Page 29 of Shifting Sands

I kick her shin under the table.

“Awesome! If you want to go again, Sebastian and I can take you, but just a warning: we like to go early for dinner, and I turn into a pumpkin before midnight,” Avie says.

Eden replies, “At least you make it to midnight. Since Mina was born, I’m lucky if I make it to nine. Wade can stay up longer than I can these days.”

Avie laughs. “Eden here is a new mom, and her husband is what, fifteen years older?” She glances at Eden for confirmation.

“Sixteen. But you’d think I was the oldest,” Eden responds.

We sit and chat for a little while longer while we finish our coffees. Then the three of them say goodbye so Eden can get home to her husband and baby girl.

“So, what’s on the agenda tonight?” Jena asks.

“Netflix and kitty cuddles,” I reply.

“Sounds good to me. I barely got a wink of sleep last night, what with all the—” Erin coughs.

“Forensic Files,” Jena finishes.

We all burst out laughing.

Brandee

Ihug Jena one more time.

“Okay, that’s enough. It’s a seven-and-a-half-hour drive, and that’s only if this one doesn’t make me stop for the bathroom and snacks every thirty minutes,” Erin says, pointing a thumb in Jena’s direction.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s like being on a road trip with my husband. All she cares about is beating the GPS’s estimated arrival time.”

“Damn straight. So, no beverages for you until we hit the North Carolina–Tennessee line. Now, get in,” Erin commands.

I stand on the sidewalk and wave until they turn out of sight. Snowflake strolls up beside me and lets out a long, forlorn meow. I bend and give her a scratch behind the ear.

“Yeah, I’m gonna miss them too,” I mutter. “Come on. You want a snack? Snacks always make a girl feel better.”

I lead her inside, and as soon as I unscrew the top of the canister holding treats, Felix graces us with his presence.

“Where have you been?” I ask the ornery feline before dropping the chicken-flavored nugget to the floor.

He ignores me, taking his treat and sauntering back in the direction from where he came.

The house is quiet—too quiet. I grab my jacket and phone before heading out for a walk.

The air is cool and smells fresh, like the mountains after a long rain. My sneakers scuff against the sidewalk in a steady rhythm as I turn down a side street that leads across the island toward the ocean. I pass shuttered vacation homes and porches decorated with pumpkins, all bathed in early sunlight. Steam curls from mugs held by early risers who are likely enjoying a hot cup of coffee before heading to church. They all wave as I make my way past.

As I walk away from the Intracoastal Waterway, the calm water glimmers in the morning light like glass. I head toward the beach with my hands tucked deep in my pockets, allowing my thoughts to drift—work, people, regrets, hopes—interwoven threads that circle back on themselves, but never fully connect into something complete. I feel a sense of unease, as if I am standing at a crossroads.

The wind picks up as the shore comes into view, brushing my hair into my face and nipping gently at my cheeks. The vast silver-blue ocean opens up before me as I walk along the well-trodden path between the dunes.

I take a deep breath and plop down onto the soft sand. The beach is mine to enjoy, except for a pretty blonde seated on a towel with an easel in front of her. She seems lost in her own world, and I feel like an intruder as I watch her brush glide across the canvas.

Heaven, I think to myself.This place is a little slice of heaven.

I spent the entire morning by the water, lost in thought. I stayed until the afternoon sun was high and my fellow beach dweller completed her oceanscape and packed up her supplies.

My phone chimes as I make my way back to the cottage. I dig it out of my pocket and see that I have a text from Sexy Bartender. I smile to myself as I open the message.

Sexy Bartender: I hope the rest of your weekend was fun.

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