Ella was sitting on the beach, waiting for Rome to come back from the trip he’d made up the mountain to call his mom where the reception was better. The tide was rolling in. It washed over her feet, up to her skirt, but she didn’t care. Living on the beach, one couldn’t be averse to water or sand. It was going to be everywhere, anyway, and that was fine with her.
The second she saw his face, she knew the call had not gone the way he’d wanted it to. His lips were pressed together in a defiant line, and his hands were fisted at his sides. She swallowed hard, knowing she could well see this as an opportunity to press him to stay here longer, but that wasn’t what he wanted. She didn’t want to be selfish, not when it meant so much to him to go back and prove he could handle his father.
Rome dropped down next to her on the sand, shaking his head slowly. She let him gather himself together before she even bothered to ask him anything. He would talk when he was ready.
