Page 63 of Tides of Change
A few days had passed since Garrett told me about the written warning he’d received from Sergeant Rodriguez, but the anger still simmered beneath my skin. A fucking written warning for going to the redwoods together.
I paced the length of my living room, frustration buzzing like static in my chest. He was in trouble because of me. Because we had chased Finch through the redwoods, because Garrett had filed an honest report instead of covering it up. And now, his department was punishing him for it.
But that hadn’t stopped Garrett. We still exchanged text messages, then late-night phone calls, filling the distance between us with quiet conversations. I told myself it was just to check in, just to make sure he was okay, but we both knew that was a lie. I needed to hear his voice.
Still, it gnawed at me. What if this was just the beginning? What if his sergeant escalated things? If we kept ignoring the department’s warnings, would they suspend him? Take him off the force entirely? The thought made my stomach twist.
Should I break things off with him?
I barely glanced at my phone when it rang, expecting another spam call, but the moment I sawGarrett Whitlocklighting up my screen, a slow smile spread across my lips.
Over the past few days, our conversations had shifted—what had started as brief case updates via text had morphed into calls, ones neither of us seemed eager to end. I started piecing Garrett together like one of my character profiles. He hated noisy, crowded cities—said they made his skin crawl—but the quiet, unhurried rhythm of Seacliff Cove suited him. He told me that driving with the windows down and breathing in the salty air made him feel alive, like something inside him unlocked. He loved teaching Noah basic life skills—how to check the oil, sort laundry, hammer a nail straight. Things I’d never learned growing up in a city where grocery delivery and maintenance men were the norm.
Garrett was built to protect, like it was coded into his DNA. He didn’t talk about it as a job—it was just who he was. Me? I found comfort in control. I labeled my file folders, color-coded my outlines, and found peace in tidy structure. I could lose myself for hours in a bookstore, running my fingers over spines, building worlds in my head. He confessed he was a potato chip junkie—barbecue flavor, specifically. I admitted that junk food made me feel like I’d swallowed a paperweight. Different worlds. But every message, every call, felt like a bridge between us.
I swiped to answer the call and sank back into my couch with a grin. “If this is another attempt to convert me into a home reno addict, I should warn you, it’s working. I watched three episodes ofDream House Disastertoday, and now I have strong opinions about exposed beams.”
Garrett’s low chuckle came through the line, warm and easy. “Knew I’d get you hooked. Next step is convincing you that undermount sinks are superior.”
“I’m team integrated quartz.”
“Ugh. You’re killing me.”
I laughed, stretched my legs out, and rested my socked feet on the coffee table. “What’s up, Deputy?”
A pause, and then, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
The question hit me sideways, and my grin faltered. I hadn’t expected the conversation to shift there. “Uh, not much?”
“You’re…not?” He sounded thrown.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s just me this year.”
Silence stretched for a beat. Then Garrett’s voice turned firm. “Nope. Not happening.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, ‘nope?’”
“You’re not spending Thanksgiving alone.” His tone brooked no argument. “Come to my parents’ place.”
A warmth curled through me at the offer, but I tamped it down, my practical side kicking in. “Garrett…” I sighed. “That’s really generous, but I don’t want to intrude. Thanksgiving is for family.”
Garrett scoffed. “So? My mom will be thrilled to have another person to feed. And they won’t tattle to the department about us.”
I huffed a quiet laugh, and my fingers traced the seam of my jeans. “Still. I don’t want to impose. Or…put anyone at risk from Finch.” My voice dipped at the last part. The thought of his family being dragged into the mess with Finch knotted my stomach.
Garrett exhaled heavily. “There’s been no sign of Finch for days. And you’re not imposing. Trust me, if my mom knew I let you sit at home alone on Thanksgiving, she’d disown me.”
I hesitated. The idea of being in a warm, bustling house for the holiday, surrounded by food and conversation, instead of alone in my silent rental, eating a baked chicken breast, was more appealing than I wanted to admit. “Are you sure?” I asked, still uncertain.
Garrett’s voice softened. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Something in my chest eased. I let out a slow breath, finally allowing a small smile to return. “Well…if I can bring a pie, I might be convinced.”
Garrett chuckled. “You can bring as many pies as you want. And my mom will probably send you home with enough leftovers to feed a small army.”
“That’s a hard sell,” I admitted and feigned deep contemplation. “Fine. I’ll come. But if your dad tries to interrogate me about my intentions, I’m blaming you.”
Garrett laughed, and the sound lit me up. “Deal. I’ll pick you up at noon on Thursday.”
