Summer's POV
They'd promised this would be the final shoot.
"Wrap day," the producer said, grinning. "No more drama. Just closure, sunshine, and good ratings."
She didn't believe a word.
The set was simple: the main campfire, now decorated with strings of golden lights. The rest of the cast circled the fire like witnesses at a wedding or an execution. In the distance, the ocean whispered—too calm for what she felt inside.
Ethan stood across from her, wearing the same plain shirt from their first day. It looked cleaner now. He didn't. He looked wrecked in the best way—sunburned, tired, and entirely too human.
The host's voice echoed over the soft wind. "It's time for our final question. One choice, one answer. Would you stay together—beyond the island?"
The crowd murmured, hungry for spectacle.
Ethan's gaze found hers. The world, for a heartbeat, folded in.
---
Ethan's POV
He'd rehearsed exactly nothing.
The moment the question left the host's mouth, he knew the cameras wanted one of two things: heartbreak or perfection. He wasn't going to give them either. He was going to give them something real.
"Summer," he said. Just her name was enough to pull every gaze in the room toward them. "When I came here, I thought this was just a job. Survive the wild, fake a smile, go home."
A small laugh rippled through the cast.
"But then you argued about coconuts. And you called me impossible. And somehow, the impossible started feeling like the only thing worth staying for."
Summer tried not to smile, but failed. "You're dangerously good at public speeches," she said, voice trembling just enough.
He stepped closer, ignoring the camera crew inching to keep up. "Maybe. But I'm better at private ones."
He stopped right in front of her—close enough that the torches painted gold into her eyes.
"I'm not asking for forever," he said softly. "Just more. More days. More coffee fights. More sunburned mornings where you yell at me for stealing the last mango."
She blinked fast. "That's not romantic, Ethan."
He grinned. "That's real. And that's what I want."
---
Summer's POV
She hated that her heart was pounding loud enough for the microphones to pick up.
"Say yes," the host teased, milking the tension for all it was worth. "Or the internet might combust."
She rolled her eyes, but her throat was tight. "You think I'd let the internet decide?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Would you let me decide?"
The crowd "oooh"-ed like middle schoolers.
Summer took a deep breath, steadying her voice. "No," she said, and the whole set seemed to inhale sharply. "Because I already did."
She stepped forward until they were nearly touching—so close the lights reflected on the salt sheen of his skin. "I decided the day you gave me that stupid coral heart. I decided when you stayed. And now, I'm deciding again."
Her hand came up, resting against his chest. "Yes, Ethan Reid. I'm choosing you."
The crew went wild. The host actually fist-pumped. Someone yelled, "Finally!"
Ethan smiled, that slow, dangerous smile that always made her knees feel like warm sand. "Say that again," he murmured.
"I said yes," she repeated, deliberately slow.
"Good," he said. "Because I'm done waiting for perfect timing."
---
Ethan's POV
He didn't think. He just moved.
His hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer—careful, steady, but with that quiet confidence he never used unless he meant it.
Summer gasped softly, surprise flashing in her eyes before it melted into something that wasn't fear at all.
The cameras leaned in. The torches flickered. The ocean decided to hush, for once.
And then he kissed her.
It wasn't long or dramatic. Just real—warm, breathless, undeniable. The kind of kiss that had been waiting through a hundred almosts, and finally got to exist.
When he pulled back, the crowd erupted. Someone screamed. The host wiped away a fake tear.
Summer laughed, dazed and glowing. "You're going to break the internet."
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his voice low. "Worth it."
---
Summer's POV
Later, after the chaos, the crew started packing up lights. The others drifted off for interviews, but Ethan and Summer lingered near the fire.
No cameras this time. Just them.
"You realize," she said softly, "that wasn't in the script."
He grinned. "Good. I hate scripts."
She kicked sand at him playfully. "You're impossible."
"And you're still here," he said again, that familiar refrain turning from a tease into something almost sacred.
She looked up, the firelight catching the tiny flecks of salt in his hair. "You know what's funny?"
"What?"
"I think I finally stopped pretending."
"About what?"
She leaned closer, her lips barely grazing his ear as she whispered, "About you."
He turned his head just enough to meet her eyes. The spark that had been building for weeks flickered between them again, softer now, but deeper.
"Then let's stop pretending together," he murmured.
She smiled, tracing the edge of the coral heart still tucked into her necklace. "Deal."
And somewhere in the background, the last camera blinked off—unaware it had already captured the truest scene of the season.