14. Aurora
14
AURORA
PETRICHOR
T he deep bass of my pump-up music pulsed through my headphones as I heaved a section of the old kitchen cabinets off the balcony, sending them plummeting into the dumpster below with a satisfying crunch.
Fucking particle board . . . The humidity had been too much for it to handle, and it had to go.
The house was strange. In some ways, it was beautifully crafted. I was doing my best to salvage the hardwood floors, fireplace facade, an obnoxious clawfoot tub, and the crown molding. In other ways, it had been finished in the most ephemeral way.
Huh. Ephemeral . That was a good word. Ephemeral .
I danced my way back inside, shaking my ass to the beat of the music. The next section of smashed cabinetry was a hell of a lot heavier than the first. I let out a feral grunt as I hoisted it over the balcony banister. The landing in the dumpster was even more satisfying than the first. I wiped my hands on my tank top and let out a sharp breath.
My victory dance was legendary. I didn’t even care that I looked like a complete dork with my kicks and fist pumps. I turned to twerk my way back inside when I ran smack dab into a wall.
And the wall laughed.
Jack’s mouth moved, but I didn’t hear a word he said. Just his smile.
“What?” I shouted over the music in my ears.
He just shook his head and hitched his thumb over his shoulder as he said something.
“Louder,” I yelled. “ I can’t hear you.”
The music faded into a tinny hiss as Jack pulled my earbud out and cupped it in his palm. “ You’re going to hurt your ears, Roar .”
I blinked as the calm ocean waves took over for the trap beat. “ I didn’t even see you drive by,” I said as I peered over the hedge and saw his truck parked in the driveway. “ When did you get in?”
Jack glanced at the old-school watch on his wrist. “ Just after seven. Shift change went over easy.”
“You look well rested.” I peeled the hem of my shirt off my stomach to wipe the sweat off my face. I didn’t glow. I probably looked and smelled like a drowned sewer rat. “ Slow night?”
“Wasn’t too bad. Two car wrecks before midnight, and I got five hours of sleep before going out to check on a potential house fire.”
“ Potential house fire? I feel like it’s either on fire or it's not.”
He chuckled. “ The homeowner plugged in a slow cooker and said she smelled burning plastic around the outlet. We took the outlet apart. Someone had done a bad patch job with the wiring and wrapped it in duct tape. It was burning inside the wall. Probably a good thing she didn’t dismiss it. She was on her way to work and it could have been a lot worse. But we did a thorough check. I called an electrician buddy of mine and he was out there helping her get it fixed before we left the scene.”
“Oh great. Now I have a new fear. Thanks for that.”
Jack chuckled. “ Looks like you got an early start this morning.”
“The upper cabinets in the kitchen were pissing me off. I still haven’t decided if I should keep the cabinets under the countertop.”
He peered over the balcony into the dumpster. “ Looks like you got the last laugh. You ready to call it a day?”
“Call it a day?” I laughed. “ I have three more cabinet chunks and a toilet that I have to yeet. Why would I call it a day?”
“Because I want to take you somewhere.”
The world stopped. Was he . . . Was he asking me out?
I narrowed my eyes. “ Where ?”
His smile was heart-stopping. The middle of his cheek dimpled as the corners of his mouth pulled up. There was adventure in his eyes. “ I was gonna go on a drive. Head down the coast a ways. Figured you might want to actually leave this street and see the sights.”
“I have work to do.”
“Come on, Roar ,” he said. “ Live a little.”
“I have cabinets to deal with.”
Without another word, Jack let himself into the house, grabbed the cabinets that had been ripped off the wall, and carried them out, one in each hand. Before I could argue, he used those big firefighter muscles to toss them into the dumpster as if they were sheets of paper. He went back for the third, and it was in the dumpster before I could argue.
“Point me to the toilet,” he said.
I was actually thankful for his help with that particular annoyance. Toilets were heavy.
"Second-floor bathroom.”
The second he was up the stairs, I dashed into the bathroom connected to the bedroom I was camping in and freshened up. Willow had generously left her air mattress, giving my back a break from the wood floors and musty couches.
I could hear the floorboards creaking above my head as Jack moved around upstairs. That bathroom needed a lot of work, but that was a project for another day.
Somehow, I was still in the “get the shit out of the house” phase.
TV shows made home renovation seem quick and fun. Like watching a cooking show where they have all the ingredients laid out, show you how to mix them, pop them in the oven, and then immediately pull a fully baked dish out of thin air. No one warned me about the amount of time it took to drag things out of the house, then wait for the dumpster to be emptied.
I splashed a handful of cold water on my face and grabbed the hand towel to pat dry. The mirror above the sink rattled as Jack trudged down the stairs. There was an extra pronounced thump that shook the house.
“You okay?” I called out.
“Peachy,” he shouted.
“Regretting your life choices?” I teased.
His laugh was strained. “ Only a little.”
I turned back to the mirror when something caught my eye. The aged corner of a piece of paper poked out from behind the mirror. The jolt of Jack coming down the stairs must have loosened it.
“Great,” I muttered as I carefully slid it out from behind the glass and unfolded the paper. “ Not another cryptic letter.”
You are the very breath I take. You are the morning sunrise, filling me with hope and promise. You are the noon sky, blazing with unfettered glory. Blinding with grandeur andcompletely uncontainable. You are the calm dusk, drawing me home and easing my ache. You are the twilight, a fleeting, magical moment I treasure dearly. You are the midnight sky, filled with wonders of galaxies beyond. Boundless .
You are my heart. You are the marrow in my bones, the core of the man I am. I would give my soul to the darkest depths of the ocean if I could have you for just one more day.
Before you, I craved what I did not know. With you, my soul was at rest. Without you, I have turned to ashes—the remnant of something once marvelous.
“That fucking monster of a toilet is in the dumpster,” Jack wheezed as he filled the doorframe. “ I swear it was made of lead.” His brows knitted together. “ What’s that?”
“I found another letter,” I said as I handed it over.
Jack skimmed the page. “ Damn . That’s romantic as hell.”
A laugh slipped. “ No dates or historic events for a timeline though. No letter A marking where it was hidden.”
“Where’d you find it?”
“It fell out from behind the mirror.”
Jack squeezed into the matchbox bathroom beside me and inspected the mirror. “ Were you planning on keeping this?”
“Um . . .” I chewed on my lip. “ It’s not my favorite, but it’s not atrocious.”
He ripped the mirror straight out of the wall. “ I’ll get you one that you like.”
“You’re fixing that,” I said as I pointed to the drywall holes.
But Jack wasn’t paying the wall any mind. “ Well , would you look at that? There’s your letter A .”
An old envelope was stuck to the back of the mirror. A seal in crimson red with an ornate letter A pressed into the wax held it closed. Time or humidity must have degraded the adhesive on the edges because it looked like the letter had fallen right out of the bottom.
“Do you still have the other two?” Jack asked.
“They’re in the living room beside my laptop,” I said as I skimmed the letter again, hoping for some kind of answer to magically appear.
“Bring them.”
I glanced up. “ Bring them where?”
He lifted an eyebrow like I was being intentionally dense. “ I told you. I’m taking you out.”
Three minutes later, I was in the passenger’s seat of Jack’s truck with the letters in my lap and racing questions in my head.
First, where was he taking me? Second , was there going to be food? I hoped there would be food. Or at least caffeine. My early morning cup of coffee was wearing off, and I was starting to crash.
My one-street world, marked by the Mermaid Court street sign, zipped by as Jack pulled out onto the main road that led in and out of Cedar Island . But instead of going farther up the peninsula toward the fire station and Ernie’s Fish ‘n Fuel , we headed south.
Thick trees were the puppet masters as shadows from the branches danced around the cab of the truck. Jack stretched his arm across the back of the bench seat. His calloused fingers grazed my bare shoulder. It was like a match sliding against the striking surface of the box. Sparks flitted across my skin with each passive touch.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Jack’s baritone sliced through the haze.
What the hell ?
I let go and rested my head on his outstretched arm. “ Just curious where my kidnapper is taking me.”
Jack chuckled, keeping a one-handed grip on the steering wheel. “ If I’m kidnapping you, you’ve made two dire mistakes.”
“I’ve seen your face and you’re taking me to a second location,” I recalled from years of book research.
Jack looked horrified. “ Why do you know that off the top of your head?”
“You’re forgetting I used to write that stuff.”
He let an amused hum slip. “ I’m not kidnapping you, Roar .”
“So where are you taking me?”
“What if I said we were going to the library?”
“You got some books you need to return?”
His hand slid out from around my shoulders and settled on my bare thigh. “ You said it was a manuscript, right?” He cocked his head toward the letters. “ Who knows more about books than a librarian?”
He had a point. While some people saw librarians as shrew-like shushers of children, I saw them as the keepers of knowledge. They were the scribes in fantasy novels who would fight to the death to protect the scrolls. Instead of being armed with wands and cloaks, they wielded book scanners and cardigans.
The Carteret County Public Library lived in the same building as the parks and recreation department and board of elections, but sported a welcoming patio right outside the front doors. Jack kept a steady hand on the small of my back as he opened the door for me.
The comforting scent of books and printer paper wrapped around me like an embrace from a long-lost lover. I resisted the urge to dash straight into the romance section and obediently followed Jack to the help desk.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” he said with a charming smile.
The little old lady wore her hair in a tight silver bun. Reading glasses were perched on the tip of her nose, and her cardigan sported iron-on patches that said things like “ Hot girls read books” and “ I’m with the banned.”
I loved her immensely. I fell even harder when I spotted the title scrawled on the spine of the book she was reading. The Nature of Hope by Whitney West .
She had good taste.
“Well, hey there, sugar. What can I help you with?”
Jack glanced at me with a sheepish look. “ I have a weird question.”
“I might have a weird answer,” she retorted. “ Whatcha got?”
“My friend is renovating a house up on Cedar Island , and we found papers hidden in the floorboards and fireplace. We think they’re from a manuscript. Do you know of any writers from the area?”
“What time period are we talking? We’ve got a few here now.” She pointed to the shelf featuring local authors front and center. “ And , of course, we get out-of-towners who come and stay for a season or two for inspiration. The sea always draws in the artsy types.”
“That’s the thing,” I said. “ One passage seems like it was written in or about the 1600s, the other one is about the 1700s. One doesn’t have any dates or clues at all.”
“Do you have them with you?” she asked. “ I might not have any information filed away, but I do read a lot.”
I handed over the papers and waited while she gave them a cursory assessment. “ Why don’t you two give me a bit? Go visit the books. They’ll be happy to see you.”
With a flick of her hand, we were dismissed.
Jack and I roamed the library, looking at the end caps and tables with staff recommendations. We stood around the local authors’ tables and flipped through books full of lore about pirate tales and shipwrecks off the coast.
“Hey,” I said when Jack took my hand and tugged me away from the display. “ What are you doing?”
“I want to look at another section.”
“So? You can go by yourself.” I patted his shoulder. “ You’re a big boy. The books don’t bite.”
He hit me with a panty-melting smile. “ Does the author?”
I rolled my eyes and swatted at his arm as he pulled me into the romance section. “ What are you—oh . . .” I froze when he parked himself in front of the W’s .
He tugged on a book until it slid out from the shelf. “ This one’s yours?”
Petrichor by Wander Whitlock . The title text felt like a slap in the face. It was so pretty, but I hated looking at it.
“Unfortunately,” I clipped as I knelt to see if Whitney and Willow’s books were beside mine. It was a fun little game we played with each other—visiting our books in whatever library, shop, or airport we were passing through.
They were right beside me, just like always.
“Which one should I start with?” he asked.
“If you’re reading Whitney , you might like Interdiction . If you’re reading Willow , you should get?—”
"Yours, Aurora . I’m gonna read yours.”
It had been a while since he had called me by my full name. Usually , I hated it, but this time, I didn’t mind quite so much.
I huffed. “ Petrichor is the last in the series. Don’t start there. Start with book one. It drives me crazy when people think they can read them out of order.” I moved up the row, where the series was lined up neatly. “ Halcyon is book one.”
Jack studied the four-book series. “ Halcyon , Spindrift , Cymatics , Petrichor . . . Damn . Those are some badass titles.” He skimmed the cover copy on the back of the first book. “ Where’s the last book in the series?” He pointed to the note at the bottom that stated it was a five-book series.
I let out a sigh and sat criss-cross applesauce against the shelf. “ I never wrote book five.” I pointed to the fourth book. “ Petrichor took off and also ended me. I sold my soul for that bestseller tag. And my career.”
“Did you have a title for book five?”
Instead of fighting it, I let the sadness creep in as I nodded. “ Aurora .”