Page 45 of Serenity at Seagrove
Something had been off with Archer since the golf classic. He’d been acting a little strange, and she couldn’t tell if he was pulling away or if she had done something to upset him.
As she approached the inn’s porch, she heard voices drifting from above. Archer and Dawson, their tones serious despite the early hour.
"Archer, you have to tell her. The Oakland Hills deadline is coming up. You’re just making this harder.”
She froze, her heart pounding in her chest.
Archer had explained a lot about golf to her, and one of the things she remembered was a place called Oakland Hills in California.
"I know," Archer’s voice was rough. "It’s just… every time I try, or I look at her, I think about what I’m leaving behind?—"
"It’s a prestigious coaching position and a big opportunity," Dawson said. "But California is a long way away."
California.
The word hit Luna like a physical blow.
She pressed her hand against the weathered siding and steadied herself.
"It’s my chance to stay in the game," Archer said, "and to make a real difference with young players."
"Well, what about the difference you’re making here?" Dawson asked. "With the students here? And with Luna?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Luna didn’t even wait to hear Archer’s response. She turned and ran quickly back to Serenity, her vision blurring with tears.
She shouldn’t have let herself get so close to a client.
What was she thinking?
Her job was to help him, and now she was upset that he might be leaving.
It wasn’t fair to keep him here. Her job was to get people on their feet and moving in the right direction, and maybe California was the right direction for Archer.
But everything made sense now.
His hesitation, the guilty looks that would cross his face like a shadow and then be gone, the way he’d pulled back just when they were getting closer.
He was leaving.
He’d been planning to leave all along.
Luna barely remembered her walk back to Serenity. Her mind was just racing with the fragments of conversation she’d just heard.
A deadline.
Oakland Hills.
California.
She moved through her morning routine mechanically, like she was some kind of robot—lighting candles and trying to prepare for her first class. But her hands trembled, and her chest felt so tight.
"He’s leaving," she whispered to an empty room.
The words tasted like ashes in her mouth.
A knock at the door made her jump.
