Page 4 of Tides of Change
He placed a book into the hand basket, and I smiled. We would be buying five books.
Ava and I had broken up over her drinking habits. She’d been dry during her pregnancy—thank Go—odness. But her excessive drinking afterward had given me full custody of Noah.
Ava had died in a solo drunk-driving accident when Noah was two.
I’d been the first on the scene and had been as crushed as her car. She was an alcoholic, and she’d needed the help I’d encouraged. She didn’t deserve to die from her disorder.
Noah didn’t remember his mother, and my mom and sister had stepped into the role. But every once in a while, he asked why he didn’t have a mom like his friends at kindergarten. Every time, the question was an arrow to my heart.
He threw a book into a discard pile. “Be gentle with the books, bud.”
Blue eyes so much like my own met mine, remorse in their depths. “Sorry, Daddy.” He was the best kid I could have asked for. Sure, he was a picky eater and begged for a few more minutes at every bedtime, but those were typical of five-year-olds. He had my heart wrapped around his little finger, and he knew it.
Just as I settled onto the floor beside Noah and relaxed, a loud gasp from the counter snapped me back to attention. Mason’s startled, “Oh my God!” cut through the quiet hum of the store and sent alarm surging down my spine.
“Stay here, Noah,” I ordered, my heart in my throat. I leaped to my feet. I had my badge with me, but I wasn’t carrying. That wouldn’t stop me from going to Mason’s aid, though. I pulled out my phone, and my thumb hovered over the keyboard, ready to call for backup.
With quiet footsteps, I approached the corner of a bookshelf where I’d have a view of Mason and the counter. I peeked around the edge and frowned, confused.
Ethan stood at the counter with a finger pressed to his lips, signaling for silence. His frantic gaze darted around the store.
I stepped out of hiding, strode to the desk with long strides, and aimed for calm authority. “Is there a problem?” I asked in my most commanding cop voice.
“Garrett!” Mason whisper-shouted. “This is Ethan Quinn!” He practically vibrated with excitement.
Oh, was that his last name? I drew my brows together. “So?”
He rolled his eyes and blew out a breath. “He’s the author of the Jake Slate novels! And he’s here! In my store! Can you believe it?”
My eyes flew wide. I wasn’t familiar with the books, but meeting the creator of the show sent a thrill through my stomach. “Really?”
“Can we keep it down?” Ethan pleaded and glanced around the shop like he half expected a mob of fans to rush him. “I’m just Ethan Cole here. I don’t want attention.”
Mason’s gasp was audible. “You come to Seacliff Cove often?”
“I’m…visiting,” Ethan replied hesitantly, quietly, as though he chose his words with extra caution. He shot me a glance, something between curiosity and wariness flickering in his eyes. I figured I knew what he was thinking—was I going to tell Mason he was my new neighbor?
I shook my head and kept his secret with an amiable smile. Still, something felt off, a silent uncertainty beneath the casualexchange. Ethan was hiding more than just a pen name, but it wasn’t my place to pry. Not yet anyway. I wondered, though, how long he’d be staying. Would he move out abruptly in the middle of the night like he’d moved in?
Why did the thought sink like a stone in my gut? I didn’t even know the guy.
“I’m Mason Carter.” He placed a hand over his heart. “And I own this bookstore.” With reverent awe, he said, “Let’s have a book-signing! I have an events room that?—”
“No!” Ethan exploded, and he sounded almost panicked. He quickly recovered and murmured, “No, thank you. I’m not…making public appearances right now.” He placed a thick hardback on the counter. “I’ll just take this and leave.” His fingers tapped anxiously as Mason rang up the book and slipped it into a paper bag.
As Ethan made for the door, he turned back, and his eyes found mine for a split second longer than necessary. He nodded. “Garrett.”
“Ethan,” I nodded in return, and the odd gravity of his gaze pulled at me.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Mason whirled on me, betrayal written in the scowl on his face. “Youmethim, and you didn’ttellme?”
I shrugged. “We met at Cooper’s, and I didn’t know who he was. It’s not like he had a flashing neon sign above his head that read,Famous Author.”
Mason grumbled, “Well, you might have recognized him if you read something other than children’s books.”
An idea—probably a stupid one—formed in the back of my mind. “Where…?” I lazily searched the store with feigned nonchalance. “Are his books?”
Mason pointed. “Right there on the front display. They could have bitten you when you walked in.”
