Page 13 of Tides of Change
“That niece you mentioned earlier—does she live on the East Coast?”
I nodded, fondness blooming quietly in my chest. “Yeah.” I stared at the brown bottle in my hand, turning it slowly as doubt twisted in my gut. Then, with a quiet breath and a glance toward Garrett, I made the choice—I was going to trust him. “Brooklyn.”
His gaze flicked toward me, and I could tell he was tucking the detail away, careful not to press too hard. I appreciated that more than he knew.
“My sister’s a single mom,” I added. “Her ex—well, he didn’t stick around. Never really stepped up. So, I fill in the gaps whereI can. I’m the uncle who picks her up from school, helps with science projects, reads bedtime stories. Kayley is…everything to me.” I ached for her—her bright smile, the way her excited chatter filled a room. Every day I stayed away felt like I was missing something irreplaceable. And yet…I wasn’t ready to go back. Not while danger still lingered in the corners of my life. I wanted to be there—Ineededto be. Brooklyn called to me, but right now, home didn’t feel safe.
Garrett didn’t say anything right away, but the softness in his expression said he got it.
“The rest of my family’s there, too,” I said after a pause. “Parents. Cousins. Old neighbors who still wave when I pass their stoop. It’s all back east.”
“So,” he said, voice low and deceptively casual, “why’d you come to Seacliff Cove?”
The question hit harder than it should have. My fingers tightened around the neck of my bottle, the chill of the glass suddenly grounding me.
I could feel the weight of his eyes, waiting for an answer I wasn’t ready to give.
My heart kicked up.
Not yet.
I wasn’t ready to hand over that part of the story
I aimed for a light voice. “Writing retreat,” I said. “Needed a change of scenery to finish my latest book.”
Garrett nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth tipping into something warm. “Can’t argue with the view.”
I forced a smile in return.
And I hated how easy the lie had come.
He sipped his beer, then tilted his head slightly and curiosity lit his eyes. “Where do you get the ideas for your books?” The way he cocked his head, as if genuinely interested, sent a satisfying pulse through me.
For a pragmatic, down-to-earth deputy sheriff, I understood why he’d ask. “News stories. Life. My imagination.”
Garrett whistled, low and long. “Eight books? That’s some imagination.”
My face heated, and I looked down, fiddling with the label on my bottle. Pride swelled in my chest despite myself. “I hope to keep going for at least eight more, as long as readers stick with me.” I shifted the focus. “But tell me about your job. I admire what you do.”
His stories were a mix of absurdity and heart, painting Seacliff Cove with vivid strokes. The dog-crap feud between Frank and Martha had me laughing. The flood of clueless tourists during the summer boggled my mind. A rash of unsolved pranks plagued the town. But it was the way Garrett spoke about his friends—Cooper at the coffee shop; Mason, the owner of the bookstore; Caleb, director of The Coastal Light Gallery; Declan, owner of the diner; and Landon, the manager of the boutique hotel—that struck me. Fondness laced every word. I couldn’t help but envy those connections. Under different circumstances, I would have liked to meet them.
Before I knew it, eleven o’clock was approaching.
Garrett stretched, the movement lazy and unguarded. “Excuse me.” His mouth opened in a jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m usually in bed by now. Noah’s up early.”
My stomach dropped. Had I overstayed my welcome? I pushed to my feet, wiping my palms on my jeans. “Sorry for keeping you up.”
He stood and shook his head. A small smile curved his lips. “Don’t worry about it. I enjoyed this evening. Thanks for staying.” His voice was low and rough, each word wrapping around me. His blue eyes darkened, the shift so subtle I might’ve missed it if I wasn’t so attuned to him.
My pulse kicked up. Was I imagining the pull between us? Garrett took a hesitant step forward, and I held my breath. But then he veered toward the door. I followed, the disappointment sharper than I wanted to admit.
In the entryway, I slipped on my shoes. “Thanks for a fun evening. I had a good time,” I said softly.More than you know.
“We’ll, uh, do it again,” Garrett said, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze darted to the floor before lifting to mine, uncertainty shadowing his usual confidence. “Maybe…without Noah next time?”
Was this his way of asking me out? Maybe that magnetic pull I’d been feeling wasn’t just in my head. A thrill ran through my stomach. “I’d like that,” I whispered. “See you again.” I twisted the knob and stepped out into the chilly night, my porch light a beacon in the dark.
I crossed the street, and my shoes scuffed softly against the pavement as the night wrapped around me. The faint, rhythmicwhooshof distant waves provided a sense of calm as I walked up the path to my door. When the motion-activated floodlight flared to life, its brightness splashed across the porch and illuminated an object resting on the welcome mat. I sucked in a breath, and a frisson of fear snaked down my spine.
