SimsBeyondStars

The ocean wind carried salt and heat, brushing against the porch where Bridget stood, arms folded tight across her chest. Below, Wisteria toddled along the shoreline, squealing with delight as the waves lapped at her ankles, her curls bouncing in the breeze.

Bridget didn’t smile. Couldn’t. Not with him standing next to her like that—quiet, restless, hands jammed in his pockets like they were holding him together.

Kade: (finally) “I need to tell you something.”

She didn’t turn to him. She didn’t have to. She already knew.

The tone. The silence. The guilt.

Bridget: “It’s Noah, isn’t it?”

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Kade went still. Then nodded.

Kade: “We’ve… been talking a lot. It just happened. I didn’t plan it.”

Bridget laughed—a small, broken sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “You said there was nothing between you.”

Kade: “There wasn’t. Not then. But now—”

Bridget: (cutting him off) “Now you’re leaving me for your best friend.”

Kade looked out at the sea, avoiding her eyes.

Kade: “It’s not like that.”

Bridget: “Isn’t it? You don’t even have the decency to lie better.”

The silence between them stretched, taut and painful. Wisteria shrieked with laughter as she splashed in a tide pool, completely unaware.

Bridget swallowed hard, her throat dry.

Bridget: “Did you ever love me?”

Kade didn’t answer right away. That was answer enough.

Kade: (quiet) “I think I wanted to.”

Her breath hitched like she’d been punched.

Bridget: “So what was I, then? Just somewhere to land while you figured it out? A placeholder until Noah looked your way?”

Kade flinched.

Kade: “It wasn’t like that.”

Bridget: “But it is like that, Kade. You just don’t have the balls to admit it.”

He took a step toward her. She stepped back.

Kade: “This doesn’t change anything with Wisteria.”

Bridget: (cold) “Of course it does. Everything changes. You want to be her dad? Show up. But don’t pretend you didn’t abandon me too.”

Her voice cracked then, just slightly. Enough.

Kade looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t. He turned and walked down the sand, scooping Wisteria into his arms. She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck like nothing was wrong.

Bridget watched them, arms wrapped around herself like armour.

From a distance, they looked like a family.

But she knew better now.

She wasn’t the one he’d fight for.

Wasn’t the one he’d ever choose.

And maybe she never had been.

She stood there until the sun dipped lower, her shadow stretching long across the porch, the waves pulling the footprints away like they’d never been there at all.

----

Late that Night

Tomarang was quiet. Too quiet.

The sea murmured in the distance, a soft hush that should’ve been comforting. But inside Bridget’s tiny home, the silence pressed in around her like a weight.

Wisteria was asleep—curled up in her little bed, thumb in her mouth, a small, rhythmic snore barely audible through the monitor.

Bridget sat alone on the bathroom floor. The bathwater had gone cold, her damp towel wrapped around her shoulders like a shield. Her knees were pulled to her chest, cheek resting on them, eyes red from crying—but the tears hadn’t stopped.

She wasn’t even sure why she’d started crying again.

Maybe it was Kade. Maybe it was her mum. Maybe it was Kevin.

Maybe it was everyone who had ever made her feel like she wasn’t enough to stay for.

Bridget: (soft, to herself) “What’s wrong with me?”

Her voice cracked in the quiet. No answer came. Just the slow drip of the tap. The ache in her chest throbbed like a bruise she couldn’t touch.

She thought back to all the moments that should’ve meant something. Kade holding her hand during Wisteria’s birth. Kevin offering a home. Her mum’s empty hugs. The nights she stayed up hoping someone, anyone, would message first.

But they didn’t. They never did.

And she was tired of always being the one who reached out. The one who fought. The one who stayed.

She leaned her head back against the wall, blinking up at the ceiling.

Bridget: “I gave everything. And still… they leave.”

Her voice was a whisper now. Barely there.

It wasn’t just about love. It was about being invisible. Disposable. Used up and tossed aside, like she was just a chapter in everyone else’s story.

She wiped her eyes, but it didn’t matter. More tears came anyway.

For the girl she used to be.

For the love she thought was real.

For the version of her life that never came true.

Eventually, she stood, the cold biting into her skin, and wrapped herself tighter in the towel. She padded barefoot to Wisteria’s room, slipping in without a sound.

Her daughter’s face was peaceful in sleep, lashes long against her cheeks, curls wild on the pillow.

Bridget knelt beside the bed and stroked a curl behind Wisteria’s ear.

Bridget: (quietly) “It’s just us, baby girl. Just us now.”

And maybe that would have to be enough.

Because at least she wasn’t leaving.

A Year After Wisteria Was Born

The air in Tomarang was thick with salt and heat as Kade lounged barefoot on the floor, Wisteria giggling in his lap while she chewed on his watch strap. Bridget leaned in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching them with a strange ache in her chest.

He looked different now—grown. The wild ginger streak was gone, replaced by cropped inky-black hair. His eyes seemed older too, sharper. But he still smiled like trouble. Still moved like the world bent for him when he wanted it to.

Bridget (teasing): “You’re getting good at this.”

Kade (grinning): “She likes me. Girl’s got taste.”

Bridget smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Watching him with Wisteria was dangerous. It felt right, which was the problem. Because it made her forget all the ways he didn’t show up when it counted. All the times he didn’t call. The days he ghosted her then popped back like nothing.

Later that night, with Wisteria asleep and the house too quiet, Bridget let him pull her into bed. Out of habit. Out of want. Not out of hope.

She already knew how the story ended.

It always ended the same.

---

Kade’s kiss lingered longer than usual—slower, like he was trying to say something with it. His hand cupped her jaw, eyes searching hers.

Kade: “We can’t do this forever.”

Bridget: (dryly) “Since when do you plan anything forever?”

He chuckled, but it was hollow. He sat back, running a hand through his hair.

Kade: “She had twins. Six years old. I didn’t know until recently.”

Bridget blinked. A breath hitched in her chest, but she smoothed it over with a slow nod. Of course. Another child he hadn’t stuck around for. Another mess to fix too late.

He reached for her again, hungry, but something in her pulled back.

Bridget: “You always come back when it’s safe.”

Kade: (frowning) “What does that mean?”

She sat up, blanket clutched loosely in her lap, her voice tired but clear.

Bridget: “It means you disappear when things get too real. But you always show up when it’s soft again—when I’m not angry anymore, when I’ve done the work of being okay. Then you pop in, play house, kiss my neck, and tell me you love me.”

He opened his mouth, but she kept going.

Bridget: “And I let you. Because it’s easy to pretend this could be enough. But it’s not. I’m not. Not for you. Because no matter what we are, you’ll always choose someone else first.”

Kade’s jaw clenched.

Bridget: “Noah. Ada. Your past. Anyone who lets you chase them. I was always the one waiting.”

He sat in silence, the weight of it finally landing.

Bridget reached for her shirt, pulling it on slowly.

Bridget (soft): “I can’t keep being the girl you run to when everything else falls apart.”

Kade (quiet): “You don’t love me anymore?”

Bridget: “I love myself more.”

There was no kiss that night. No tangled limbs. No whispered nothings.

Just the rustle of fabric, the creak of the bed as she moved to the far side, and the sound of Wisteria sighing in her sleep down the hall.

When morning came, Kade was gone.

And for the first time…

Bridget didn’t wonder if he’d come back.

The hospital room was warm and low-lit, the sharp scent of antiseptic laced with something softer—lavender oil dabbed on a towel, Bridget’s idea. She was deep in labor now, the birthing pool rippling with each breath she fought to control.

Her hair clung to her flushed face. Sweat gleamed on her skin. She looked radiant and wrecked—half warrior, half goddess.

Kade was next to her, sleeves rolled, jeans soaked, his knees on the cold floor, gripping her hand like he was the one in pain. His voice was low, careful.

Kade: “You’ve got this, Bridge. Just breathe with me.”

She didn’t answer. Her jaw clenched as the next contraction rolled through her like a storm.

Kevin stood awkwardly near the doorway, holding two paper cups of vending machine tea. He’d asked if she wanted him there, and she’d said yes—softly. But when the contractions started to hit hard, it had been Kade she reached for. And Kevin had quietly stepped back.

Bridget: (through her teeth) “I hate this. I hate this. I swear I’m never doing this again.”

Kade chuckled under his breath.

Kade: “Yeah, you are. You’ll forget. You always do.”

Bridget shot him a look sharp enough to cut.

Bridget: “Don’t act like you’ll be around to remind me.”

That shut him up

Later, in the in-between, Bridget rested back against the edge of the birthing pool, eyelids heavy, body trembling. Kade wiped her brow gently with a cool cloth, his fingers lingering too long.

Kade: “Still with him?”

Bridget didn’t open her eyes.

Bridget: “Not now, Kade.”

Kade: “I just want to know where we stand.”

Bridget: “You want to know if the door’s still open.”

He didn’t deny it. Just knelt there, quiet.

Bridget opened her eyes, met his gaze.

Bridget: “I love you. But you don’t get to keep showing up for the fire and disappearing in the ashes.”

Kade: “I never meant to hurt you.”

Bridget: “I know. But you did. And you still do.”

The midwife’s voice broke through.

Midwife: “Okay, Bridget. Next contraction, we push. You’re almost there.”

Bridget braced herself. Kade steadied her. And Kevin stepped forward, his hands shaking slightly as he held a towel, ready.

Another push. A scream. The world narrowed to one tiny moment.

And then—

A cry. Sharp. New. Alive.

Midwife: “She’s here!”

The midwife scooped the baby from the water and placed her on Bridget’s chest. Bridget gasped—laughing and sobbing all at once.

Bridget: “Wisteria… hi, baby…”

Kevin blinked back tears as he stepped closer, staring at the tiny creature wrapped against Bridget’s heart.

Kade sat back on his heels. Watching.

Something distant flickered in his expression. Regret. Awe. Fear.

Bridget kissed Wisteria’s head

Later that night, Wisteria was swaddled and sleeping. Bridget lay in bed, pale but calm. Kade held Wisteria one last time, cradling her like she might vanish if he blinked.

Kade: (whispering) “I’ll see you soon, baby girl. Daddy loves you.”

He kissed her forehead and walked to Bridget.

Kade: “You’re incredible. Thank you for her.”

Bridget nodded, taking Wisteria back.

Bridget: “You’re part of her. But that doesn’t mean you’re part of me.”

Kade’s eyes burned.

Kade: “You’re serious.”

Bridget: “I’ve been serious for a long time. You just weren’t listening.”

He paused. One last glance at Wisteria.

And then he left. Quietly. Like he always did.

Bridget stared down at her daughter.

Bridget: “It’s just us now, little flower. But that’s enough. We’re enough.”

The late afternoon light filtered into the cabin, casting soft shadows across the wooden floors. Bridget waddled her way through the living room, cradling her belly with one hand and eating sliced mango with the other when she heard a knock on the door.

She opened it—and squealed.

Kade barely had time to blink before she launched herself—carefully—into his arms, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, her bump pressing between them.

Kade: (laughing as he hugged her back gently) “Careful, mama bear. You’re twice the trouble now.”

Bridget: (pulling back just enough to beam up at him) “Gods, it’s so good to see you. Look at you! You’re still tall and smug and stupidly handsome.”

Kade: (grinning) “You’re round and glowing and terrifyingly maternal. It’s good to see you too.”

She dragged him inside without hesitation, flopping back onto the couch with the grace of someone eight months pregnant.

Bridget: “Kevin’s out for the day—he’s with the farrier. You get me all to yourself. Be honoured.”

Kade: “I always am.”

He looked around the cabin, taking in the warmth of it—the cozy chaos, the soft lighting, the way Bridget had made this place a home. His eyes landed on a tiny stack of baby books on the coffee table and the lavender-toned onesie draped over the back of a chair.

His smile faded just a touch.

Kade: “So… Wisteria, huh?”

Bridget: (watching him, quieter now) “Yeah. Picked it not long after I found out. It just… fit.”

Kade nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

A moment passed.

Bridget: (softer) “You okay?”

Kade: “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t expecting to feel this much walking in. But I’m glad. Really. You look happy, Bridge.”

Bridget: (smiling, a little sad at the edges) “I am.”

He sat beside her, glancing sideways.

Kade: “You ever think about what it would’ve looked like… if things were different?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

Bridget: “Sometimes. But then I remember everything that had to break for me to build this. And I wouldn’t trade it.”

Kade: “Not even for me?”

She looked up at him, eyes soft.

Bridget: “Not even for you.”

He nodded, quiet for a moment. Then he nudged her bump lightly.

Kade: “She’s going to be amazing, you know. How could she not be? She’s yours.”

Bridget: “And yours too. She gets your eyes. Maybe your stubborn streak.”

Kade: (grinning) “Poor Kevin.”

They laughed, and for a while, they just sat there—no tension, no regrets. Just two people who’d shared something once, and now shared someone forever

Bridget stood in the quiet hum of the cabin, her belly heavy and round, the late sunlight painting gold across her bare shoulders. Kade was close—closer than he should have been, maybe—but neither of them moved away.

There was something about standing next to him again, in this house that had nothing to do with him, but still echoed faintly with memories. The scent of salt air. That lazy smile. The way he always tilted his head when he looked at her like she was about to say something brilliant or insane.

Her voice came out raw.

Bridget: “Fuck, I’ve missed you, Kade.”

He looked at her like she’d punched him and kissed him in the same breath.

Kade: (softly) “Yeah?”

Bridget: (nods, her eyes glinting with a storm she didn’t want to name) “Yeah.”

For a beat, nothing existed but the space between them—and how quickly it had disappeared.

He reached out, barely brushing his knuckles over her arm, lingering there like he was afraid the moment might crack.

Kade: “I think about you more than I should.”

Bridget: (half-laughs, half-sighs) “You and me both.”

Bridget’s heart thundered in her chest as Kade lingered, their breaths brushing, their past tugging at them like a tide neither could resist. She looked up at him—really looked—and all the carefully built walls of the last few months crumbled under the weight of everything they used to be.

She didn’t think. She just moved.

Her lips found his in a kiss that was soft at first—hesitant, questioning—until he kissed her back.

And then it was anything but soft.

Kade’s hands cupped her face, his mouth moving with a kind of hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with heartbreak and memory. Bridget pressed her body against his, her pregnant belly resting between them, her fingers tangling in his shirt.

When they pulled back, their foreheads touched, both of them breathless.

Bridget (whispering): “I need you. Just one more time. Please, Kade.”

He stared at her, his expression shattered and torn, like every part of him wanted to say yes—and every other part already knew what a mistake it would be.

Kade: “Bridget…”

Bridget: “I need to feel it. You. Us. Just once more. Before this baby comes. Before I can’t pretend anymore.”

A beat of silence. His thumb brushed her cheek.

Kade: “Are you sure?”

Bridget: “No. But I still want it.”

The tension crackled like lightning as Bridget led Kade to the bedroom, her breath shallow, pulse racing. Her hands were trembling—not from fear, but from the ache of it all. Wanting. Needing. Him.

The bedroom smelled like ocean salt and lavender. A half-packed hospital bag sat in the corner. The sheets were wrinkled from last night. It was Kevin’s bed now.

But none of that mattered. Not for the next three hours.

Kade didn’t wait. He pulled her shirt up over her belly, pressing soft, lingering kisses against her stretched skin. Her breath hitched as he undressed her, fingers reverent, slow. Then he stepped back, peeled off his own shirt, kicked off his shoes—never breaking eye contact.

Kade: “How long have we got?”

Bridget: (voice thick) “Three hours. Maybe less.”

He smirked, all heat and heartbreak, his voice low and wicked.

Kade: “Oh, we are going to have fun, Bridge.”

He crawled onto the bed and kissed her slowly, from her lips down her throat, across her collarbone. Then lower. His hands cradled her belly like it was sacred, his lips moving in soft worship across her curves, her thighs, the places only he had known in that first fleeting summer.

Kade: “You are so fucking hot pregnant… pregnant with my child.”

His voice cracked on the last word, but he didn't stop. He kissed lower, deeper, her hands buried in his hair, her hips rising to meet his mouth, his tongue, the maddening way he still knew every inch of her.

Bridget moaned, her fingers tightening around the sheets. “Don’t stop…”

Kade’s kisses turned urgent, his hands no longer gentle but claiming—gripping her hips, her thighs, the soft curve of her ass. He looked down at her body, at the swell of her belly, and his gaze darkened with something carnal, possessive.

Kade: “Look at you. All mine. Knocked up and still the brattiest little witch I’ve ever known.”

Bridget smirked, her voice husky. “Maybe you should do something about it.”

That’s all the invitation he needed.

He flipped her carefully, bracing one arm beneath her belly, the other gripping her wrist and pinning it to the sheets. She gasped as he pressed against her from behind, hard and hot, teasing.

Bridget: “You wouldn’t dare—”

Kade: “Say please, Bridge.”

Her breath hitched, the submission making heat pool low in her belly. She fought it—just a little, because that’s what she loved. And he loved that she fought.

Bridget: “Make me.”

Kade growled low in his throat, pushing her knees wider, his palm smacking her bare thigh with just enough sting to make her moan.

Kade: “You forget who’s in charge. Say it.”

Her cheek pressed to the sheets, flushed and panting. She squirmed, half-laughing, half-melting.

Bridget: “You are.”

He leaned over her, his lips brushing her ear.

Kade: “Damn right I am.”

When he finally thrust into her, it was deep, hard, and deliberate—his pace rough, relentless, but always careful of her belly, always cradling her like she was both untouchable and his to ruin.

Bridget moaned, loud and unfiltered, every inch of her surrendering.

Bridget: “Gods, I forgot what this felt like…”

Kade: “You needed to be reminded.”

He gripped her hips, snapped into her harder, and she broke—spilling over the edge with a gasp and a cry, his name on her lips like a spell. He followed seconds later, a strangled moan of her name leaving his throat, collapsing beside her, both of them breathless, sweaty, tangled in the chaos they couldn’t stop craving.

When the silence came, it wasn’t empty. It was heavy.

They lay there, Bridget’s fingers brushing his chest, Kade’s hand on her hip, both of them knowing what they’d done—and not ready to say it out loud.

Bridget lay tangled in the sheets, her body still humming, her breath slowing. Kade was sitting on the edge of the bed now, pulling on his shirt, that same smug-but-soft look on his face she remembered all too well. The kind that said he knew exactly what he’d done—and exactly what it meant.

Kade: (without turning) “Well… we shouldn’t have done that.”

Bridget exhaled a quiet laugh, dragging the sheet higher over her chest. “Probably not.”

He finally looked back at her, eyes glinting. “But…”

She smirked, brushing her fingers through her curls. “No one needs to know.”

Kade leaned back down, one hand bracing beside her, and kissed her slow. Deep. Just once more. Like a full stop at the end of a confession.

Kade: “You’re just badly behaved.”

Bridget: (grinning against his lips) “So are you.”

He stood, grabbing his boots and heading for the door, pausing before he stepped outside.

Kade: “Call me when you’re in labour.”

Bridget: (softly) “I will.”

He hesitated for just a second, then nodded and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Bridget lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, her hand moving over her belly. Wisteria kicked, and she whispered, half to herself, half to her daughter:

Bridget didn’t sleep the night before he left. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, counting his breaths beside her, memorizing the weight of his arm over her waist, the rhythm of his heartbeat under her cheek. Every time he shifted in his sleep, she thought about waking him. About asking him to stay. About saying the words she hadn't said yet. But morning came anyway. They walked to the bus station together. It was a short walk, but it felt like the last mile of something she wasn’t ready to finish. Kade carried his bag slung over one shoulder, and she tried to keep her hand in his just a little longer than necessary. They didn’t talk much. There wasn’t anything left to say that wouldn’t break something. At the platform, he turned to her, eyes already a little too glossy, smile a little too forced. “So… I guess this is it.” Bridget nodded, arms crossed to keep them from shaking. “Guess so.” “You gonna be okay?” he asked softly. She smirked, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m Bridget Messian. I’m always okay.” Kade looked at her for a long moment, like he was trying to carve her into memory. “You know if you asked me to stay, I might.” “I know,” she said. “That’s why I won’t.” He let out a shaky breath, eyes falling to the space between them. “Why does this feel like more than it was supposed to be?” “Because it is,” she said, voice raw. “But just because something’s real doesn’t mean it lasts.” He stepped forward and kissed her—slow, soft, trembling. Not the kind of kiss that ends something. The kind that promises it never really will. “I love you,” he said against her lips. “God, I didn’t mean to, but I do.” Bridget closed her eyes. Let the words burn into her. “I know,” she whispered. “I think… I love you too.” And then she stepped back. “Go.” Kade nodded, tears threatening but not falling. He slung his bag over his shoulder, looked at her one last time, and turned toward the bus. She stood there until it was gone, arms wrapped tight around herself, chest aching in a way she didn’t think magic could fix. He was gone. But what they had—it wasn’t. Not really. She carried him home with her, like a song she couldn’t stop humming.

It had been six weeks of heat and chaos and something dangerously close to love. Now the beach was quiet, the sky painted in streaks of violet and orange. Kade and Bridget sat on a blanket, half-wrapped in each other, a half-eaten bag of chips between them and sand dusting their legs. The waves rolled in gentle and rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Neither of them had said it yet—not the real thing—but it lingered in the way Bridget’s head rested on his shoulder, in the way Kade’s fingers never stopped tracing little patterns on her thigh. He was leaving tomorrow. Bridget hated how fast the summer had gone. She broke the silence first, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you to leave.” Kade looked at her, eyes shadowed with emotion he rarely let show. “I know.” She sat up a little, frowning at the horizon. “I thought this was just… fun. And it was. But it’s more now. Isn’t it?” He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is.” Bridget laughed once, dry and quiet. “This wasn’t the plan.” “Plans suck,” he said. “I didn’t mean to meet someone like you. Not now. Not here.” “But you did,” she said, finally looking at him. “I did.” A long pause. “Come with me,” he said suddenly. Half-serious, half-hopeful. Bridget smiled sadly. “You know I can’t. This is my home. My magic’s rooted here. My people are here.” He nodded. “I had to try.” Bridget leaned in and kissed him, slow and lingering, like she could store the memory of it somewhere inside her ribs. When she pulled away, her eyes were bright but dry. “You’re going to be brilliant out there, Kade. You’re going to break hearts and charm professors and write long songs about sunsets and girls with magic eyes.” He laughed quietly. “You make it sound easy.” She grinned. “It won’t be. But you’re annoying and arrogant and too romantic for your own good. You’ll survive.” They stayed there until the stars came out. And when he finally left the next morning, Bridget didn’t cry. But she watched the sea all day, and it felt just a little emptier without him.

The sun was rude. It streamed through the slats of her window, all golden and loud, lighting up the tangle of blankets and limbs like a spotlight. Bridget groaned and rolled onto her back, blinking against the brightness. Kade was already out of bed. She propped herself up on one elbow and watched him move around her room quietly, pulling on his shirt, shoes already in hand. His hair was mussed, lips still a little kiss-bitten, but he looked ready to vanish like a dream she half-remembered. She smirked, voice still sleep-rough. “Sneaking out?” He jumped a little, caught in the act. Then he flashed that smug, stupidly attractive smile. “Didn’t want to wake the enchantress.” Bridget yawned and stretched, letting the sheets fall just enough to keep his attention. “I was hoping for another round.” Kade hesitated—tempted, clearly—but then shook his head with a quiet laugh. “I’m not really the… stick-around kind. I’m not one for relationships.” She raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Me neither.” That surprised him. Bridget leaned back against her pillows, grey eyes sharp. “I just want some fun. You know—surfing, drinks, the occasional hot guy sneaking out of my bedroom.” He grinned, lingering in the doorway. “Well. I am excellent at occasional.” She rolled her eyes but smiled. “So drop by tonight. Or don’t. I’m not the crying-into-a-pillow type.” Kade nodded slowly, like he was still figuring her out. “I might come by.” “I might let you in,” she said, already kicking off the covers and looking for her swimsuit in the chaos of her room. He left, and the house settled into quiet again. Bridget didn’t believe in fate. But she did believe in good timing and even better distractions. And Kade? Kade was both.

For now, anyway.

Bridget was already in the water by the time Kade showed up, sunlight glittering off the sea like the whole ocean had been sprinkled with stardust. Her board floated lazily beside her, waves gentle and teasing against her bare skin. She paddled back toward shore when she spotted him—t-shirt clinging to his chest, hair wind-tousled, looking at her like she was the main event. “You’re late,” she called out as she stood, water dripping down her legs. Kade grinned. “You didn’t say what time. I thought this was a ‘sometime after sunrise’ vibe.” Bridget walked up the sand, dripping and smug. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” “You keep saying that,” he said, handing her a towel. “I might start believing it.” She took it, brushing past him as she dropped onto the warm sand. “Come on then, lover boy. Let’s see what you’ve got.” They surfed for hours. Kade wasn’t bad—not a natural, but brave enough to try, wipe out, and come back laughing. Bridget liked that about him. He didn’t care about looking cool. He just wanted to feel everything. Between waves, they floated beside each other, arms brushing in the water. “You always like this?” he asked. “Wild and alive?” Bridget smirked. “You always this sentimental after nearly drowning?” Kade laughed, a real one that made his eyes crinkle. “I could get used to this.” “This?” she teased. “Washing up beside a witch in the ocean?” “No,” he said, softer. “You.” She blinked, caught off guard. Then masked it with a splash of water to his face. “You’re getting attached.” “Maybe,” he said, swimming closer. “You gonna hex me if I am?” Bridget grabbed his necklace and pulled him in. “I’ll do worse,” she whispered—and kissed him. The rest of the afternoon blurred into sun and lips and laughter. They collapsed on a towel later, tangled up, salt-kissed and satisfied. He looked at her like she was trouble. She looked at him like he was temporary. Because that’s what this was. Fun. Fleeting. No strings, no promises. But when his fingers brushed hers as the sun began to sink, Bridget couldn’t help but feel the smallest twinge of something... more.

Her room was cool and shadowy, lit only by the late golden spill from her window and a few half-melted candles. Bridget peeled off her damp swimsuit and tossed him an oversized t-shirt while she pulled on cotton shorts. “Bed privileges are a big deal,” she teased as she flopped into the middle of it. Kade caught the shirt, grinning as he climbed in beside her. “What can I say? I’m charming.” Bridget rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re hot.” “Same thing.” They lay facing each other, legs tangled, her cheek resting on her hand, eyes tracing the slope of his nose, the soft edge of his mouth. There was something strange about the silence between them. Comfortable, but charged. Kade reached out and tucked a damp curl behind her ear. “You always let people this close?” She shrugged. “No. But I like how you look in my sheets.” He smirked, but there was something gentle in his eyes. “You’re kind of incredible, you know that?” Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Says the heartbroken poet.” He laughed, then quieted. “You make it easy to forget her. The ache. Everything.” She didn’t say anything for a moment, just let her fingers trace his arm lazily. “I don’t want to fix you,” she said. “I’m not that kind of girl.” “I don’t want to be fixed,” he replied. “Just… seen. And I think you do.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Yeah. I see you.” They lay there a long while—kissing between jokes, dozing off and waking up tangled tighter each time. The window breeze carried the sound of waves through the house. Kade’s head rested on her stomach now, and her fingers slid through his hair. Neither of them said what they were thinking. That it felt like more. That it felt too good to last. That it was more. Later, Bridget whispered, “You’re not just a summer thing, Kade.” He tilted his head to look at her. “Then what am I?” She looked down at him, serious. “You’re a page in a chapter I’ll never forget.” His breath hitched, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he curled closer into her, and for once, Kade didn’t try to run from the quiet.

She sipped her too-sweet drink at the counter of Luna’s, elbows resting on the sticky bar top, grey eyes scanning the half-lit crowd. She wasn’t really celebrating anything—unless surviving another strange, magic-drenched week in Glimmerbrook counted—but there was something in the air tonight. Wild. Tingly.

The mic was open. The stage was calling.

But first—another drink.

She laughed at something the bartender said and turned back to her glass… just as a guy slid onto the stool beside her like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Tall. Careless hair. Smug grin. A leather jacket like he wanted to be trouble.

“You look like you’ve got good taste in bad decisions,” he said smoothly.

Bridget blinked. Then snorted. “You look like one.”

He laughed—actually laughed—and that earned him half a point.

“Kade,” he said, holding out his hand like they were in a rom-com. She shook it with mock seriousness.

“Bridget.”

“You here for the music or the questionable company?”

“Bit of both,” she replied. “End of the world seemed like a good excuse.”

His brows lifted. “Really? Mine was heartbreak.”

She arched an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. “Heavy.”

He smirked. “What can I say? I’m dramatic.”

Bridget downed the rest of her drink and stood, her voice light. “Maybe I’ll tell you more after I sing.”

Before he could respond, she made her way to the stage, tossing him a glance over her shoulder that said watch me.

And he did.

The song was flirty, fast, and a little ridiculous—something she picked just to make the room wake up. She strutted, danced, flirted with the mic stand and the beat, eyes flicking to Kade more often than she meant to.

He was leaning back, smirking like she was the only person in the bar.

When the song ended, applause rose around her, but Bridget’s eyes were locked on him. She hopped down, heart thudding more than she wanted to admit.

She made her way back, leaning in, breathless but controlled.

“You’re cute, Kade.”

He grinned like he knew it. “Thanks. You too.”

She tilted her head, studying him. This wasn’t a boy who wanted forever. He had heartbreak clinging to him like cologne. But something about him sparked, matched her pace.

“What are you doing after this?” she asked.

A beat. His smirk sharpened.

“Hopefully... you.”

Bridget took his hand without another word and tugged him off the stool.

“Let’s go,” she said. “I hate fluorescent lighting.”

Outside, Bridget turned, a finger to her lips.

“Just shush,” she whispered. “Don’t wake my parents.”

Kade smirked. “Sexy.”

Bridget rolled her eyes but smiled. “Idiot.”

She took his hand, tugged him into her room, careful and quick. Her room was tucked beneath the sloped roof, cluttered with books, crystals, and postcards from alien worlds. There was a telescope in the corner and a bed draped with mismatched blankets in shades of storm cloud and midnight.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Bridget turned.

“I like your face,” she said, then kissed him.

It was soft at first—tentative, testing—but Kade responded like he’d been waiting for it all night. His hands found her waist. Hers tangled in his hair. The kiss deepened, all the teasing energy from earlier melting into something hot and real.

She pushed his jacket off. He pulled her closer.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥