behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

bonus chapter 3 (from seasons of our love)

HARPER

By the time we finally pull into the driveway, it's one in the morning, and I can still hear Lia's giggles ringing in my ears from hours ago. Dinner with the Bennetts always runs late, but tonight was something else. Willow and Summer insisted on "just one more round" of charades, Nico had to show us his new ballet moves, and Aurora's pregnant and glowing in a way she swears isn't real—kept calling us "old people" every time Millie and I yawned.

Now it's quiet. That kind of cold, clean November air that wakes you up the second you step outside. The streets are empty, the sky is dark blue, almost purple, and so full of stars it doesn't look real.

I'm halfway through kicking off my boots when Millie stops me. "Hey," she says, still by the door, jacket zipped, beanie low over her ears. "No. The night isn't over."

I blink at her. "It's literally one a.m."

She just grins, that tilted kind of grin that never means anything normal. "Humor me. Come with me. Grab your camera."

"Millie," I groan, but she's got that look—the one that's gotten me into ice baths, last-minute road trips, and an ill-advised attempt at paddle boarding. "Don't you have practice in, like, four hours?"

"Whatever," she says, waving it off. "Please. You're gonna like this. Trust me."

And of course I do. I always do. So I narrow my eyes at her for show, but I follow her back to the car anyway. She throws it in reverse, eyes on the road, and won't give me more than: "To the beach."

"It's freezing," I point out, hugging my camera bag to my chest.

"Mm," she says, like she didn't hear me, though I catch the faint smirk tugging at her mouth in the reflection of the window.

I stop asking questions after that. It's not worth it. Millie's surprises are never explainable in advance anyway. The streets thin out as we head west, city lights giving way to patches of shadow where the trees close in. There's no traffic, no one out—just us and the occasional glow of a streetlamp until even those fade, replaced by the hiss of the ocean somewhere in the dark ahead.

Fifteen minutes later, she turns down a road so narrow it feels like the world's folding in, then parks near a strip of sand I only recognize once I step out of the car.

"In November?" I ask, watching my breath puff white in the air.

"Best time to come," she says, slamming her door shut and shoving her hands in her pockets. "No crowds. No noise."

"No warmth either," I mutter, pulling my coat tighter and slinging my camera over my shoulder anyway.

She laughs and reaches for my free hand, tugging me toward the sand without waiting for me to catch up.

The beach is almost unrecognizable like this. In summer, it's all kids with kites and people with coolers and music bleeding from someone's portable speaker. Now it's... quiet. The sand crunches faintly under my boots, and the tide is high, black water folding over itself in the dark. Millie walks a little ahead of me, hands stuffed in her pockets, shoulders hunched like she's bracing against the wind, but she keeps glancing back to check if I'm keeping up. "You good?" she calls softly.

"I can't see a thing," I mutter, though it's not entirely true. The moon's high enough to throw a faint silver path over the water, and she's is easy to follow.

"Trust me," she says over her shoulder, voice smug but warm. "Just keep walking."

"Famous last words," I grumble, clutching my camera strap tighter so it doesn't swing too much against my hip. But I keep going, because of course I do.