Page 69 of Tides of Change
My heart swelled with lo—affection. I swallowed hard and forced my gaze away.
Ethan deserved this. He belonged to the world, not to some sleepy coastal town with more fishing boats than traffic signals. He needed a city that could match his ambition, where he could network, attend events, and flourish in the literary industry. Seacliff Cove didn’t even have a department store, let alone a thriving writing community. He had a future mapped out, one that didn’t include quiet nights with me and trick-or-treating with Noah. He had a family waiting for him back in Brooklyn. A niece who missed him.
I’d have to let him go.
My chest tightened, a weight pressing against my ribs, making it hard to breathe. But I forced the emotion down, focused on the next visitor, and ushered them inside.
Hours later, as the last of the fans trickled out, Mason closed the door with a weary sigh. Inside, only a handful of books remained on Ethan’s table, their glossy covers reflecting the soft glow of overhead lights.
Ethan stretched his fingers and shook out his hand before scribbling a last message inside the front cover of the last book. “Thanks for coming.” He handed it back to its owner with a tired but sincere smile.
The woman clutched the book to her chest like it was a treasured artifact, beaming as she made her way out the door. The moment it clicked shut behind her, Ethan exhaled, his shoulders slumping.
“Did you see him?” he asked. He stood, every line of his body trembling with exhaustion.
Larson entered the main room of the store from the back entrance and shook his head, his expression grim.
“He didn’t show up,” I answered.
“Fuck.” Ethan’s face fell. He braced his hands against the edge of the table. “I was sure he would.” His head dipped forward as if frustration and fatigue pulled at him. “Now what?” he murmured, more to himself than to me.
The defeat in his voice cut through me. Without thinking, I stepped behind him, placed my hands on his tense shoulders, and worked my thumbs into the knots. He stiffened for only a second before melting under my touch, a low, appreciative moan escaping him.
“We wait for his next move,” I murmured, my fingers kneading slow, steady circles. “My guess? He’s going to retaliate tonight.”
Ethan tilted his head and glanced up at me. “You think so?”
I nodded. “Yeah. And I’m going to be watching your porch until dawn.”
Ethan’s lips parted like he wanted to protest, but something in my expression stopped him. He let out a slow breath and nodded. “Okay,” he murmured.
Whatever Finch had planned next, I’d be ready. Because there was no way in heck I was letting him get near Ethan again.
When we returned from the event, I backed my SUV into my driveway, lining it up just right. From this vantage point, I had a line of sight to Ethan’s porch for the night. I wasn’t taking any chances.
I walked Ethan home, my senses on high alert, and scanned for any sign that Finch had been there. The porch was undisturbed, the locks intact. But that didn’t mean Finch wasn’t lurking somewhere nearby.
As soon as we stepped inside, I took Ethan into my arms and pulled him against me. The weight of the night, the tension, the unknown, all poured into the desperate kiss I gave him—deep, consuming, as if I could hold on to him tightly enough to make the danger disappear.
“I’ll be watching,” I murmured against his lips.
“Stay safe.” There was worry in his voice, but I feared more for him than for myself.
I pulled back reluctantly. We swapped phones and passcodes, a sign of his complete trust in me that I didn’t take lightly. I would receive any security notifications on his phone, and he could call me from my phone. I returned to my house, full of determination. I put together a couple of sandwiches, poured fresh coffee into an insulated mug, holstered my weapon,and headed back out into the night. The wind whipped down the street with an approaching storm, but the street was eerily empty. Was Finch watching me? Was he already here, waiting for the right moment?
I settled behind the wheel of my Escape and checked my view. If Finch made a move, I’d be ready—on foot or by car, whatever it took.
Time dragged. The cold seeped into my bones, and I regretted not bringing a blanket, but I couldn’t risk turning on the heat. Any movement, any sound, could tip off Finch.
At one a.m., I finished my sandwiches. At two a.m., I drained the last dregs of my coffee and yawned. At three a.m., my eyelids grew heavy. I shifted and forced myself upright—stretching, blinking against the exhaustion threatening to pull me under.
At four a.m., I startled awake with a sharp inhale. My heart pounded. I had fallen asleep.
I jerked forward and immediately checked the porch. My stomach plummeted.
“Shoot.”
Something lay on Ethan’s doormat.
