she replied, sliding into the seat. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

They ordered coffee, huevos rancheros for her, chilaquiles for him, and fresh juice.

Conversation started carefully, weather, how long each of them was staying, she had six days left; he had eight, safe topics
about work and mutual friends.

But the undercurrent was there in every glance, every accidental brush of fingers when they both reached for the cream.

Halfway through the meal, Caleb set his fork down.

“I rehearsed a hundred apologies on the plane down here,” he said. “None of them felt enough.”

Lila looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Then don’t apologize. Just tell me why.”

He exhaled slowly. “I got scared. We were talking about moving in together, about timelines and futures, and I panicked. My parents’ divorce was ugly, dragged out for years and I think some part of me decided it was safer to end us clean than risk turning into them.”

His eyes met hers, steady. “I was wrong. I didn’t see that leaving you hurt worse than any fight we could’ve had.”

The words settled heavy and honest between them.

Lila felt the old ache rise, but beneath it something softer, relief, maybe. Forgiveness she hadn’t known she was ready to give.

“I didn’t handle it well either,” she admitted. “I shut down. Let you walk away without fighting for us.”

He reached across the table, palm up. After a moment, she slid her hand into his.

His fingers closed warm and sure around hers, thumb stroking her knuckles.

The waiter cleared their plates. Around them, the restaurant filled with other guests, but it felt like they were still alone.

“What now?” she asked.

“Now,” he said, “we spend the day together. No expectations. Just… time. If you want.”

Lila looked out at the water, sparkling under full morning sun. Then back at him.

“I want to.”

They started a simple long walk down the beach, far past the resort boundaries where the sand was coarser and the palms grew wild.

They talked about everything they had missed, her promotion, his new photography project, the trip to Portugal she had taken with friends, the nights he had spent developing film in his darkroom thinking about her.

By noon the heat was intense. They rented snorkel gear and waded into a quiet cove, floating side by side over coral and darting fish.

Underwater, everything was a muffled peace.

When they surfaced, laughing and sputtering, Caleb tugged his mask off and shook water from his hair.

“You still do that thing where you hold your nose when you dive,” he teased.

“You still kick like you’re trying to murder the water,” she shot back.

He grinned, the wide, unguarded one that used to make her stomach flip and suddenly they were closer than they had meant to be, treading water, faces inches apart. Salt water beaded on his lashes.

“Lila,” he said softly.

She didn’t move away.

He kissed her gently at first, just a brush of lips tasting like ocean and sunscreen.

When she didn’t pull back, he deepened it, one hand coming up to cradle her jaw.

The kiss turned slow and hungry, six months of missing each other pouring out in the sway of waves around them.

When they broke apart, both breathing harder, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Still okay?” he asked.

“More than,” she whispered.

They swam back to shore eventually, but the day had shifted.

Every glance lingered. Every accidental touch sparked.

Late afternoon found them at the resort’s infinity pool, sharing a double lounger under a palm umbrella.

Caleb rubbed sunscreen across her back with careful hands, fingers lingering at the ties of her bikini top.

Lila returned the favor, tracing the lean muscles of his shoulders, feeling him tense under her palms.

By sunset they were back on the beach, barefoot, sharing a bottle of rosé from the bar.

The sky bled orange and violet, reflecting on the wet sand.

Caleb set his glass down and turned to her.

“Come back to my bungalow tonight,” he said, voice low. “Just to talk more. Or not talk. Whatever you want.”

Lila’s heart pounded. She looked at him, tan skin, earnest eyes, the faint scar on his collarbone she used to kiss and felt the last of her resistance melt away.

She stood, held out her hand.

“Lead the way.”