Page 86 of Chasing Sunsets

“I still can’t believe he pulled the trigger,” Audrey says.

“It’s a great house,” I tell them.

Eden grins. “He’s been talking to Wade about some renovations he wants to do for a while now.”

I feel a tug in my chest—pride, happiness, nerves, all twisted together. This isn’t just a passing thing for Anson. He’s planting roots here. And if I want to be with him, I have to start doing the same.

“All right,” I say, standing and brushing the sand from my legs. “But if we’re doing this, I need to go back to the campground to shower and change. Where are we eating, and what is the dress code?”

“The Boathouse. It’s near the wharf, and it’s more sundress than cutoffs,” Amiya says. “It’s karaoke night!”

Avie waves me off. “Go. We’ll meet you at the restaurant at seven.”

“I can swing by and pick you up after I take the baby home,” Eden offers. “I’m not planning on drinking much anyway since I’m still breastfeeding.”

“That’d be great.”

“I’ll pick you up around six thirty,” she says.

I grab my bag, slipping my sandals back on as I make my way toward the bike stand. My heart is still racing from the conversation, my mind spinning with everything I need to say to Anson and the call I need to make to my parents.

I didn’t mean to fall in love with him. But I did. And now, I have to figure out how to let him love all of me—even the parts I’ve been running from.

Anson

The attorney’s office smells like leather and old paper, the kind of place where important deals are signed and life-changing decisions are made. My palms are dry, my nerves steady, as I sit at the long, polished table, waiting for the final paperwork to be pushed across to me.

Margie sits across from me, her small frame straight-backed, hands folded neatly in her lap. She watches me with quiet approval, like she’s proud this place is going to someone who actually cares about it. Beside her, the current owner of the heritage cottage—Thorne Kingsley, a gray-haired man in a linen suit—reviews the last few pages before he hands them back to the attorney.

“Everything looks in order,” he says, his voice even, but there’s something in his expression—relief maybe—that tells me he’s ready to let go.

The attorney, a woman named Hillary, nods and slides a pen in my direction. “Anson, if everything looks good, sign here, here, and here.”

I take the pen, let out a slow breath, and put my name to paper. With each signature, the weight of it settles in. This is mine now. Not just a house, but a home. A place to build a future.

When I finally set the pen down, Thorne leans back with an easy smile. “Congratulations, son. You’re now the owner of one of the oldest cottages in Sandcastle Cove. She’s a beauty. My late wife, Adele, and I spent forty happy years there and raised a wonderful family. I hope it brings you as much joy as it brought us.”

Margie beams, reaching across the table to pat my hand. “You’re going to take good care of it. I know you will.”

I nod, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. “I will. Thank you for trusting me with it.”

Hillary shakes hands with each of us in turn, and just like that, it’s done. The house is mine.

I push open the door to my mom’s jewelry store, and the familiar chime above the entrance echoes through the quiet space. The scent of silver polish and aged wood fills my lungs.

She looks up from her workbench in the back, eyes narrowing as she registers my presence. “Anson.” She sounds surprised as she puts down the tool she was holding. “I thought your closing was today?”

I smirk. “It was,” I say as I raise the folder in my hand.

She wipes her hands on a cloth and steps out from behind the counter, looking me over with that assessing gaze she’s always had—the one that can see straight through me.

“Well, congratulations, son!” she says as she comes to wrap me in a warm hug. “Your dad and I are so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She pulls back and smiles, and then her forehead wrinkles in question. “What else?”

She has always been able to read me like a book.

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