Messages at Sunset
Three and a half weeks.
That’s how long it’s been since I last saw North. Since we sat on the porch with bare feet on creaking wood, laughing into the night and pressing lazy kisses into each other’s smiles like we had all the time in the world. Since he left for Calgary and I went back to Edmonton, both of us buried alive in exams and schedules and a stupid amount of caffeine.
And I hate it.
I hate how quiet the house feels now—like even the furniture knows he’s not here. I hate walking into the barn and not hearing his voice echo off the rafters, teasing me from somewhere up in the hayloft. But most of all, I hate that I just missed him. Again.
He left this morning. I missed him by half a day. Half a freaking day.
The sunlight is warm on my back as I make my way down the path toward the lake, brushing past tall grass and the occasional thistle catching at my jeans. The breeze trails over my skin like fingers—soft, teasing, almost enough to make me shiver. The air smells like pine needles and old summer, and if I close my eyes, I can almost pretend he’s walking beside me.
But he’s not. And pretending only makes it worse.
I drop down onto the wide flat stone at the water’s edge, the one that still holds heat from the day. It’s smooth and familiar beneath me. I used to sit here with my sketchbook, toes in the lake, head full of North. Not much has changed, except now I’m sitting with my knees pulled up, clutching my phone like it’s the only thread keeping me tethered to him.
My thumbs hesitate for half a second before they move on their own.
Me: How did your exam go?
I set the phone down beside me and lean back on my palms, tilting my face up to the sky. The air is golden, the lake flickers with the last of the afternoon light, and I can hear the faint rustle of leaves behind me, like the trees are whispering things I don’t want to know.
I exhale slowly. Three and a half weeks. It’s not forever. But when you’re stupid in love with someone and can’t touch them…it might as well be.
My phone buzzes and I nearly knock it into the water scrambling to pick it up.
North: I passed. No idea how. Might’ve hallucinated half the essay thinking about you.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It’s soft, but real. And yeah, that tracks. That’s such a North thing to say. Full of drama and absolutely zero shame.
Me: You’re dramatic.
His reply comes instantly.
North: And you just rolled your eyes and shook your head like you always do when you think I’m exaggerating.
I freeze.
Because…I did. I totally just did.
A grin pulls at my lips as I shake my head. My heart’s already doing that dumb little flutter thing it always does when he catches me off guard, and honestly? It kind of infuriates me how easily he gets under my skin. Like a heat that lingers too long after a touch. Like muscle memory.
Me: You know me too well. It’s creepy.
North: It’s not creepy. It’s love.
And just like that, I melt.
It is love. And I’m in it way deeper than I probably should be.
I shift my phone to my other hand and drag my fingers through my hair with a sigh, trying not to miss him quite so much. But the feeling creeps in anyway—low and warm and full of wanting. My body remembers the weight of him, the way he smells like snow and cedar, the way he’d nudge my leg under the table just to see me blush.
The craving for him twists through me, a little too strong and a little too sweet. But also…familiar. Safe.
I kick off my shoes, peel off my socks, and dip my toes into the lake, just to cool off the burn creeping up the back of my neck.
Me: If you ‘love’ me so well, guess where I am.
North: Lake.
I catch my breath. That was fast.
My brows pull together as I stare at the screen.
North: Did I get it right?
Me: You’re dead on.
North: Good. Then don’t move.
There’s a beat. Just enough time for my skin to tighten and the hair on my arms to rise.
North: And don’t turn around.
I blink at the screen, not sure if I read that right. Don’t move. And don’t turn around.
A confused laugh escapes me as I shake my head and instinctively glance over my shoulder—because how could I not? But of course, nothing’s there. Just the quiet rustle of leaves and a squirrel bolting across the clearing like it knows something I don’t.
Me: What are you talking about?
North: Just trust me. Whatever happens next… Don’t. Turn. Around.
My fingers hover above the screen as a low hum skims the back of my neck, like static in the air before a storm. It’s not quite fear—but it’s something. That tightening sensation deep in my stomach, the way every sound suddenly feels sharper, louder.
Birdsong. Wind. My heartbeat.
Did he send Madelyn to sneak up on me and scare me straight into the lake?
Wouldn’t put it past them. Maddie would get the thrill of her life.
Me: North…
North: Adrian.
That one word—my name—hits different. It drips from the screen like his voice crawled right through the text bubble and into my bloodstream. I read it again, and then a third time, and by the fourth, I swear I can hear him saying it.
Low. Confident. Dangerous.
God, he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Even through the phone, he’s impossible to resist when he slips into this tone. The one that makes my brain go fuzzy and my spine sit up straight. The one he used the first time he dared me to kiss him. And every time he’s turned my world inside out since.
I glance behind me again, heart thumping, but the woods still look empty. Too empty.
Me: Are you messing with me?
North: Nope. Just want you to feel me even when I’m not with you. I want to creep under your skin.
Mission accomplished.
North: Succeeding? ^^
I bite my bottom lip and answer honestly.
Me: Frighteningly so.
His next message slows everything inside me.
North: How many fireflies, Adrian?
My breath hitches, and something tugs tight in my chest the way it always does when he brings up the fireflies. Because ever since North Beckett crashed into my world like a Canadian blizzard, my heart has never lit with fewer than twenty-one fireflies exactly. Not even on my worst days.
And he knows that.
But I know he’s waiting, and he’s terrible at waiting. Shows in the next messages that arrive before I even typed a number.
North: Don’t get dreamy on me, Monterey. Makes me wanna ruin you a little.
North: Still waiting by the way.
I huff a soft laugh, even as heat licks across the back of my neck. My toes curl in the water. The ache for him flares hotter with every second I don’t touch him.
But I can’t let him win too easily.
Me: Little over fifteen.
North: Wow. Is my magic fading already?
The message is followed by an over-the-top emoji—mouth open, hands on cheeks in mock horror. I laugh, because he’s so dramatic it’s almost criminal.
But then, he shifts again.
North: Want me to raise that number?
God.
I squirm a little on the stone, pulling my legs back up and wrapping my arms around them. The lake glints orange now, the sun a little lower, the air humming with something heavier than it was earlier.
Me: Wouldn’t know how you’d manage, but try all you like.
North: You throwing stones yet?
I glance down at the pebbles scattered around my feet. A few are small and smooth enough to skip. I pick one up, feel the weight of it in my palm, and twirl it between my fingers.
Me: Maybe.
North: Try to hit the tree across the lake.
That earns a smirk. Because he knows I always miss it.
Still, I throw the stone, aiming for the thick pine on the far side of the water. It skips twice, curves off course, and lands with a soft splash far short of the mark.
Nowhere close.
North: Did you get it?
I grin.
Me: Yep. Bullseye. Tree’s falling as we speak.
There’s a pause. A breath. And just as I’m about to laugh at myself, there’s a whisper. Right at my ear.
“Liar…”
I freeze. Every nerve ending in my body lights up like a struck match as heat races up my spine and explodes somewhere behind my ribs. Because I know that voice. And it’s not coming from my phone.
It’s coming from behind me.
I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. I just sit there, frozen on the sun-warmed stone with goosebumps prickling up my arms.
Because North is here. Behind me. Close enough to whisper in my ear. Close enough to undo me.
I start to move, but he grips my wrists from behind and stops me so easily. “Don’t turn around,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with that dark velvet tone that makes my stomach tumble. “You don’t deserve to.”
I swallow hard, my pulse kicking into a sprint. His presence is heat and gravity all at once. I feel him move behind me, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Why not?” I whisper, half smiling, half dying.
“Because,” he says, and his breath brushes my neck, sending a shiver all the way to my toes. “You lied to me. You missed the tree by a mile.”
“I—” My voice catches on a laugh. “I panicked,” I fish for something. Anything.
He hums softly against my skin. “You’re panicking now.”
He’s not wrong. I don’t know how much longer I can sit still, not turning to face my boyfriend.
A second later, his fingers release my wrists and skim my shoulder, then trail down the length of my arm—slow enough to steal air from my lungs. I press my lips together to keep from begging.
“You said fifteen fireflies,” he murmurs. “That’s way too low for a kiss.”
“I didn’t mean it. I was trying to be cool,” I mutter, heat burning up my neck.
Another soft laugh—right before his lips brush the exact spot where that heat’s pooling, slow and tender against my skin.
“You suck at cool,” he whispers, “but you’re excellent at making me want things I shouldn’t.”
I close my eyes. “Like what?”
He places another kiss, just below my ear this time. A little firmer. A little sweeter. “Like pulling you into my arms and not letting go until morning.”
My heart cracks open. I sigh, drowning in the sound of the lake, the warmth of the fading sun, and the fact that he’s here—close enough to touch but still holding me in this delicious suspense.
“North…”
His hands slide around my waist from behind, slow and sure. “Not yet,” he says again, lips grazing the shell of my ear. “Let me hear how the fireflies rise. Count to twenty-one.”
I laugh out loud. “You serious?”
“I drove three hours straight with nothing but bad coffee and your voice in my head. You’re damn right I’m serious. Start at fifteen.”
That man is impossible. And still, I inhale shakily and whisper, “Fifteen, sixteen—”
North Beckett bites into my earlobe and chuckles like an angel ascending straight from hell. “Slower, Adrian.”
God, he’s going to kill me.
“Seventeen… Eighteen…” I count. I breathe. And when I finally hit twenty-one, I don’t wait for his mercy any longer but turn.
And he’s there.
Sunlight in his hair, lake-glow in his eyes, and that crooked, heart-stopping smile that undoes every single one of my defenses.
I don’t say a word. I just move. My body knows before my brain catches up—because it’s him. It’s always him.
I launch myself at him, and North catches me like gravity’s been waiting for this moment. His arms close around me in one smooth, sure motion, hauling me in like I belong there—which I do—and then everything else disappears.
His mouth finds mine.
The kiss isn’t rushed. It’s certain. It’s weeks of hunger and distance and I missed you too much all crashing together. I slide my hands around his neck, anchor myself to the weight of him—warm and real and here. His thumb brushes my jaw, tilting my head just right, deepening the kiss until I forget how to breathe.
I sink into him as if he’s the only place I’ve ever belonged.
And in that moment, under the fading sky and the gold-drenched air, North Beckett kisses me like I’m the last promise he ever plans to keep.
*
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