Page 56 of Tides of Change
Love to.
Pick you up in fifteen.
The sound of his Escape pulling into my driveway sent a little jolt through me. I grabbed my jacket and headed out. Garrettgreeted me with an easy smile, and I climbed into the passenger seat.
The drive south along the coast was breathtaking. Sunlight danced on the waves, the ocean stretched endlessly to the horizon, and the salty air, tinged with the faintest hint of kelp, infiltrated the SUV’s interior.
In the background, the radio softly played “More Than a Feeling,” and I caught Garrett tapping the beat on the steering wheel with his thumb.
“You know, for a guy who is all business on the job, you’ve got a serious soft spot for seventies rock.” I watched him from the corner of my eye.
He didn’t deny it. Just gave me a shrug and the faintest grin. “Good music is good music.”
“I’m starting to think you’ve got layers, Deputy Whitlock.”
He glanced at me, amused. “You just now figuring that out?”
“Maybe,” I said. “So far, I’ve learned you like classic rock, you and Noah live on boxed mac and cheese and chicken nuggets, and you own exactly zero spices besides salt.”
“I have pepper,” he said, deadpan.
“Oh, forgive me. A kitchen wizard.” I laughed. “Do you cook anything that doesn’t come from a box?”
“I make grilled cheese,” he said with mock pride.
“What a gourmand,” I teased. “But points for effort.”
He chuckled, then added, “You want to know something else?”
“Always.”
“I watch a lot of home renovation shows,” he admitted. “Like…a lot. I redid my bathroom after bingeing six episodes ofModern Fixer.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“I find it satisfying,” he said. “Taking something broken, putting it back together better than it was. Demo day is therapy.”
“I had no idea you were a secret shiplap enthusiast.”
He gave me a look. “It’s about texture and warmth. You wouldn’t understand.”
I snorted. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. The last time I tried to build a bookshelf, it leaned so hard it basically collapsed under the weight of a single paperback. And I followed the instructions. With pictures.”
“Tragic,” he said, but his grin softened. “Noah’s better with an Allen wrench than you, huh?”
“Embarrassingly so. I think the cat I had growing up had more construction instinct.”
He glanced at me with quiet amusement. “So, you cook to relax, and I build things. Not a bad balance.”
“Until we need shelves,” I said. “Then it’s all you.”
He smiled, and the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened just enough to make something tighten in my chest.
Maybe it was the music. Maybe it was the way the sunlight caught in his hair. Or maybe it was just the way we kept peeling back layers without even trying. But whatever it was?—
We fit.
When the lighthouse came into view, perched on a rugged promontory, I drew in a breath.
