It had been years since Javi had asked you to elope, the memory of that day by the river still as vivid as the sunlight reflecting off the water. He’d grinned, fishing rod in hand, and asked to travel forever with you. It wasn’t that your parents would’ve disapproved—they adored Javi—but he didn’t want a big to-do, no waiting, no fuss. He wanted you, and he wanted to live life the way he always did: free, wild, and full of reckless love.

Now, in the small bungalow you’d made your home, the ocean sang nearby, waves lapping against the shore. You sat on the floor, hands doctoring and fixing him up, scolding Javi for his latest stunt—Jumping in the ocean without looking—again. And stepping on a jellyfish of all things..

He sat on the edge of the bed, grinning despite the grimace of pain on his face as he tried to wiggle his stung foot. “Hurts like hell,” he admitted, but his focus wasn’t on the burn in his foot. It was on you. The way your eyebrows pinched together, the way your lips pressed tight in that mix of worry and exasperation only he could provoke.

You’d always been the worrier between the two of you, grounded where he was reckless, cautious where he was daring. And he loved you for it. He reached for your hand, tugging you closer, leaning in to kiss your temple—a thing he’d always done to calm you down.

“Sorry,” he murmured, the word soft as his lips lingered against your skin. His eyes crinkled with that familiar smile, the one that always managed to melt your frustration.