Page 34 of Tides of Change
My heart pounded furiously, and each beat thundered with the realization that this—this moment—was changing something fundamental inside me. Kissing Ethan felt like crossing a threshold, like finding a part of myself I’d been missing.
When we finally pulled apart, our breaths mixing, I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. Ethan’s gaze searched mine, his cheeks flushed, his lips slightly swollen.Sexy. Passionate. Stunning. More than stunning—he looked like someone I wanted to protect, cherish.
I cleared my throat, my voice thick with emotion. “That…was worth the wait.”
Ethan’s laugh was quiet, a little shy. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”
The words settled in my chest where they belonged. We were on the cusp of something momentous.
But I’d utterly failed at keeping the evening casual.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ethan
I unscrewed the Mason jar of beef vegetable soup from the farmers’ market and the lid gave a satisfying pop as it released. The savory aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs swirled up and teased my senses. My stomach growled, but my mind remained detached, far beyond the walls of my kitchen.
I poured the chunky soup into the pan, and the vegetables tumbled out with a muffled plop. I turned on the burner and reached for a loaf of artisan bread. Golden and dusted with flour, its yeasty scent mingled with the simmering soup. My serrated blade sliced through the crust into the soft center.
But I was on autopilot, my movements mechanical, my thoughts consumed by a single, electrifying moment—Friday night’s kiss with Garrett.
I’d replayed it in my mind so many times over the past three days that it felt like I could recall every tiny detail. The slight intake of his breath before his lips touched mine. The firm yet tender pressure of his kiss, filled with a confident warmth that had made my heart stutter. The faint, residual sweet taste of cherry ice cream. The way his hands had gripped my waist and settled me, even as an electric charge zipped through my veins.
Was it spontaneous? A sudden burst of courage on his part? Or had he been thinking about it for days, carefully waiting for the right moment? And now that it had happened, how didhefeel about it? Did he relive it the way I did, or had he pushed it to the back of his mind, chalking it up to a fleeting impulse?
The knife faltered mid-slice, and the question lingered like a weight on my chest. Was he bisexual? Bi-curious? Exploring? Did he regret the kiss?
For me, it was anything but a regret. That kiss was a connection I hadn’t dared to hope for. But did it mean the same to him?
I hadn’t heard from him all weekend. The logical part of me tried to rationalize it—he’d told me he was spending time with Noah, that it was their father-son weekend. Still, doubt itched at the edges of my thoughts, persistent and unwelcome.
I gave the soup a halfhearted stir and watched the bubbles break the surface. A flicker of something hopeful whirled low in my stomach. Maybe that kiss could lead to something more. Something real. My pulse quickened at the thought, and I imagined whatmorewith Garrett might look like—late-night conversations, stolen moments in the quiet safety of our homes, more kisses.
More than kisses.
But the hope came tangled with the same knot of fear that had been tightening in me since I’d come to Seacliff Cove. I’d only be here until Garrett arrested the stalker. Then what? Did I have the courage to see where this could lead, knowing it might only be temporary? And what about the danger? By letting Garrett in, wasn’t I putting both of us at greater risk?
Not to mention the risk to his career.
I sighed and gripped the edge of the counter as the beefy aroma of the simmering soup filled the kitchen. My chest achedwith the weight of it all—the uncertainty, the fear, the raw, undeniable yearning.
All I knew for sure was that I wanted more. More closeness, more connection.
And more of Garrett’s kisses.
The doorbell echoed through the house and shattered the fragile quiet of my afternoon. My shoulders tensed instinctively; the ever-present unease from the stalker lingered like a shadow, even though there had been no incidents lately. My pulse quickened as I plucked my phone from my pocket and tapped the screen to view the front door feed.
Garrett stood on the porch, hands braced on his hips, his ramrod posture exuding authority. It was lunchtime, and my stomach twisted. Was this an official visit or something more personal?
I turned off the burner. The soft beeps of the alarm system as I disarmed it seemed overly loud in the silence. I opened the door to find Garrett’s expression carefully neutral, the only sound his tactical gear creaking faintly as he shifted his weight.
“Garrett?” I betrayed a flicker of apprehension. “What are you doing here?”
“May I come in, sir?” he said, clipped and professional.
The formality in his voice sent an uneasy ripple through me. I frowned, and my thoughts raced. What the hell was going on? My gut churned as I stepped aside to let him in. He moved past me with quiet efficiency, the faint scents of gun oil and sporty body wash trailing him.
I closed the door and set my back to it. He placed an arm on the door above me and leaned in. “Do you have anything new to report…sir?”
