2. Noah
Chapter two
Noah
I ’m back there again.
The acrid sting of smoke is in my nose, sharp and metallic. Sirens scream over the sound of shattering glass. I can still feel the heat rising in waves off twisted steel and burning pavement. Someone’s shouting my name, but I’m stuck. My boots won’t move. My hands are shaking.
She’s somewhere close. I can feel her.
And then I see the flash of her curls in the wreckage, wild and dark, tangled with blood and soot. Josie. Her name tries to claw its way out of my throat, but it won’t come. The sound dies before I can say it.
Everything goes black.
I shoot up in bed, chest heaving. The sheets are soaked, clinging to me like damp fog. My lungs burn like I’ve been choking on smoke. I swipe a hand over my face and try to catch my breath, but the silence makes it hard to breathe.
And worse than the dream?
The memory of her face is fading away.
I get flashes, those bright eyes always dancing with mischief, the way she never bothered with shoes even in winter, her voice too loud when she laughed.
But it’s like someone smudged the edges of her in my memory.
I used to see her so clearly, even after everything. Now… now she’s slipping. And I hate it.
I sit there for a while, elbows on my knees, waiting for the pounding in my head to settle. I drag myself out of bed, every joint stiff like I’ve aged a decade overnight. The floorboards groan beneath my weight.
I shuffle into the kitchen barefoot and hit the coffee maker like it owes me something. It gurgles, sputters, and then dies with a pathetic wheeze.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
I open the cabinet, no beans. Not even the emergency tin in the back behind the crackers I’ll never eat. My stomach growls like it’s offended by the lack of caffeine and food.
This whole day is already sideways, and the damn sun’s barely up.
Shoving on jeans and a T-shirt, I lace up my boots, not because I want to go anywhere but because sitting still makes everything louder. My yellow Labrador, Blaze, is already by the door, tail swishing like he’s been waiting for me to catch up.
The air is cool, damp with salt and early spring, thick enough to cling to my skin but not sharp enough to wake me up from the kind of exhaustion that lives in my bones.
The gravel underfoot crunches as Blaze trots ahead, nose twitching, ears perked. He doesn’t need a leash. Never did. He always circles back, checking on me like he knows I’m not okay.
It’s a short walk into town, fifteen minutes if I’m dragging my feet, ten if I pretend I’ve got somewhere to be. Today, it’s somewhere in the middle. The streets are quiet except for the soft rustle of wind through the trees and the occasional gull calling out overhead.
Ava’s coffee shop comes into view, a warm little corner with fogged-up windows and potted plants that have no business surviving the sea air but somehow do. The bell above the door jingles as I step inside, Blaze slipping in behind me like a shadow.
The smell hits first, roasted beans, vanilla, and something sweet that makes my stomach twist. Not with hunger. With memory.
She sees me the second I walk in. Ava Murphy, hair up in a messy bun, apron tied over a soft pink tee, baby balanced on her hip like it’s second nature.
“Morning, Noah,” She calls, already moving behind the counter. Siobhan’s got that sleepy appearance that babies get in the morning, her chubby fist tangled in Ava’s shirt.
Ava appears like she hasn’t slept in days, but her eyes are sharp as ever, watching me like she can see straight through the hoodie and the silence.
I nod before saying gruffly. “Figured Blaze needed the walk.”
“Mmhmm,” she says, pouring me a coffee without asking. Black. No sugar. No cream. Just like always.
I take my usual seat by the window, the wood beneath me worn smooth from years of elbows and quiet mornings like this. The mug lands on the table with a soft clink.
“Pie?” Ava asks, eyebrow arched.
I grunt, which she takes as a yes. She always does.
She comes back with a slice of cherry, golden crust, filling still warm and bleeding through the cracks like it couldn’t be contained. She sets it down, and then she just... hovers.
Siobhan coos on her hip, big eyes blinking at me. Something catches in my throat.
“Damn,” I mutter, reaching for the cup like it’s gonna save me.
Ava notices. Of course, she does.
“Rough morning?” she asks, easing into the seat across from me.
I nod. “Didn’t sleep. And when I did, it wasn’t worth it.”
She doesn’t press, but her gaze softens. Siobhan babbles, tiny fingers curled around the string of her mother’s apron. And just like that, bam, I’m sucker-punched by something I didn’t expect: longing.
For the life I almost had. For the baby, I never got to hold. For the woman whose face I can’t picture clearly anymore.
“You ever felt like the memory of someone fades faster the harder you try to hold on to it?” I ask, staring into the dark swirl of my coffee.
Ava’s smile is sad. Knowing. “Every damn day.”
She doesn’t say more. Doesn’t need to.
Ava’s hand rests on my shoulder for half a breath. Long enough to say I’m not alone. Short enough that I can pretend it didn’t make my chest ache.
“You can take all the time you need,” she murmurs. She knows.
I nod because if I speak, it’ll come out broken.
I sip the coffee, letting the heat scald the tip of my tongue. It’s bitter, strong, and real.
I take a good look at Siobhan then, her wide, curious eyes locked on me. Josie used to look at me like that. Like I was her whole world. Like I could fix anything. Perhaps our child would have done the same.
She was all wild curls and bare feet and couldn’t sit still for more than a minute. Always smelled like sunscreen and lemon shampoo. She’d sneak pie at midnight, drag me outside barefoot, and laugh at the stars like they were hers.
Now, I can’t even remember the sound of her laugh.
The pie tastes like guilt. But I eat every bite.
Because that’s what’s left. The burn of coffee. The sweetness of something I don’t deserve. The ache of what used to be.
And Blaze, curled under the table, waiting for me to stop pretending I’m okay.
By the time I step out of Ava’s and start the walk back, the coffee’s settled in my gut, warm and heavy like a stone.
Blaze pads beside me, tongue lolling, tail low and lazy.
The morning fog’s lifted, but the heaviness hasn’t lifted.
If anything, it’s settled deeper, like something’s coming. I don’t want small talk.
Don’t want to pass neighbors and fake a smile.
I cut through the marshy trail behind the fishing docks, a shortcut I had not taken in a while. It winds behind a row of crab shacks and skirts around the tall reeds that whistle with the wind. Blaze leaps over puddles, nose twitching, ears alert. He senses the shift, too.
I cut through a shortcut and reached the edge of my property, but by then, my mood’s sunk deeper than my boots in the mud. There’s a salt sting in the air, low tide sharp, and the sea breeze bites at the back of my neck like it’s trying to wake me up. But all I want is to be alone.
Sink into the silence of the house. Let the day pass like a dull ache. I round the cedar trees that line the clearing and stop cold.
There’s a woman standing in front of my cottage.
And a kid.
She’s got her head tilted back like she’s admiring the place, not just seeing it but taking it in, like it’s something sacred. Sunlight filters through the mist behind her, catching in the waves of her hair, golden and soft, a little undone in that kind of way that doesn’t try.
Her shoulders are relaxed, but there’s this tension humming off her like she’s trying to breathe something in she hasn’t felt in a long time.
Next to her, a little boy bounces on his toes, pointing up toward the porch and jabbering about something I can’t hear. Perhaps six, tops. Small backpack strapped to him, dinosaur poking out of the zipper.
My brain stutters.
The tenant.
Shit. The tenant.
She was supposed to move in today. Rachel told me last week. I even left the side door unlocked yesterday like an idiot, but it slipped my mind this morning, the same way everything’s been slipping lately.
But it’s not the kid that’s got me frozen.
It’s her .
She turns and gazes in my direction, but I’m certain she can’t see me.
And the world stops.
Hazel eyes. Not just green, alive. Flickering green, gold, something else in between.
Sunlight hits them, and they damn near glow.
Her features are delicate, like someone carved her out of something soft.
Cheekbones that catch the light, lips parted slightly like she’s mid-thought.
Curious. Gentle. Almost too gentle for this place.
And then there’s the rest of her.
She’s tall, maybe 5’7” or so, and she holds herself with the kind of grace that says she doesn’t care who’s watching, but at the same time, she always knows when someone is. Slender frame, but curved in all the right places, hugged by clothes that are too nice for a beach town.
Cream blouse, fitted skirt, dressy shoes. Classy. Polished. Expensive. Her whole vibe screams New York or LA, not Porthaven. I duck instinctively behind one of the thick pines and crouch, heart thudding way too fast.
What the hell am I doing?
I’m not twelve. I’m a grown man hiding behind a damn tree. But I can’t move. I’m rooted there, as if I breathe too loud, she’ll vanish.
She bends to pull a suitcase from the backseat of her car, and the blouse shifts just enough to reveal a sliver of bare skin at her lower back. My gaze catches there, hot, shameful. I drag my eyes away, but they don’t listen.
Her hips move as she walks, slow, steady, almost rhythmic. Like she was made for movement. She doesn’t even realize the kind of storm she’s stirring up in a man who’s been stuck in grief for so long that he’s forgotten what true desire feels like.