Rewrite

The salt-heavy air wrapped around me as I pushed my head through the sunroof of Kendall’s car. My long, black-brown hair whipped wildly behind me in the wind while my hands stretched toward the sky as if I could fly. We’d been trapped in this car for over fourteen hours on our drive to Destin, Florida, but the second that ocean air hit my skin, every aching muscle suddenly felt worth it.

Something about this beach felt different from any other beach I’d been to before. The air tasted cleaner, smelled sharper, and carried a kind of freedom Alabama and Mississippi beaches never had. Maybe it was the crystal-blue water stretching endlessly against the white sand or the towering condos lining the coast like a whole different world. Whatever it was, Destin made me feel like I could become someone new here—someone untouched by the weight of home.

With that thought, I threw my head back and screamed into the wind.

Kendall burst into laughter beside me, tossing one hand into the air while steering with the other. Her dyed blonde hair shimmered gold in the sunlight, though I knew beneath it was her natural strawberry-red color. Her pale skin had already started turning pink from the Florida heat, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with pure excitement.

“We finally made it!” she yelled over the wind.

The clear water rolled against the shoreline in glittering waves, and the closer we got, the more unreal it all looked. This was the moment you knew you’d finally arrived at the beach.

We decided to spend a couple nights in Destin as a getaway from everything that had happened this year. Well… when I say we, I really mean Kendall forced me into it. She knew I needed to escape our tiny Texas town, our parents, the drama, and honestly, life itself.

The beach had always been my escape.

There was something healing about the crash of waves, the burn of hot sand beneath your feet, and the salty breeze sticking to your skin. Maybe it was the way the ocean drowned out every thought in your head. Maybe it was chasing dolphins in the distance or laying in the sun long enough to earn the tan you’d been craving. Either way, I was grateful for it. Grateful for this trip. And especially grateful for my best friend.

Once we found a parking spot in the overcrowded hotel lot, we hurriedly grabbed our bags and rushed inside. Our room sat on the tenth floor with a perfect ocean view. The balcony overlooked miles and miles of blue water that blended seamlessly into the sky.

“Isn’t this just spectacular?” Kendall asked dramatically, twirling around the balcony with her arms spread wide.

I leaned against the railing, letting the salty breeze brush against my Brazilian-tanned skin. “I’m so glad you brought me.”

“What else am I here for?” she laughed before disappearing back inside. “Now hurry up. Bathing suits, drinks, beach. In that order.”

Laughing, I followed her in and unpacked my duffle bag.

It didn’t take us long to get ready, and by one in the afternoon, we were already heading toward the beach loaded down with chairs, a cooler, and an umbrella. Texas was hot, sure, but beach heat was different. The sunlight reflected off the ocean so intensely it felt a hundred degrees hotter. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Dad hadn’t exactly been thrilled about me leaving. But at twenty-four years old, he couldn’t stop me anymore, no matter how badly he wanted to. Mom kept reminding him I deserved to live a little outside of Jackson Ranch.

Back home in Abilene, our family ranch was everything. We raised cattle, sold milk and vegetables, and offered riding lessons. I was even attending community college for veterinary studies so I could eventually help run things full time. My family depended on me being there. But even Dad knew I needed a break.

“You think this is a good spot?” I asked Kendall once we found one of the only open spaces on the beach.

It was perfect—just steps away from the water with nobody directly in front of us.

Kendall nodded as she dropped the cooler between our chairs. I started setting up the speaker while she fought with the umbrella.

“You can’t be at the beach without music,” I said.

“Someone else already beat us to it,” Kendall replied, nodding toward our left.

Sure enough, a group of guys sat nearby with music blasting obnoxiously loud. There were about six of them, all drinking beer, laughing, and acting like they owned the beach.

One of them caught my attention immediately.

He leaned back lazily in his chair like he was entertained by the fact I was marching toward them. He was tall—even sitting down I could tell that—and built broad and muscular like a farm boy who spent his life lifting hay bales instead of weights. His light brown hair was damp from the ocean, pushed messily away from his forehead. Sunlight highlighted the deep tan on his skin while a pair of sunglasses hid his eyes.

Unfortunately for him, he also looked smug as hell.

“How can we help you?” he asked in a deep country voice, lowering his sunglasses just enough for me to see his hazel eyes.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Can you turn your music down? Other people exist on this beach, too.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting a grin. “You can still play yours, ma’am.”

“Not with your terrible rap shaking the entire coastline.”

The boys around him started laughing.

“Come on, man,” one of them groaned. “Turn it down before she kills us all.”

“Fine,” he muttered dramatically before lowering the volume.

I smiled proudly and turned back toward our setup.

“Morgan Wallen?” I asked Kendall as I connected my phone to the speaker.

She laughed immediately. “Obviously.”

The rest of the afternoon blurred into sunshine, saltwater, and alcohol. The weather warning about the heat advisory had definitely been accurate because my skin felt like it was cooking alive. Luckily, Hawaiian Tropic sunscreen had never failed me. Kendall, however, was already turning pink.

“You know you’re gonna peel,” I teased.

“Shut up and grab me a Twisted Tea,” she shot back. “Wanna get in the water?”

We carried our drinks into the ocean while waves crashed around us. The red flag warning only made the water more fun in my opinion. It was so clear I could see fish darting around my feet and seashells tumbling in the current.

Our goal for this trip was simple: collect enough seashells to make picture frames when we got home.

“How are you ladies doing?” a familiar voice interrupted.

I turned to see the hazel-eyed idiot standing beside me with a beer bottle in hand. Up close, he was even bigger than I thought. Tall. Broad shoulders. Strong arms. Pure country-boy charm wrapped in arrogance.

“Kendall,” I announced dramatically, “this is the jackass with the loud music.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she replied sweetly before immediately bursting into laughter.

“This jackass has a name,” he said, raising his bottle slightly. “Baker Walton.”

“Baker Walton,” I repeated in an exaggerated Southern accent.

“And your name?”

I glanced at Kendall, who raised an encouraging eyebrow.

“My name is Macy-Belle Jackson.”

I held out my hand, and his large hand wrapped around mine firmly.

“Macy-Belle,” he repeated slowly like he was testing the name out.

One of his friends had apparently taken interest in Kendall because the two of them were already giggling nearby.

“How long are y’all here for?” Baker asked.

“Two nights.”

“Us too.” He nodded toward a large beach house farther down the shore. “You should come to our party tonight.”

“A party?” I asked cautiously.

“We rented a house down yonder.” He pointed east along the beach.

“Then why are you down here?”

He smirked without hesitation. “Hot chicks.”

I rolled my eyes instantly. “And we’re done here.”

As I turned away, I heard Kendall yell behind me to a tall blonde-haired boy, “See ya later, hot stuff!”

The rest of our evening turned into drunken chaos—singing lyrics at the top of our lungs, stumbling through waves, and promising “just one more drink” at least twenty times. Thankfully, our hotel sat right behind us because neither of us could’ve walked much farther.

Now I sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter, eating ice cream straight from the carton while Kendall searched through Netflix.

“I hope you don’t want any,” I mumbled through a mouthful of ice cream.

“Sweetie, I already got my own,” she slurred without looking away from the TV.

Laughing, I took another bite. Even inside the room with the AC blasting, I could still feel the warmth of the sun lingering on my skin.

Kendall suddenly gasped dramatically. “I found it! Legally Blonde.”

I hopped down from the counter and collapsed onto the couch while she grabbed a bottle of champagne from the fridge.

“I’m opening this,” she announced proudly, holding it above her head like a trophy.

I laughed, feeling completely weightless sitting there beside my best friend.

And the best part?

We’ve got to do it all over again tomorrow.