Chapter 12 #2
The sky is blazing now, the sun fully risen and turning the clouds into streaks of coral and gold. The ocean catches the light and throws it back, a million tiny mirrors sparkling on the surface. It’s the kind of morning that makes you believe anything is possible.
“This is a terrible idea,” she says.
“The worst.”
“You’re my landlord.”
“I know.”
“You threatened to evict me.”
“I know.”
“I should hate you.”
“Do you?”
She’s quiet for a beat too long.
“No,” she admits. “That’s the problem. I really, really don’t.”
“Jessica—”
“I don’t understand you,” she says. “You’re cold, and then you’re kind. You read poetry and argue about spreadsheets and look at me like—”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m something worth seeing.”
“You are.” The words come out rough. “You’re the most worth-seeing person I’ve ever met.”
One moment we’re talking ,and the next, her hands are in my hair and my arms are around her waist and we’re kissing like the sunrise demanded it.
It’s not gentle. It’s months of tension breaking open—all the arguments and almost-moments and loaded silences collapsing into something desperate and honest and inevitable.
She tastes like salt and hope and coming home.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing hard. Her hands are still tangled in my hair. My forehead is pressed against hers. The waves keep crashing like nothing has changed, even though everything has.
“Wow,” she breathes.
“Yeah.”
“That was—”
Something lands on my head.
Something with claws.
“What the—” I jerk backward, arms flailing, as a seagull—Sigmund, probably, that judgmental bird—digs his talons into my scalp and shrieks directly into my ear.
Jessica screams. Then laughs. Then screams again.
“Hold still!” she yells, which is absolutely unhelpful advice when a bird is trying to nest in your hair.
“Get it off!”
“I’m trying! He’s—stop moving!”
Sigmund flaps his wings, slapping me in the face with feathers. I stumble backward off the log, landing hard in the sand, which at least dislodges the demonic creature from my head. He hops away, looking deeply offended, and shrieks at me accusingly.
“Did that bird just—did he—” I’m sputtering, brushing sand and feathers out of my hair.
Jessica is doubled over laughing, tears streaming down her face. “Your face—”
“I was having a moment!”
“You were being attacked!”
“By a seagull!”
“A jealous seagull! He’s been watching us this whole time!”
Sigmund shrieks again, and then—because my humiliation clearly wasn’t complete—a golden blur comes barreling across the beach at approximately ninety miles per hour.
Scout.
Jack’s dog has spotted the seagull and decided that this is his moment. He launches himself toward Sigmund with the dedication of a guided missile.
Sigmund takes off, and Scout follows. They tear across the beach in a chaos of barking and shrieking, sand flying everywhere.
“Scout! Scout!” Jack’s voice carries from up the beach. “Get back here, you goofball!”
I’m still on the ground, Jessica is still laughing, and now Jack is jogging toward us, looking deeply confused.
“Morning!” Jack calls, slightly out of breath. “Sorry about the—Scout, no! Leave the bird alone—sorry, he saw a seagull and just—wait.” He stops, taking in the scene.
Me covered in sand and feathers, Jessica crying with laughter, the sunrise blazing behind us like a movie backdrop. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” I say quickly.
“Yes,” Jessica says at the same time.
Jack’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. Scout, having lost the seagull to the sky, comes bounding back and shoves his wet nose directly into my face.
“Hi, Scout,” I say flatly. “Thank you for this.”
Scout licks my entire face in response.
“He likes you,” Jack offers. “Consider it a compliment.”
“I’ll consider it a reason to shower.”
Jessica is wiping her eyes, still giggling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just—you were being so romantic and then—”
“And then I got attacked by a bird and licked by a dog. Yes. Very romantic.”
“It’s kind of perfect, actually.”
She’s glowing in the sunrise light, hair wild, eyes bright with laughter. There’s sand on her cardigan, and she’s looking at me like I’m ridiculous and wonderful and maybe, possibly, worth knowing.
Jack is slowly backing away. “I’m just going to... Scout, come on. Let’s give them...yeah. Nice seeing you both. Good luck with the, uh, bird situation.”
He disappears up the beach, Scout bounding after him, and then it’s just us again. Me, Jessica, and the ghost of Sigmund’s disapproval.
“So,” she says.
“So,” I agree.
The laughter is fading, and something more serious is taking its place. She opens her mouth—probably to finally ask the question—but I can’t let her.
If she asks, I’m just answering. If I tell her first, I’m choosing to be brave. It was my idea in the first place.
“Wait,” I say. “Before you ask whatever you came here to ask—I need to say something.”
She closes her mouth. Waits.
I take a breath. The deepest breath of my life.
“I’m Coastal Quill.”
Jessica goes very still.
“The letters,” I continue, before I can lose my nerve.
“The correspondence program. Coastal Quill—that’s me.
I’ve been writing to you for months. And I knew.
I knew it was you the whole time. I figured it out a few weeks ago.
I knew you were Between the Lines and I should have told you immediately but I was scared and I’m telling you now because you just told me about insurance claims and manila folders and David and you were so brave and I can’t—I can’t let you be braver than me anymore.
That’s why I asked you to come here today. ”
I’m rambling, but I can’t stop.
“But that’s not all. I’m also—I’m V. Langley.
The author. The one whose books you’ve been reviewing for years.
The one you said lost his authenticity. The one who kicked you off his ARC team because your review destroyed me even though you were completely right.
” I’m standing now, hands spread like I’m surrendering.
“I’m all of them. The landlord, the pen pal, the author.
Three people who are actually just one very scared man who’s been hiding from you because I was terrified that if you saw all of me at once, you’d—”
“Stop.”
I obey.
Jessica is staring at me. Her face is unreadable.
“I was about to ask you,” she says quietly. “I was going to ask if you were Coastal Quill.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected. The timing. The things you said that matched things he wrote.” She laughs, but it’s hollow. “I spent all of book club last night listening to my friends analyze the evidence.”
“I’m sorry I stole your moment.”
“Don’t.” Her voice hardens. “Don’t make jokes right now.”
“I’m not—”
“You knew.” The words explode out of her. “You knew I was Between the Lines. You knew we were exchanging letters—that I was telling you things I’ve never told anyone—and you didn’t tell me?”
“I was trying to find the right time—”
“The right time?” She stands abruptly, backing away from the log.
“I told you about David in those letters, Scott. I told you about the insurance job. About feeling impractical and stupid and unworthy. I told you things I just told you again five minutes ago because I didn’t know you’d already heard them!
” Her voice breaks. “Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?”
“Jessica, please. Just let me explain—”
“I can’t.” She wraps her arms around herself, small and broken in the golden morning light. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head, backing toward the beach path. “I don’t know anything right now except that I need to be alone.”
She turns and walks away.
I watch her go—her silhouette climbing the dune path, her cardigan slipping off her shoulder, her hair catching the wind.
The sunrise is still blazing. The ocean is still beautiful. Somewhere up the beach, Scout is probably terrorizing another seagull.
And I’m standing here with sand in my hair and the taste of her still on my lips and the absolute certainty that I just destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me.
Sigmund lands on the driftwood log and stares at me.
“Don’t,” I tell him.
He shrieks anyway.
He’s right, of course.
I’ve made a complete mess of everything.
But at least I finally told her the truth.
Now I just have to figure out how to prove I’m worth trusting.
One honest day at a time.
Starting now.