Chapter One #2
Mary ignored him. Her attention settled on Harmony, a quiet weight Harmony didn’t flinch from.
“You’re back,” Mary said.
“I am,” Harmony answered. “How are you?”
Mary’s mouth curved—half smile, half scar. “I’m an island. I erode slowly.”
Candy sighed. “Poetry before caffeine? Dangerous.”
“Everything’s dangerous,” Mary said. “Especially people who think they’re not.”
“Okay,” Cass cut in brightly, slicing through the mood. “We’re taking our lattes and emotional baggage to the streets. Anyone who wants a lunchtime sequel can meet us at Bluewater.”
“Make it dinner,” Tosh said, already pivoting. “Marlin Club after. We’ll give Harmony the grand tour again.”
“Because it’s changed so much in the last couple of months?” Cass teased.
“It changes every night,” Candy said, dreamily. “That’s the point.”
“Are you playing today?” Harmony asked.
“You know it. No days off for the wicked.” Candy winked and drifted away, already scanning for her next muse.
“Good. I need inspiration,” Harmony called after her.
Cass and Harmony spilled back onto Crescent Avenue, the area glittering as if freshly polished. Harmony breathed it in—salt, heat, and possibility—and let the island slide beneath her skin like it always did. She needed to wash away the last year and her feeling of doom.
They strolled past Bluewater.
“Save you a patio table?” a server called.
Cass nodded. At the art gallery, a pale man arranged blown-glass jellyfish in a case.
“Reception at six,” he murmured. “Local builders showcase. New work.”
“Builders showcase?” Cass nudged. “Sounds like a Hallmark special.”
“Don’t be mean.” Harmony hid her smile. “It’s useful. Half of the island’s gossip group will be there.”
“And the other half will bartend,” Cass said.
At the harbor rail, they watched kayakers slice color across the water. A child dropped a plastic shovel and wailed. A woman admired her reflection in a martini she shouldn’t have been drinking before noon.
“Hello, ladies.” A low, soothing voice. Familiar.
Zach stood like he’d been carved out of the pier—broad shoulders, work-roughened hands, and eyes that saw more than most people wanted revealed. He wore a faded T-shirt and cap, and sawdust clung to his forearm like a signature.
“Zach!” Cass lit up. “You’re back.”
“Wasn’t gone long,” he said. “Came in last night.”
His gaze lingered on Harmony for a beat too long, like he was checking for damage only he could see. It wasn’t quite flirtation. It felt like recognition—and that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Zach had a talent for appearing exactly where he was needed—and, sometimes, where bad things happened. Harmony still hadn’t decided if this made him lucky or cursed.
“We heard the gallery’s showcasing builders,” Harmony said. “I’m sure your work’s in there.”
Their eyes caught for a second, the world narrowing to the space between them. He gave a casual shrug, but something in his gaze stayed locked on her.
“They’re showcasing some cottages and a deck I’m not mad about. Nothing fancy.”
“Your nothing fancy makes people cry,” Cass said. “In a good way.”
He looked between them, questions tucked behind his expression. “Staying long?”
“Long enough to get into trouble,” Harmony said lightly. “Join us at Bluewater later if you have time.”
“I’ll try,” he replied. “Got an inspection at Descanso. If it goes sideways, I’ll need a drink.”
“Marlin after,” Cass added. “Because we’re predictable.”
He nodded, hesitating like he wanted to say more but knew better. Then he blended back into the flow of people, already half-swallowed by the day.
“I always feel like he knows more than he says,” Cass murmured.
“That’s because he does,” Harmony replied. “Builders see skeletons where everyone else only sees gloss.”
They continued walking. At a boutique, Janie held court—bare shoulders, polished ponytail, confidence wrapped around her like perfume.
Two men hovered on either side, dazzled and oblivious.
Janie hoarded attention the way some people collected parking tickets—carelessly, constantly, without thought of consequences.
“Uh-oh,” Cass whispered. “She smells money.”
Janie glanced up. Her smile brightened—warmth turned up just for them.
“Harmony,” she trilled. “Back to stir the pot?”
“Back to drink iced coffee and avoid sunburns,” Harmony said.
“Oh, sweetie.” Janie’s smile deepened. “You can’t avoid anything here. The island doesn’t allow it.”
She turned to her audience, effortlessly reclaiming center stage. “This dress, because he insisted,” she said, gesturing to one man. “And this necklace because he begged so nicely.” She touched the other’s arm. Both men beamed, proud to be props.
“You going to the gallery tonight?” Janie asked.
“We might,” Harmony said.
“You should.” Janie’s gaze flicked to Cass, then back. “Lots of interesting people.” Her tone made interesting sound dangerous.
“See you later,” Cass said brightly. “Or see you everywhere.”
“Everywhere works,” Janie called, already returning to her reflection.
“Sometimes I forget why I don’t like her,” Cass said. “Then she speaks.”
Harmony laughed softly. “She’s consistent.”
They moved on. A laughing child barreled toward them and stumbled. Harmony lunged without thinking, catching her before she hit the ground.
“Are you okay?” she asked. The little girl’s eyes filled with tears as her mother rushed forward.
Hurt kids were the one thing Harmony could never detach from. She’d never been able to treat their pain as writing material.
“Thank you,” the woman gasped, grabbing her daughter’s hand.
“She’s beautiful,” Harmony said. Mother and child hurried away.
“You’ve always been a warrior for kids,” Cass said.
“I couldn’t let her fall.”
“I prefer dogs,” Cass joked.
“I like both,” Harmony replied, laughing as they walked.
They circled back to Bluewater and claimed a patio table with a perfect view of the passing crowd.
Harmony let the scene settle—scraping chairs, clinking glasses, the swell of conversation.
Tosh and Lisa entered soon after them. Then, there was a ripple in the air when Candy started tuning her guitar near the rail.
In the shadows, Harmony saw a woman slip through a patch of light—short hair, slim build. Her head turned, but her face stayed hidden.
Torie? A chill swept down Harmony’s spine.
Ridiculous, she told herself. She blinked, and the woman was gone.
Mary passed along the boardwalk next, pausing at the rail to stare at the water like it held something she wanted back. The set of her shoulders made Harmony ache in a place she couldn’t name.
Laughter burst from the bar. Someone shouted Tosh’s name. Lisa leaned in, holding his arm, trying to anchor him. Futile. Tosh was a tide no one controlled.
“Will you write this summer or take the break you so desperately need?” Cass asked. Then her lips tilted. “Or will you flirt with writing and have an affair with observation?”
“I can do both,” Harmony said. “Multitasking is only impossible for the weak.”
Cass pulled her from the dark again, like she always did.
“You’re humble, too,” Cass teased.
Harmony laughed, tracing a ring in the condensation on her glass. She loved it all. The island spoke a language she understood—beauty layered over secrets, kindness masking hunger, a town that smiled even as it sharpened its teeth.
“Okay,” Cass announced. “It’s decided. We’ll do the gallery reception at six and pretend to know things about line and form, compliment men in toolbelts, and try not to start a fight with Janie.”
“I never start fights,” Harmony said.
“You end them.”
“Only if I have to.”
“Define, have to.”
“Someone gets too close. Someone lies to me while looking me in the eyes. Someone underestimates me—which is always a mistake.”
Cass snorted. “So, inevitably.” Harmony nodded.
They finished eating, waving to those they hadn’t seen in a while. The day drifted lazily toward evening. Shadows stretched across the bay. Families disappeared; night people emerged, sharpened by cocktails and expectations.
The Marlin Club’s half-door creaked open for the first regulars, Heath standing sentry, always watching. The gallery lights glowed warm over glass and wood. Bluewater shifted from bright to intimate.
“Ready?” Cass asked, brushing crumbs from her skirt. “Let’s pretend to be cultured.”
Harmony’s smile came easier this time. She was exactly where she wanted to be—close enough to hear, far enough to choose.
They stepped back into the humming street.
Tosh’s laugh carried across the patio. Candy’s guitar answered like a flirt. Mary’s silhouette crossed the boardwalk, strong and alone. Janie spun in a shop mirror. Zach lingered inside the edges, as comfortable in shadow as most people were in light.
Somewhere nearby, someone else was paying attention, content to stay out of sight, collecting moments the way Harmony collected words. Whoever they were, they’d learned the island’s first rule long ago: you don’t have to be onstage to change a story.
“Come on,” Cass said, tugging Harmony toward the gallery’s open doors. “Before all of the good gossip is taken.”
Harmony laughed. As they crossed the street, a shadow drifted across her path. She paused—just a small hitch in her step—while warm air pressed against her shoulders. Nothing was wrong. Nothing at all.
She was here to write—to let go of the pain of the past year, to collect summer and sunlight and the soft edges of other people’s lives.
But as the gallery lights reflected in the windows, Avalon pulled at her—whispered to her, warned her. It felt like a door clicking shut behind her.
Harmony breathed in salt, coffee, and the low hum of a place she loved. Whatever was coming felt aimed straight at her. Maybe what she feared wasn’t bad. Perhaps it simply hadn’t stepped fully into the light yet.
Somewhere beyond the curve of the bay, the island listened—and so did someone else, quietly thrilled. Harmony thought she was here to write a story. She hadn’t yet realized she’d already walked into one.