Summer of Soft Sunshine – Chapter Four – Sunset Storytime
The beach had changed so much by the time the sun began to sink that it almost felt like we were on a different shore.
Earlier in the day it had been a blur of motion and noise—kids racing with buckets and shovels, teenagers running half-hearted games of volleyball, the crack of frisbees slapped out of the air, music thumping faintly from someone’s speaker nearby. Now it was hushed, like the whole place had taken a deep breath and was letting it out slowly.
Most families had already gone. I could still spot a few—tired parents coaxing sandy, cranky kids into flip-flops, umbrellas being folded down, coolers hoisted awkwardly against hips. Their voices carried, but it was thinner now, stretched out into the vastness of the evening air.
From the boardwalk came the faint echo of carnival lights blinking awake, each ride buzzing to life in the dusk. The whoosh and clank of the Ferris wheel reached us faintly, along with the sharper cries of gulls overhead, circling as though they too were deciding whether the day was finished.
Samantha stretched high, arms arching over her head, and let out a little sigh of contentment. Her bracelets slid down her wrist and caught the last rays of sunlight. “Perfect timing,” she murmured, almost to herself, before tilting her face toward the horizon. The sky was bleeding into oranges and pinks, streaks of lavender cloud stretched thin as though someone had brushed them with watercolor.
She turned back to me, her smile soft but insistent. “Come on,” she said, nodding toward the tideline. “Closer to the water. That’s the best view.”
I followed, a little slower. My bare feet pressed into the cooling sand, which still held the memory of the day’s heat. Each step shifted, the grains slipping beneath me in tiny cascades. My calves ached, but in that pleasant, used-up way that comes from spending hours in the sun. Salt clung faintly to my skin, a reminder of earlier swims, and I could still smell it in the air—that briny tang that never quite leaves.
We picked a spot where the waves reached only close enough to darken the sand in lazy crescents before pulling back again. Samantha dropped onto the ground without hesitation, the skirt of her sundress flaring out around her legs as she sat cross-legged. She patted the space beside her with a look that was more command than suggestion, though wrapped in warmth.
I lowered myself carefully, brushing at the sand before sitting. Even though I could still see people scattered here and there—couples strolling hand-in-hand along the waterline, a boy chasing after his dog with gleeful shouts—it somehow felt more private now, like the world was tucking us into our own little corner.
The colors on the horizon were mesmerizing. The sun sat low, a glowing coin sinking into the water, throwing glitter across the surface of the waves. Every ripple caught the light, fractured it into dancing sparks before fading away again.
The breeze had picked up. It carried that particular coolness that comes only at the edge of day, when the heat finally begins to let go. It wrapped around me, lifting goosebumps on my arms, brushing damp hair against my temple. The smell of sunscreen still lingered faintly, mixed with the sharper tang of salt and something sweet wafting down from the boardwalk—cotton candy, maybe, or popcorn.
Samantha leaned back on her hands, tilting her head to one side as if she could drink in the scene. Then her gaze slipped toward me, playful. “Tired?” she asked softly.
I gave a half-laugh. “A little.” My voice betrayed me, thick with the weight of the day.
She bumped her shoulder into mine with just enough force to jolt me upright. “Mhm, you look it. My poor little beach explorer.”
The nickname hit with its usual effect—my stomach fluttered, my face heated. I didn’t quite know what to do with it. After the messy, embarrassing moments earlier in the day, I hardly felt like much of an “explorer.” If anything, I felt clumsy, a tagalong who needed watching over. But the way she said it, in that warm, teasing lilt, made the word soften around me. Not a criticism—more like an invitation.
I sank my palms back into the sand, feeling the cool grains slip through my fingers. My shoulders sagged. The steady sound of the waves filled my ears, rhythmic and lulling. My eyelids drooped, as if just sitting there could dissolve me into the evening.
It was strange, how quickly the edges blurred when I let myself lean into that comfort—how the heavy pull of the day made it easier not to resist.
At first it was just a whisper of awareness, the kind you can almost ignore if you’re still and distracted. The beach was good at offering distractions—the rhythmic hush of waves rolling in, the far-off shouts of kids chasing each other, the sweet, sticky smell of kettle corn drifting down the boardwalk.
But the longer I sat there in the sand, the harder it was to pretend I wasn’t feeling it. A slow, building heaviness in my belly, like a balloon quietly filling with each minute. I shifted, tucking one leg underneath me, then stretching it out again. The tiny adjustments didn’t help much. If anything, every new position seemed to remind me that my bladder wasn’t happy to be ignored.
Samantha noticed right away. She always did.
Her eyes cut toward me, sly and curious, catching every little squirm. The corner of her mouth tugged upward. “Mm. What’s that wiggle about?”
Heat crept up my face. I tried to cover it with a shrug, doodling a crooked line in the sand with my fingertip. “Just… getting comfortable.”
“Mhm,” she hummed, obviously unconvinced. She leaned closer, her voice playful but knowing. “Or is it more of a… bathroom kind of wiggle?”
My throat tightened. I wanted to deny it, but her gaze pinned me too easily. “…Maybe. A little.”
She clapped her hands lightly against her thighs and pushed herself up, brushing sand from her dress. “Well then! Before somebody turns into a squirmy puddle right here, we’d better get moving.”
I groaned, dragging myself to my feet, but took her offered hand anyway. There was always something grounding about her grip—warm, firm, like she knew exactly how to steady me without saying it aloud.
Walking didn’t make things easier. The boardwalk was only a short stroll away, but every step seemed to nudge the fullness inside me, each footfall a little jolt I couldn’t completely ignore. The sun was setting lower now, painting everything in a molten orange glow. Families with coolers shuffled past us, kids darting by with dripping snow cones, a couple holding hands and laughing as they tried to juggle a bucket of fries.
I tried to walk normally, but Samantha noticed the way my strides quickened, the slight hitch of my hand hovering near my hip like I could discreetly hold myself without anyone seeing.
“You’re following awfully close, little shadow,” she teased over her shoulder. Her voice was light, but I heard the undercurrent—she was watching me closely, and she knew.
“I’m fine,” I muttered. “Just… trying to keep up.”
She chuckled softly and slowed down, forcing me to shuffle to a more normal pace. “No rush. Unless you think you need to?”
The words made me clench up harder. I didn’t answer, only ducked my head, cheeks burning as the glow of streetlamps flickered on above us.
When the squat concrete building with the restroom sign finally came into view, my chest lifted with hope. But that feeling soured instantly when I saw the small crowd gathered outside. A line. Of course there was a line.
I froze. My stomach did a nervous flip.
Samantha’s voice slid in, low and amused, as she followed my gaze. “Oh, I see.” She nudged me gently with her elbow. “Uh-oh. That face says trouble.”
I realized I was already shifting from foot to foot, my flip-flops scuffing against the boards in a restless rhythm. I hadn’t even noticed I was doing it until she pointed it out.
“Don’t… don’t say it like that,” I mumbled, my voice tight.
“Like what?” she asked innocently, though her grin betrayed her. “It’s true. You’ve got that little dance going on.”
I clenched my fists against the straps of my bag, trying to force myself still, but it only made the pressure feel worse. The sound of a flush drifting faintly through the propped-open door, the sluggish shuffle of the line inching forward, the squeak of sandals—all of it seemed to amplify the ache inside me.
Samantha tilted her head, studying me, her tone softening. “Hey. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” Then, with a playful lilt, “Even if you are cute when you squirm.”
Her words tangled with the warmth in my face, the tension in my belly. My body didn’t feel like my own—too jittery, too obvious. I wanted to melt into the boards beneath me, disappear into the sunset air.
And all the while, the line barely moved.
The line crawled. Two people shuffled in, one came out, then nothing for what felt like forever. I tried not to focus on it, but the problem with trying not to think about your bladder is that your brain seems to double down on the reminder. Every little detail sharpened—the sound of water sloshing in someone’s bottle nearby, the faint trickle of the sink from inside, the way a breeze picked up and cooled the damp patches of sand still clinging to my legs.
My body betrayed me with tiny shifts. Knees pressing together, then springing apart. Toes curling in my sandals. My fingers twitching against the hem of my shirt, tugging and smoothing as though that would help.
Samantha was leaning casually against the wall of the restroom building, watching me with her arms crossed. Her expression was infuriatingly calm, amused even.
“You’re dancing,” she said softly, so only I could hear.
“I am not.” The words came out sharper than I meant, but I couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Oh? Then what do you call that little hop you just did?”
I bit down on my lip, heat flooding my cheeks. “I—It’s nothing. Just—”
“Just trying not to pee yourself in line?” she finished smoothly, one eyebrow arched.
I groaned, half embarrassed, half desperate. My knees bent automatically and I bounced once on my heels, unable to stop it. “Samantha…”
Her voice gentled, though the sparkle of humor didn’t leave her eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. Nobody else notices, trust me. They’re all thinking about their own bladders, not yours.”
That should have comforted me, but instead it made my awareness spike. Of course they were thinking about their bladders—they were in line for the same reason. What if someone noticed how much more squirmy I was? What if they guessed?
I shifted again, this time crossing my ankles tightly, trying to stand still. It lasted maybe thirty seconds before a wave of pressure made me suck in a sharp breath.
Samantha leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know… if you keep wiggling like that, you’re going to make yourself leak sooner.”
The words made me freeze, every muscle tense, like if I moved at all I’d burst.
She must’ve noticed the wide-eyed look I gave her, because she quickly softened again, her hand brushing gently against mine. “Shhh, relax, sweetheart. Breathe. You’re okay.”
I tried, I really did. Inhale, exhale. But my bladder throbbed with each heartbeat, and the line barely crept forward. Someone ahead fished for coins in their pocket, fumbling, and I wanted to scream at them to hurry. My thighs pressed together, my body rocking back and forth slightly without my permission.
Samantha tilted her head, her grin returning just a little. “Mhm. Definitely a dance.”
I wanted to protest, but the words caught in my throat. My focus was narrowed down to the ache, the weight, the terrifying edge that felt closer every second.
All around us the boardwalk bustled—kids with glow-sticks waving them like sparklers, a busker strumming a guitar, the scent of caramel corn thick in the air. To everyone else, it was just a normal summer evening. To me, it was a battlefield of patience I was losing.
The people ahead of us hadn’t moved in what felt like ten minutes, though I knew it was probably less. My body was in full rebellion—legs pressed so tightly together my calves ached, shifting from foot to foot, breath coming in shallow pulls. Every so often, a sharper pang hit and I had to suppress a wince.
I could feel the heat of Samantha’s gaze on me even when I didn’t dare look her way. She was leaning casually against the wall, arms still crossed, looking for all the world like she had all the time in the universe.
“You’re squeezing your hands into little fists,” she murmured.
I glanced down. Sure enough, my knuckles were white, my fingers curled tight. I unclenched them with effort, shaking them out at my sides.
“Better,” she said gently. Then, after a pause, with just enough of a smile to make my stomach flip: “Though your knees are knocking now.”
“They are not,” I hissed, though I immediately realized they were. My legs trembled faintly, an involuntary rhythm of pressure and release.
“Sweetheart,” she said in that low, steady tone, the one that could simultaneously tease and soothe, “nobody cares what your legs are doing. They just care about getting inside. You’re the only one thinking everyone’s watching you.”
Her words should have helped. Instead they just magnified the sensation of being in a spotlight, every shift of my body under scrutiny. My cheeks burned.
A family with three kids exited the restroom together, laughing about something, and I nearly cried with relief that the line moved forward again. Just one person closer. One step.
But stepping made it worse—the act of moving jarred everything loose, sent a wave through my middle so sudden I had to double over slightly, crossing my thighs as tightly as possible.
Samantha’s hand landed on my shoulder, steady, warm. “Easy. Breathe. Little steps. You’re alright.”
“I c-can’t,” I whispered, voice breaking with the admission.
“You can,” she countered, firmly but softly. “You’ve waited this long, haven’t you?”
Another spasm hit. My hand twitched downwards, instinctively pressing against myself before I could stop it. Mortification roared through me—I was a grown adult standing in line on the boardwalk, doing a potty dance with my hand between my legs.
Samantha’s voice dropped low, amused but not cruel. “Mmhm. That’s a very babyish move, don’t you think?”
I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. “Please don’t—”
Her thumb brushed the back of my hand where it clenched. “Relax. I’m right here. You’re safe.”
The line lurched forward another step. The restroom door opened, and I could see the tiled entryway beyond. So close. So impossibly far.
Every sound around me became torture: the splash of soda in a cup as someone nearby shook it, the giggle of a child being swung around, even the faint music of the carousel somewhere behind us. All liquid, all motion, all reminders.
I bounced on my heels again, teeth gritted, feeling like any second would be the breaking point.
The man ahead of us finally disappeared inside, leaving just one woman between me and salvation. My heart thumped harder than it should have—like I was about to cross a finish line instead of just get to a toilet.
I shifted my weight, trying to stand still, but the pressure was too sharp now. My thighs were glued together, trembling. I bent forward slightly, clutching the hem of my shirt with white-knuckled fists.
“Almost there,” Samantha whispered, leaning down so close her breath tickled my ear. “You’ve been such a good boy waiting so long.”
Something in the way she said it—so casually, as if this were normal—made me tremble. And then it happened.
A tiny spurt escaped, hot and humiliating, before I could clamp down again. My breath hitched, my whole body going rigid. I froze, mortified, praying she hadn’t noticed.
Her hand was on my back instantly. “Ahhh. There it is.”
I whipped my head up, eyes wide. “N-no, I didn’t—”
Her knowing smile silenced me. “Just a little slip, sweetheart. I felt you tense.” She tapped lightly against my lower back, the smallest gesture of reassurance. “Don’t look so horrified. It’s not the end of the world.”
But it felt like the end of the world. My face burned hotter than the setting sun over the boardwalk. I glanced around wildly, half-expecting people to be staring. Nobody was. They were too busy chatting, scrolling their phones, tugging at kids’ hands.
Still, I knew. I knew, and Samantha knew.
Another pang hit, and I squeezed my thighs tighter, breath shaking.
“You’re doing a little dance again,” she murmured, her tone sliding toward playful now. “So cute. I should really win you one of those plushies from the boardwalk games—you’d match perfectly.”
“Sam,” I whispered, mortified, “please.”
Her eyes softened immediately. “Okay. No teasing. Just focus. In, out. You’re safe.”
Her hand rubbed soothing circles between my shoulder blades as I tried to do what she said, but the pressure was unbearable now, raw and demanding. The woman ahead of us finally disappeared into the restroom. My turn next. I could see the open doorway, smell the faint bleach. So close. So close—
Another slip, longer this time. I gasped, bending sharply at the waist, both hands pressed between my thighs before I could think.
Samantha’s arm slid around me, steadying, guiding. “Shhh. Just one more step, baby. Just one.”
The restroom door yawned open, just a few feet away. Salvation. My pulse drummed in my ears, drowning out the boardwalk chatter. All I had to do was step forward. Just one step—two at most—and I’d be safe.
But my body refused to move. My knees knocked together, my hips shifted in a frantic wiggle I couldn’t stop, and every ounce of focus went into clenching down, holding back the flood that begged for release.
Samantha stayed tucked against my side, her hand firm and steady on my back. “Almost there,” she murmured again. “You’ve held it this long. Just one more push.”
“I—can’t,” I whispered, my voice a ragged gasp.
The truth slipped out before I could catch it. I couldn’t. My bladder throbbed so violently it stole the strength from my legs. I stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the tiled floor inside like it was a mirage I couldn’t reach.
Another hot spurt slipped before I could stop it. I jolted, sucking in air like I’d been punched. My whole body trembled.
Samantha’s hand moved lower, brushing the small of my back. “Shhh. Don’t fight so hard, sweetheart. You’re shaking.”
“I—I’m about to—” The words died on my lips, swallowed by another urgent pang.
Her voice dropped, quiet and calm. “You’re not alone. I’m right here. If it happens, it happens.”
I whimpered, the sound humiliatingly childish in my throat. My eyes darted inside the restroom—only one stall, occupied. A man at the sink, scrubbing his hands, oblivious to my struggle. If I went in now, they’d see. They’d know.
Another shiver wracked me. Another slip.
I clenched my fists at my sides, thighs grinding together desperately. The edge of the doorway bit into my shoulder as I leaned against it, too weak to stand tall.
“Breathe,” Samantha whispered, her lips close to my ear. “In and out. Good boy. Just focus on me.”
Her calm steadiness was the only thing tethering me, keeping me from crumbling completely in that bright, merciless doorway where anyone could glance and know.
The seconds dragged like hours. Every creak of the stall door inside made my heart lurch, only for silence to follow, mocking me.
I couldn’t stand still. My knees bounced, my toes tapped a frantic rhythm against the wooden boardwalk planks. The small leaks had left me damp enough that each twitch made me hyper-aware of the cling between fabric and skin. It was unbearable—every sensation sharpened under the weight of panic.
I ducked my head, terrified of locking eyes with anyone who might wander past. The light above the restroom buzzed softly, flickering once, and I wished it would just burn out and leave me hidden in shadow.
Another wave hit, stronger, crueler. My thighs clamped together with all the strength I had left, and a soft sound slipped out of me—half whimper, half grunt. My body begged me to surrender.
Samantha’s palm pressed steady circles between my shoulder blades. She didn’t push me inside. She didn’t tell me to hurry. She just… stayed, grounding me in place.
“You’re right there,” she whispered, her voice so calm it felt unreal compared to the storm inside me. “Almost done. The stall’s going to open any second.”
I shook my head, trembling. “N-no… can’t—”
“You can,” she countered gently. Her tone was unyielding in its softness, like a blanket wrapped tight. “And if you can’t… then it’s okay, too. But don’t you dare believe you’re alone in this.”
Her words hit deep, slicing through my spiraling shame. For a moment, I clung to them like a lifeline.
Another spurt. Hot, impossible to ignore. My legs snapped together tighter. I bent at the waist, forehead nearly pressing against the doorframe as I fought tooth and nail not to let go.
Then—finally—the blessed sound. The stall latch clicked. Hinges groaned.
The door swung open.
I snapped upright, dizzy with relief and desperation colliding all at once.
The man inside shuffled past me without a glance, muttering about sticky soap. He might as well have been a ghost for all the notice he paid me.
The stall was empty now. Right there. Waiting.
But I was frozen again, straddling that unbearable edge—drenched in panic, bladder screaming, Samantha’s steady hand still warm against my back.
The stall yawned open in front of me like some impossible finish line, and yet my body hesitated, trapped between humiliation and relief. My knees locked, one hand pressed into my thigh, the other gripping the doorframe as if it could anchor me through sheer force of will.
Samantha’s hand gave me a firmer nudge this time, the pressure not pushy but insistent, as though she was saying without words: Go. Now.
I lurched forward on shaking legs, my body rebelling with every step. The moment I moved, another spurt escaped—longer this time, hot and traitorous. I gasped and nearly stumbled, catching myself against the stall divider.
The evidence bloomed fast. A medium-sized patch darkened the front of my shorts, impossible to ignore in the harsh bathroom lighting. My heart clenched at the sight, shame flooding me just as fiercely as the pressure in my bladder.
But momentum carried me onward. I staggered inside, fumbling at the lock, hands clumsy and useless with panic. I yanked it shut just in time, sagging against the door as though I’d run a mile.
And then—finally, mercifully—relief came in a torrent, unstoppable and all-consuming. My body gave in with a shudder, the pain dissolving into release so intense it nearly stole my breath.
I buried my face in my hands, heat searing across my cheeks as the sound filled the small space. The patch on my shorts mocked me silently, a visible reminder of how close I’d come to losing everything right there in the open.
Outside the stall, I heard Samantha’s quiet hum. Not impatient. Not scolding. Just waiting. The sound wrapped around me, soft as a blanket, as if she was guarding the doorway itself from the world.
I stayed there longer than I needed, just breathing, hands trembling.
When I finally emerged, the stain was clear, though not catastrophic—medium-sized, spreading over the front, the fabric sticking uncomfortably. My heart thudded with dread about stepping back into the evening air like this.
Samantha’s eyes swept over me once, and the faintest smile tugged her lips. Not cruel—knowing. Gentle. Teasing.
“See?” she murmured, leaning close so no one else could hear. “Told you it was okay. And look… you almost made it clean. Almost.”
Her hand brushed my arm, steady as ever, and I couldn’t tell if the heat flooding me now came from embarrassment or something far softer.
When I finally stumbled out of the stall, my legs felt rubbery, like I’d just run some impossible race. My heart still hadn’t slowed. Every thump echoed in my ears, louder than the muffled crowd noises filtering through the restroom walls.
The medium patch across the front of my shorts had cooled into an awful cling. It wasn’t huge, but to me it looked like a neon sign, a billboard screaming Look at what he did. My hand hovered near the spot, wanting to cover it, but I couldn’t—any attempt would just make it more obvious.
I stepped into the bright restroom light and froze. It was merciless, buzzing overhead, casting everything in sharp relief. My reflection in the scratched mirror caught my eye as I passed—the faint darkened patch across my lap impossible to ignore. I had to tear myself away from it.
Then the door opened, spilling me into the warm summer night.
The change was jarring. The boardwalk was alive with motion, smells, sounds—the buttery sweetness of popcorn, the salt of the sea, the squeal of kids chasing each other with glow sticks. Neon signs blinked lazily, and arcade machines sang their digital songs. Couples strolled hand in hand, teenagers laughed too loudly, families carried bags of cotton candy.
And me—stuck in the middle of it all with damp shorts and a pit in my stomach the size of the ocean.
I tugged my shirt down a little as I stepped aside, suddenly hyper-aware of every person brushing past. Did they notice? Could they smell it? My brain latched onto every sideways glance, every laugh from across the boardwalk, every whisper.
Samantha was waiting just outside, leaning against the railing as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The instant she caught my eye, she straightened, moving toward me. Her hand brushed the small of my back—barely there, but enough to guide me forward.
“Hey,” she said gently, as though we were just stepping back into a sunny afternoon, not the mess of my nerves. “You did good.”
Her words hit me like a warm towel fresh from the dryer—comforting, impossible to argue with. Still, my throat felt thick. I kept my eyes low, watching the boards under my shoes instead of the faces around me.
We slipped into the crowd, her body angled just slightly so she shielded me from passersby. My panic was a storm; her presence was an umbrella.
When I finally whispered, “I’m sorry,” it came out thin and shaky.
Samantha only squeezed my shoulder. “Shh. Nothing to be sorry about. You made it far. That’s what matters.”
I wanted to believe her, but the spot on my shorts seemed to glow hotter with every step.
The boardwalk stretched long, lit by strings of bulbs swaying in the evening breeze. Games barked for attention, bells rang, music floated from a carousel somewhere behind us. But as much as the world buzzed around me, all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing and the echo of that slip.
We walked slower now, away from the densest crowds. A few families passed with dripping cones, a little boy zoomed past with a toy airplane, and the laughter from a karaoke booth carried faintly. Each reminder of joy and play only made me shrink deeper into myself.
Samantha nudged me lightly, her voice playful. “You know, if anyone’s staring, it’s just because you’re cute.”
I groaned softly, hiding my face with my hand. “Don’t.”
She chuckled, but her tone softened again. “You’re fine, sunshine. Really. Accidents don’t change that.”
We walked in silence for a while longer, the tension slowly loosening its claws. The air was cooler now, the first hint of night’s edge settling in. The ocean waves crashed rhythmically beyond the boardwalk, a steady heartbeat grounding me more than I realized.
Finally, Samantha tilted her head toward the parking lot. “It’s getting late,” she said, her voice low but sure. “I think it’s time we head home.”
I nodded, relief cutting through me. I didn’t have the energy for more neon lights, more wandering eyes, more chances for embarrassment. The idea of slipping into the car—quiet, private—felt like rescue.
The walk to the lot was slower, the boards giving way to gravel beneath our shoes. The noise of the boardwalk dulled with each step, replaced by the distant crash of surf and the faint creak of signs in the breeze. The lot itself was scattered with cars glowing under yellow lamps.
My damp patch had mostly cooled now, but I still walked stiffly, like every move would draw attention. My eyes darted around, though hardly anyone was out here. Still, paranoia clung to me like the wet fabric.
Samantha unlocked the car with a chirp that echoed too loud in the night. She walked ahead and opened the passenger door, waiting until I was close. Her hand brushed my back again. “In you go,” she teased lightly, though her eyes were nothing but kind. “Long day. You’ve earned a rest.”
I slid into the seat as quickly as I could, tugging my shirt down one more time. The cool upholstery pressed against the dampness, reminding me of everything I wanted to forget. My chest tightened, embarrassment welling again.
Then Samantha leaned in before shutting the door. Her smile was soft, her eyes steady. “You’re safe now,” she whispered. “And you did so well today. Don’t let one little accident change that.”
Her words landed deeper than she probably knew. The car door clicked shut, cocooning me in the quiet interior.
Outside, the boardwalk lights glowed faintly, the laughter and music muffled to a hum. But in here, it was still, calm—like the world had closed a curtain just for me.
When Samantha climbed into the driver’s seat, she hummed a little tune, fingers light on the wheel as if nothing at all were wrong. The engine purred, headlights cutting across the lot.
As the boardwalk faded into the rearview mirror, my shoulders finally sagged against the seat. The exhaustion came fast now, pressing down like a blanket. I closed my eyes, and the last thing I felt before slipping toward that drowsy comfort was the quiet warmth of knowing she meant it—safe, no matter what.
Samantha climbed into the driver’s seat, the faint smile still playing at her lips. She reached into the tote bag at her feet before starting the car, rummaging just long enough that I tilted my head, curious despite myself.
Then she pulled it out—a small, well-loved plushie, its fur a little faded but impossibly soft. She set it gently in my lap without a word, like it had always belonged there.
I blinked down at it, my throat tight. The plushie felt warm from being in her bag, familiar in a way that melted through the stiff edges of my embarrassment.
“Thought you might want some extra company for the ride,” she said quietly, not looking at me as she adjusted the mirrors.
My fingers curled around the plush before I even realized I was holding it close. The tension in my chest loosened, my body sinking deeper into the seat.
The engine purred to life, headlights sweeping across the lot. Samantha hummed softly under her breath as we rolled forward, her tune steady, easy, like nothing had gone wrong at all.
The rhythm of the road, the warmth of the plush tucked against me, and Samantha’s voice moving like a lullaby through the car blurred together until my eyelids grew heavy.
I didn’t even notice when my head tilted toward the window, the plush snug under my arm. Only the faintest awareness lingered—a safe weight in my lap, Samantha’s calm presence at the wheel, and the quiet certainty that I was being looked after.
And then, at last, I drifted.
The End of Summer of Soft Sunshine – Chapter Four – Sunset Storytime
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