Page 2 of Tides of Change
Cooper sighed from behind the counter. “You did it again, Garrett. Pay attention to the names on the cups.” He shot me an exasperated look before he turned to the man. “I’ll make you another latte.”
I dumped the sugary abomination in the trash. “You’re my new neighbor across the street.” I extended my hand to the man. “Garrett Whitlock.”
He pulled off his sunglasses. Deep brown eyes met mine and sent a curious heat through my chest.
“Ethan.” He gripped my hand in a firm shake.
I tried to ignore the tingle in my spine as his snug hand met mine. But the cop in me noticed Ethan only gave me his first name. Why was that?
“How was the move?” Noah’d had a restless night, so I’d seen Ethan arrive in the wee hours of Sunday morning. He’d unloaded two suitcases into the rental house, and I’d hardly seen him since.
“—didn’t bring a coffee maker.”
I mentally shook my head and tuned back into the conversation.
Ethan spread his hands to encompass the coffee shop. “So, here I am.” He shrugged. “Is there any place in town to buy one?”
I shook my head. “Not unless you want to take a trip over the mountains to a big box store.”
He winced. “Looks like Amazon it is.”
“Welcome to small-town living along the Pacific coast.” I sipped my black coffee and savored the sting of heat that spread through me. No sugar, just the sharp, bitter kick I needed. “Where did you come from?”
“East Coast,” he said, but the way he said it—the slight hesitation—made something in my gut tighten. There was more to that story.
“And what brings you here?” I tried to sound casual and studied his reaction.
His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Small-town living along the Pacific coast.”
I chuckled. “Touché.” I raised my cup in salute.
Cooper slid a fresh coffee across the counter. “Here you go, Ethan.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed the cup and took a sip while he held my gaze. He hummed, a full, rich sound. “Mmm.”
I burst out laughing. “You’ll do fine here.” Before I could dig further into the mystery of my new neighbor, my radio crackled to life. Duty called. A house alarm was blaring and needed to be checked out. I gave Ethan a brief nod. “Nice to meet you.”
But as I left the shop, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Ethan wasn’t just any new guy in town. Something about him was…off. Guarded. Like he was hiding something.
And my cop instincts rarely failed me.
CHAPTER TWO
Ethan
As I juggled my pumpkin spice latte and keys, adrenaline prickled the back of my neck. It was irrational—Seacliff Cove was a quiet town, the very definition of safe—but the faint, ever-present sense of being watched had followed me here. It settled around me like a thin fog. I quickly opened my front door. With a breath to steady myself, I pushed it shut and slid the deadbolt home. The cold metal thudded into place with a satisfyingclick. I held it there for a moment longer than necessary, just until my heartbeat slowed. A home security company was due this afternoon to install a system, and I’d feel safer when that was done.
I threw my ball cap—my poor attempt at a disguise—onto the back of the couch. The slip-covered ivory sofa was not my style, but the furniture was functional and comfortable. I’d only had a few requirements when I hired the property manager to furnish the house for me: a quality mattress to sleep on, a sturdy desk to work at, and an ergonomic desk chair that wouldn’t ruin my back. Everything else that mattered—my laptop, research materials, a few clothes—I’d brought with me. I’d had to leave my Keurig behind.
I took a sip of my coffee, which had cooled but still delivered a soothing blend of cinnamon and nutmeg. I grinned at the deputy sheriff’s reaction to my pumpkin spice latte. Maybe I shouldn’t have engaged, since my goal was to stay as invisible as possible. But Garrett Whitlock had broken through the caution I’d wrapped around myself. The amusing, gregarious man had gotten past my defenses.
The tight grip of his handshake had been like electricity zipping up my arm, like a lightning bolt to my chest. And his piercing blue eyes had mesmerized me. Had I seen a spark of interest in his gaze?
It was probably wishful thinking. I’d seen him across the street with his son, his adorable carbon copy. While making an assumption about someone’s sexual orientation was inappropriate and most likely inaccurate, I couldn’t help but think he was straight. I’d seen a woman let herself into the house—was she the boy’s mother?
But I knew one thing for sure. Garrett hated pumpkin spice lattes. With a passion. I snorted a laugh into the silent house.
He probably drank coffee as pitch black as the night I saw him peeking through his blinds at me. I’d abruptly left New York on Saturday night and had arrived in Seacliff Cove in the early hours of Sunday morning.
