Chapter 2
The grandfather clock in the hotel lobby chimed half past two as Bree Spencer pushed through the heavy glass doors, her travel-weary body aching from the long drive.
The warm air of the Copper Moon Resort enveloped her like a gentle embrace, carrying with it the mingled scents of lavender from the fresh flower arrangements and something sweet, freshly baked goods that made her empty stomach clench with hunger.
"Hi, my name is Bree Spencer." Her voice came out raspier than intended, throat dry from hours of highway driving. She cleared it softly before continuing. "My friend, Blake Donaldson, booked a room for me here."
The pretty blonde clerk behind the reception desk looked up from her computer screen, her fingers pausing mid-type.
Under the soft amber lighting of the lobby, her features seemed almost ethereal, with bright blue eyes that sparkled with genuine warmth and a messy bun that somehow looked both effortless and charming, with wisps of golden hair framing her face.
A blue ballpoint pen tucked behind her ear completed the picture of organized chaos that seemed to suit the late hour perfectly.
As the clerk's fingers danced across the keyboard, searching for the reservation, Bree allowed herself a moment to truly take in her surroundings.
The lobby was a study in understated elegance, earth-toned furniture arranged in intimate conversation areas, plush armchairs that looked like they could swallow a person whole, and those magnificent flower arrangements that dotted every surface.
Fresh roses, lilies, and what looked like locally sourced wildflowers created splashes of color against the muted backdrop.
The soft clicking of keys filled the silence before the clerk looked up, studying Bree with those perceptive blue eyes. "Stiff from traveling?" The question was accompanied by a sympathetic smile as Bree rolled her shoulders, producing an audible crack that echoed in the quiet lobby.
"Yeah." Bree managed a self-deprecating laugh, her hand automatically going to massage the knot at the base of her skull. "I'm not used to it. I'm sort of a homebody, to be honest. This is the farthest I've driven by myself in... well, ever."
The admission hung between them for a moment, carrying more weight than Bree had intended to share with a stranger.
"I am too. A homebody, I mean." The clerk's voice brightened, as if finding a kindred spirit at this ungodly hour was a small miracle.
"We have enough action here in the summer that I prefer to stay home when I can.
But working the night shift, I hear hundreds of accents each year from all over.
It's like traveling without ever leaving town. "
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Bree found herself genuinely smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks.
"Wow. When Blake told me to come here, he didn't say it was such a lively place.
" She paused, looking toward the front doors where moonlight transformed the water beyond into a canvas of liquid copper.
"He said the beach would be great for getting my creative juices flowing and that it was beautiful here.
But now I'm wondering just how much he left out. "
The moonlit water held her transfixed for a moment; it was achingly beautiful, the kind of scene that made her fingers itch for a paintbrush, even through her exhaustion.
"Oh, he left out plenty if he didn't mention race week," the clerk, whose name tag read April, said with a knowing chuckle. "This is one of our biggest weeks of the year. The whole town transforms. But don't worry, there are still quiet spots if you know where to look."
As if on cue, Bree's stomach let out a prolonged, embarrassingly loud growl that seemed to echo off the lobby's high ceiling. The sound was so unexpected and so thoroughly undignified that both women froze for a moment before bursting into laughter.
Bree's hand flew to her belly, her cheeks flushing pink. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I guess it's been longer than I thought since I've eaten. I was so focused on just getting here that I forgot to stop for dinner."
"I've got just the thing for you." April's eyes lit up with the enthusiasm of someone who took genuine pleasure in small acts of kindness. She practically bounced on her toes as she disappeared through a doorway behind the desk marked “Employees Only.”
The brief solitude allowed Bree a moment to sag against the counter, the polished wood cool against her palms. She was here. She'd actually done it, driven all those miles alone, pushed through the fear and uncertainty, and arrived at this place Blake had promised would help her heal.
Mere seconds later, April reappeared, carrying something that made Bree's mouth water instantly.
The chocolate chip cookie was enormous, easily the size of her palm, and still warm enough that wisps of steam rose from its surface.
The chocolate chips glistened, not quite fully set, promising that perfect balance of crispy edges and gooey center.
"Our cook is getting ready for breakfast and comes in at one o'clock in the morning to start baking," April explained. "This is literally fresh from the oven, maybe five minutes old. Martha makes the best chocolate chip cookies on the eastern seaboard, and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise."
The aroma hit Bree full force: butter, vanilla, dark chocolate, and something else, something that reminded her of home, of better times, of her sister's kitchen on Sunday mornings. Her stomach responded with another audible complaint, and this time her blush deepened to crimson.
"My name is April, by the way," the clerk said, extending her hand across the counter. "April Morrison. Nice to meet you officially."
"Bree." She shook April's hand, noting the firm grip and the calluses that suggested this woman did more than just work the desk. "Oh, but you know that already. Sorry, I'm hungry and tired, so I guess I'm not thinking clearly. My brain feels like it's running on fumes."
She picked up the still-warm cookie and inhaled deeply. The first bite was transcendent, the perfect combination of textures and temperatures, the chocolate melting on her tongue, the slight saltiness enhancing the sweetness. It was, quite possibly, the best thing she'd eaten in months.
"No need to apologize," April said gently, seeming to sense the deeper exhaustion beneath Bree's travel weariness.
"Three a.m. arrivals are always a little disoriented.
It's like being in a different dimension, not quite night, not quite morning, somewhere in between.
That's why we keep the cookies coming. Martha says sugar and chocolate can cure almost anything, at least temporarily. "
Bree gathered her key card and paperwork, the cookie already half-devoured despite her best efforts at restraint. "Thank you, April. Not just for the cookie, but for being so welcoming. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around while I'm here."
"I work nights all week, midnight to eight, so I'm your girl if you need anything during the vampire hours.
" April's smile was warm and genuine, the kind that reached her eyes and crinkled the corners.
"And Bree? Welcome to Copper Moon Beach.
Something tells me this place is exactly what you need right now, even if you don't know it yet. "
As Bree headed toward her car to retrieve her luggage, April's words echoed in her mind.
The night air was thick with salt and possibility, the sound of waves a distant whisper beneath the hum of crickets and night birds.
She paused, looking out at the moon-painted water once more.
The copper moon that gave this place its name hung low and full, casting its unique light over everything, transforming the ordinary into something magical.
Her artist's eye caught the play of shadows and light, the way the moon's reflection created a pathway across the water that seemed to lead directly to the horizon.
Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would paint this.
She would capture this moment of arrival, of transition, of stepping from one life into something unknown.
The handle of her suitcase was cool against her palm as she pulled it from the trunk, the wheels clicking rhythmically against the pavement as she made her way back to the lobby.
Through the windows, she could see April back at her computer, probably preparing for the next late-night arrival.
But the woman looked up as Bree passed, offering a small wave that somehow felt like a promise of friendship.
In her room, 208, ocean view, Blake had splurged; Bree didn't even bother to fully unpack.
She kicked off her shoes, letting them land wherever they fell, and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed.
The last thing she saw before exhaustion claimed her was the copper moon through her window, watching over her like a benevolent guardian.
For the first time in a year, since that horrible day when the doctor had delivered the diagnosis that would change everything, Bree fell asleep without crying.
The half-eaten cookie sat on her nightstand, a sweet reminder that even in the darkest hours, kindness could be found in the most unexpected places.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, she knew.
Tomorrow she would have to face the blank canvas, the grief that painting sometimes brought to the surface, and the reality of being alone in a strange place.
But tonight, with her belly finally quiet and the taste of chocolate still lingering on her tongue, she could rest.
The sound of the waves through her cracked window became a lullaby, and somewhere in that space between waking and sleeping, Bree could have sworn she heard her sister's voice on the salt breeze: "You're going to be okay, Bree. You're finally going to be okay."