Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Brian couldn't stop thinking about the man at the fair.
He'd lain awake half the night, staring at the ceiling, replaying what Tessa had told him.
Gray cap. Sunglasses. The way she'd said it felt wrong, like she was apologizing for her own instincts.
And those phone calls from Chicago that she hadn't answered, sitting in her pocket like small, unanswered threats.
He'd worked too many years on the ambulance to dismiss that kind of thing. You learned to trust your gut out there. Learned that the people who survived were usually the ones who paid attention to the small wrongness before it became big.
By the time the first gray light of dawn crept through his window, he'd given up on sleep entirely. He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and headed outside, needing to move, needing to do something with the restless energy coiled in his chest.
The morning air was cool and damp, mist rising off the water in slow, ghostly curls. He walked the perimeter of the property the way he'd done a hundred times since moving in, checking fence posts and tree lines out of habit more than necessity.
That was when he saw them.
Footprints.
They ran along the back fence, pressed into the damp sand where the dew hadn't burned off yet. Wide tread, maybe a size eleven. Fresh, from the look of them. Someone had walked this path recently, probably within the last few hours.
Brian crouched and studied the prints, his jaw tightening.
This stretch of property backed up against a wooded area that led nowhere.
No hiking trails, no shortcuts to town. One of the things he'd loved about this place when the Calloways had offered it to him was the isolation.
The dead end. No reason for anyone to be walking along his fence line unless they had business here.
And no one had business here.
He followed the prints for about twenty yards before they disappeared into the tree line. Whoever had made them had come from the woods and returned the same way. No attempt to approach the cottage itself, at least not that he could see. Just walking. Watching, maybe.
His mind went to the man Tessa had described. Gray cap. Sunglasses. The kind of person who blended into a crowd until you looked twice.
Could be a coincidence. Could be some local kid using the woods as a shortcut to God knows where. Could be nothing at all.
But Brian didn't believe in coincidences. Not when a woman who'd been watching her back at a crowded fair was now sleeping under his roof.
He made a decision. He'd install motion lights along the back fence today. The kind that triggered automatically when something moved through the beam. It wouldn't stop anyone determined to get close, but it would give them a warning. And a warning was sometimes all you needed.
When he came back inside, Tessa was in the kitchen.
She stood at the counter with her back to him, reaching up to move the coffee canister from the right side to the left. He watched her do it, watched her settle it into its new position like that was where it had always belonged.
"Why'd you move that?" he asked, stepping into the kitchen.
She turned, brows lifting. "Oh. I was making tea and thought it would be easier to have the coffee by the mugs." She gestured toward the cabinet where the mugs lived. "I didn't even think about it, actually. I'm sorry."
"It's easier for me where it was."
A hint of color rose in her cheeks. "I can move it back."
He realized, even as the words left his mouth, how ridiculous he sounded. A grown man staking territory over a coffee canister. Like it mattered where the damn thing sat.
"It's fine," he muttered, though he did nudge it back to the right as he passed. Old habits.
She smiled faintly into her cup, and he caught the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. Like she knew exactly how petty he was being and found it entertaining rather than annoying.
He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter. "What are you doing today?"
"I was thinking of walking down by the harbor. Maybe checking out some of the craft fair booths before they pack up." She tilted her head. "That okay with you, or does it break a house rule?"
He felt the corner of his mouth tug upward before he could stop it. "You're fine. Just don't take the canoe."
Her laugh was quiet but real, and he found himself wanting to hear it again.
He thought about telling her about the footprints.
Thought about the way her face had looked yesterday when she'd described the man at the fair, tight with a fear she was trying to rationalize away.
He didn't want to add to that fear. Didn't want to make her feel like she couldn't walk to town without looking over her shoulder.
But he also didn't want her blindsided.
"Be careful," he said, keeping his voice casual. "Stick to the main streets. There've been some break-ins lately, tourist shops mostly. Nothing serious, but still."
It wasn't entirely a lie. There had been break-ins back in the spring. But that wasn't why he was telling her to be careful, and from the way her eyes sharpened, she knew it.
"Brian." Her voice was quiet. "Did something happen?"
He hesitated. She deserved the truth. She was a grown woman who'd spent years dealing with life-and-death situations; she could handle footprints in the sand.
"I found tracks along the back fence this morning," he said. "Fresh. Someone was walking the property line last night or early this morning."
Her face went still. Not panicked, but controlled. The face of someone who'd learned to manage her reactions in high-pressure situations.
"Could be anyone," she said carefully.
"Could be. Probably is." He set his glass down. "But that path doesn't go anywhere. Dead ends into the woods. No reason for anyone to be back there unless they were coming here."
She was quiet for a moment, processing. Then: "You think it's connected. To yesterday."
"I don't know what I think. But I'm going to install some motion lights along the fence today. If anyone comes back, we'll know about it."
She nodded slowly, her hand drifting up to touch the pendant at her throat. The little fern she'd bought at the fair. He'd noticed her wearing it last night, noticed the way she touched it sometimes, like a talisman.
"Thank you," she said. "For telling me."
"I figured you'd rather know than not."
"I would." She managed a small smile. "I've had enough of people trying to protect me from information. It never works out the way they think it will."
He filed that away. Another piece of the puzzle that was Tessa Callahan. Someone had tried to shield her from something once, and it had gone badly. He wondered what. He wondered who.
"I'll head into town later," he said. "Pick up the lights at Cooper's. You want a ride, or are you set on walking?"
"I'll walk. But maybe I'll meet you there for lunch?"
"Lila's? Noon?"
"It's a date." The words came out casually, but something flickered in her eyes as she said them. Like she'd surprised herself.
Brian felt something flicker in his chest, too. Something he wasn't ready to examine.
"Noon," he agreed, and left it at that.
He spent the morning working on the addition, trying to burn off the restless energy that had been building since he'd found the tracks. The framing was coming along, the skeleton of what would eventually be a guest room and bathroom taking shape against the side of the cottage.
His parents would never visit; his mother was gone, and his father had remarried and moved to Florida, content to exchange birthday cards and the occasional awkward phone call.
But Hank and Colby would come, and Bree and Sabrina with them.
And maybe someday, other people. Family he'd chosen rather than been born into.
He thought about Tessa as he worked, the steady rhythm of the hammer helping him sort through the tangle in his head.
She'd been here less than a week, and already she'd carved out a space in his daily routine.
Coffee in the morning. Meals shared at the small table.
The sound of her moving through the cottage, quiet and careful, trying not to take up too much space.
He thought about her laugh. The way it had come easier yesterday than the day before, like she was slowly remembering how to do it.
He thought about the fear in her eyes when she'd told him about the man at the fair, and the way she'd tried to talk herself out of it. I'm probably wrong. There are a lot of people. I spent too many years reading rooms for threats.
She wasn't wrong. He knew it in his gut. Something was off, and whether it was connected to her or just bad timing, he wasn't going to let her face it alone.
Around eleven, he cleaned up and drove into town. Cooper's Hardware was quiet, the morning rush already past, and old Tom Cooper himself was behind the counter, reading glasses perched on his nose as he sorted through a box of screws.
"Brian." Tom looked up with a nod. "What can I do for you?"
"Need some motion-sensor lights. The kind that mounts on a fence post. You got anything?"
"Got a few options. Follow me."
Tom led him to an aisle in the back, talking through the features of each model. Brian picked out two that would cover the fence line and a third for the back corner of the property, near where the tracks had disappeared into the trees.
"Expecting trouble?" Tom asked as he rang them up.
Brian shrugged. "Just being careful. Found some tracks on the property this morning. Probably nothing, but better safe than sorry."
Tom's eyes sharpened behind his glasses. "Tracks, huh? You know, I saw a stranger hanging around near the pier last week. Tall guy, dark hair, just standing there watching the boats. Didn't buy anything, didn't talk to anyone. Gave me an odd feeling."
Brian's attention sharpened. "You get a good look at him?"
"Good enough. Lean build, maybe six feet. Had on a gray cap and those big sunglasses people wear now." Tom shook his head. "Probably just a tourist. But something about him felt off. You know how it is."
Brian knew exactly how it was.
"If you see him again," Brian said, "would you give me a call?"
Tom studied him for a moment. "This about that woman staying at your place? The one from Chicago?"
Small towns. Word traveled fast.
"Maybe," Brian said. "I don't know yet. Just being careful."
"Being careful's smart." Tom handed over the bag of lights. "I'll keep an eye out. You take care of her, now."
Brian nodded and left, the bell over the door chiming behind him.
Take care of her. Like she was his responsibility. Like she was his to protect.
She wasn't. She was a woman who'd stumbled into his life by accident, who'd be gone in three months, back to Chicago or wherever her path took her next.
But standing on the sidewalk with the bag of motion lights in his hand, watching the sun sparkle on the harbor, he couldn't shake the feeling that Tom was right.
She was his to protect. Whether either of them was ready to admit it or not.
He found Tessa already at Lila's when he arrived, seated at a table by the window with a cup of tea and a half-eaten lemon bar in front of her.
She looked up when the bell chimed and smiled, and something in his chest did that thing again.
That shifting, settling thing he was trying very hard to ignore.
"You're early," he said, sliding into the chair across from her.
"So are you."
Lila appeared at his elbow like she'd been summoned by magic, a coffee cup already in her hand. "The usual?"
"Please."
She set the coffee down and gave him a look that said she saw more than he wanted her to. "You two make a nice picture, sitting there in the sunlight. Just saying."
"Lila."
"I'm going, I'm going." She winked at Tessa and disappeared behind the counter.
Tessa was fighting a smile. "She's not subtle."
"No one in this town is subtle. It's a collective failing." He picked up his coffee, grateful for something to do with his hands. "How was your morning?"
"Quiet. I walked through the fair, bought some honey from a nice woman who told me her entire life story, and ended up here." She broke off a piece of lemon bar and popped it in her mouth. "I didn't see anyone suspicious, before you ask."
"I wasn't going to ask."
"You were thinking about it."
He couldn't argue with that. "Tom Cooper at the hardware store says he saw a guy matching the description you gave me. Hanging around the pier last week. Gray cap, sunglasses, just watching."
Her hand stilled on her teacup. "So I wasn't imagining it."
"Doesn't sound like it." He kept his voice steady, not wanting to alarm her more than necessary. "Could still be nothing. A tourist who likes to people-watch. But I asked Tom to let me know if he sees him again."
She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the window. Outside, Main Street was busy with the last of the craft fair crowd, families loading purchases into cars, vendors breaking down their booths.
"I keep telling myself I'm being paranoid," she said quietly. "Seven years in trauma, you learn to see threats everywhere. The brain rewires itself. Even when you're safe, part of you is always scanning for danger."
"That's not paranoia. That's training." He set down his coffee. "And training saves lives. Don't apologize for it."
She looked at him then, really looked, and he saw something shift in her expression. Gratitude, maybe. Or recognition.
"You get it," she said. "Most people don't."
"I get it." He held her gaze. "And I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Not on my watch."
The words came out more intense than he'd intended, more intimate. He saw the moment they landed, saw the slight widening of her eyes, the catch of her breath.
"Brian..."
"I mean it." He didn't look away. "Whatever this is, whoever this guy is, we'll figure it out. Together."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached across the table and laid her hand over his. Her palm was warm, her fingers small against his larger ones.
"Thank you," she said simply.
He turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together. It felt natural. It felt right.
"Don't thank me yet," he said. "I haven't done anything."
"You believed me. That's something."
They sat there for a moment, hands intertwined, the bustle of the cafe moving around them like water around stones. Lila watched from behind the counter with a knowing smile. Outside, a child laughed at something, high and bright.
Brian thought about the footprints along the fence. The man at the pier. The phone calls from Chicago.
And he thought about the woman sitting across from him, her hand warm in his, her green eyes steady on his face.
Whatever was coming, they'd face it together.
He just hoped he was ready.