Page 18 of Tides of Change
What now? Moving seemed futile—they’d already shown they could track me. My mind raced, scenarios spiraling out of control.
I stared at the photo, its glossy surface catching the light. My stomach churned. The air felt too thin in my lungs.
Garrett needed to know. He was captured in the picture, and he’d know what to do. But telling him meant opening a door I wasn’t sure I could close again.
But not telling him? That felt reckless. Cowardly, even. Because whoever left this knew where I lived. Knew what Ilooked like with Garrett. Knew how to get close without being seen.
I dropped the photo onto my entryway table as if it had scorched my fingers. I pulled out my phone with a shaking hand and typed out a message.
I got something I think you should see. Can you come over?
The response came quickly.
On my way.
Five minutes later, Garrett stepped through my front door, and his eyes scanned the room before they landed on me. Concern furrowed his brow the moment he locked his gaze with mine.
“What is it?” he asked, all business.
I gestured toward the table. “It was tucked under my windshield wiper this morning.”
He leaned over and peered at the photo—not touching it—eyes narrowing as he studied it.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Do you have any idea who could’ve done this?”
I shook my head, swallowing hard. “No. I mean…not really.” I hesitated. There were things I could say—shouldsay. The other messages, the lingering sense that someone had been watching me even before I left New York. But I wasn’t sure those were connected. I didn’t want to drag him into a deeper storm if this was just some unhinged local prank or a fan gone too far.
So, I lied by omission. “Not that I can think of.”
Garrett gave me a long look, like he knew I wasn’t telling him everything—but he didn’t press. Instead, he pulled an evidence bag and nitrile gloves from his jacket pocket. He carefully slidthe photo inside. “I’m taking this in,” he said. “I’ll run it by Detective Ballard, see if we can lift any prints.”
I nodded, but the guilt twisted in my chest. If this really was connected to the past I thought I’d outrun, Garrett was walking straight into danger with his eyes half-closed. And not just him—Noah, too.
That thought settled my decision like a stone in water.
“I’m canceling Saturday,” I said quietly. “The brewery. Our…date.”
Garrett turned his head sharply toward me. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to put you or Noah in danger,” I said, forcing the words out even as part of me screamed to take them back. “Until we know who’s doing this, or what they want, it’s not safe. I couldn’t live with myself if—” I swallowed. “I just couldn’t.”
He studied me for a moment, jaw tense. “You’re not doing this alone, Ethan. Not anymore.”
I wanted to believe that. God, I wanted to. But the past didn’t let go easily. And if it had found me here, it wasn’t done yet.
By Friday, I couldn’t hide in my house any longer. I’d written thousands of words, scrubbed the kitchen until its surfaces gleamed under the overhead light, and organized my books on new shelves with a precision that bordered on obsessive.
The refrigerator was bare. My stomach was staging a loud rebellion, and I was craving the warm comfort of a pumpkin spice latte. In short, I had cabin fever.
I pulled up the door cam feed on my phone and studied every inch of the porch. Nothing. The sidewalk beyond lay empty, save for the occasional breeze stirring leaves. Still, my hearthammered like a bass drum as I settled my ball cap snugly on my head, grabbed my keys, and opened the door. As I rearmed the security system, I glanced up and down the street, hyperaware of any movement. Nothing suspicious. Just normal.
I hurried to my car and glanced over my shoulder as I slid into the driver’s seat and locked the doors. My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror as I pulled away and scrutinized every vehicle behind me. My chest remained tight, my breathing shallow. But when it became clear no one was tailing me, relief seeped in like warmth after a plunge in the cold ocean.
By the time I parked near The Coffee Cove, the tension had dulled to a low hum. I stepped inside, immediately enveloped by the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The lunch rush had passed, and the shop was quiet except for the older gentleman from the other day, seated at the bar along the wall and nursing a cup of coffee.
Cooper greeted me with a friendly smile as he wiped the counter. “Afternoon, Ethan.” He tossed the cloth aside and washed his hands in the steel sink. “Medium pumpkin spice latte?”
“Make it a large this time.” My voice sounded steadier than I felt. I peered into the refrigerated case. “And I’ll take the turkey, provolone, and pesto on a ciabatta.” The sight of the sandwich with its thick layers made my mouth water.
