CHAPTER SIX
CATHERINE
“How is Gin doing?” My aunt’s voice crackles over the speakerphone, the connection warping her words as the train barrels through mountains somewhere on the other side of the world. We’ve already been dropped three times, her voice fading in and out like a bad radio signal.
I glance down at the old girl sprawled across the floor, her grey muzzle resting between her paws, tail thumping lazily like she hasn’t already wrung every ounce of energy out of me.
As if I didn’t just throw a ball for her for over an hour behind the house.
As if she didn’t shamelessly swipe half my sandwich the second I turned my back to refill my tea.
“She’s good,” I reply, nudging Gin’s paw with my foot. “Keeping me company while I look for jobs.”
I turn back to my laptop and hit refresh again.
Nothing.
The same three emails sit there like they’ve been mocking me all morning. A newsletter I never signed up for. A promotional discount code. And one automated we’ve received your application from three days ago.
No interview requests.
No follow-ups.
Not even a rejection.
My stomach knots anyway.
At least a rejection would mean someone actually looked at my application.
“I wish you’d take some time for yourself and relax,” my aunt says, her voice clearer for a moment before static creeps back in. “Meet up with some girls your age, go shopping or surfing.”
“You know I don’t surf.”
Not anymore.
“You used to play in the ocean all the time. You’re a water witch, Cat.”
I flinch.
The words land harder than they should, like something sharp pressed into a bruise I pretend isn’t there.
I was a water witch.
Past tense.
I forced it into the past myself.
“I’m fine,” I insist quickly, my eyes drifting—against my will—toward the kitchen sink.
It looks normal now. Innocent. Dry.
The plumber had come the next day, poked around for twenty minutes, and declared everything in perfect working order. Said the sudden spray was probably just a pressure surge in the line.
Normal. Explainable. Forgettable.
Except it didn’t feel normal when it happened.
And the radio…
I glance toward the counter where it used to sit.
Dead. Completely fried. Not even a flicker of life left in it.
I’d ordered a replacement, but that didn’t explain the way it had cut out mid-song. Or the way the water had—
No.
I shake the thought away before it can fully form.
Coincidences. That’s all they are.
“Just promise me you’ll try to have some fun,” my aunt continues, her voice thinning again. “Take advantage of the time off—”
Time off.
Right.
Like this is some kind of vacation and not me sitting in my childhood home, refreshing my inbox like it might magically populate if I stare at it long enough.
“I will,” I promise, because it’s easier than explaining the tight coil of anxiety sitting in my chest. “I promise.”
“I’ve got to go—it looks like a tunnel is coming up. I love yo—”
The line cuts.
Dead silence fills the kitchen.
I stare at my phone for a beat longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the screen before I let my hand fall to the table.
The house feels too quiet again.
Too still.
Gin lets out a soft huff, shifting on the floor, and I glance back at my laptop.
Refresh.
Still nothing.
A familiar wave of frustration rises, sharp and restless. I close the lid halfway, then open it again. Like somehow that might reset the universe and drop an interview into my inbox.
It doesn’t.
Goddess, what if I don’t get anything?
What if I came all the way back here for nothing?
What if I’m stuck—
My thoughts snag, abruptly derailed.
Not by jobs. Not by magic.
By him.
The man from last night.
Elliot.
Heat creeps up the back of my neck as the memory pushes in—strong arms hauling me from the water, the solid press of his chest, the way his voice had cut through the roar of the ocean like it was the only thing anchoring me to reality.
And I—
I groan, dropping my forehead briefly onto the edge of the table.
“I was such an ass,” I mutter into the wood.
Gin’s tail thumps again like she’s agreeing.
“I nearly drowned, and the guy who rescues me gets attitude and sarcasm as a thank you. Fantastic. Really nailed that one, Cat.”
I push back in my chair, dragging a hand over my face.
What kind of person gets pulled out of the ocean—saved—and then just… lets the guy walk away?
My stomach twists.
Should I… do something?
Send a thank-you card?
My gaze flicks toward the counter like the answer might be sitting there next to the unopened mail.
Would that be weird?
Dear mystery man who saved my life, sorry I was a complete jerk, here’s a card?
I wince.
Okay. No.
What about flowers?
I snort under my breath.
Right. Because that’s not weird at all. Just casually showing up like hi, I don’t know anything about you, but here are some flowers for saving me from drowning.
Goddess.
I tip my head back, staring at the ceiling now.
What do you do for someone who rescues you from drowning?
Say thank you.
Preferably without sounding like a defensive, slightly unhinged lunatic.
Which… I definitely failed at.
My fingers drum restlessly against the table.
Maybe I’ll see him again.
Crescent Cove isn’t that big.
He’s my neighbor, right?
Last night is fuzzy, but his face is clear as day. He knew exactly where to take me. Knew this house and who it belonged to.
The thought sends something strange fluttering low in my stomach.
Anticipation.
And something else I don’t want to name.
Because why can’t I stop thinking about him?
It’s not just the whole he saved your life thing.
It’s the way it felt.
The second his hands touched me.
The way everything—everything—went quiet for just a moment, like the chaos in my head and the storm in the ocean both paused at the same time.
Like something in me… recognized him.
I sit up straighter, frowning.
“That’s ridiculous,” I mutter, even as the feeling lingers.
I don’t know him.
I don’t know anything about him.
Except—
Strong.
Steady.
Annoyingly calm when I was… not.
And the way he looked at me—
I shake my head hard, cutting the thought off.
Nope. Not going there.
Absolutely not.
I’ve been back in town for what—three days? I do not need to spiral into some weird fixation over a stranger just because he happened to be there at the right time.
Even if his voice keeps replaying in my head.
Even if I can still feel the imprint of his hands on my arms.
Even if—
“Okay,” I announce, pushing to my feet. “We’re done. No more thinking about mysterious ocean men.”
Gin lifts her head, unimpressed.
“Seriously,” I add, pointing at her like she’s part of the problem. “We have bigger issues. Like employment. And not losing our minds.”
My gaze flicks back to the laptop.
To the empty inbox.
To the silence.
“…And maybe figuring out why my sink tried to attack me yesterday.”
Gin’s tail thumps again.
“Exactly.”
I reach for my phone, hesitating for only a second before making a decision.
What the hell.
If I’m going to spiral, I might as well do it with backup.
I tap Juniper’s contact and lift the phone to my ear, pacing a slow circle around the kitchen as it rings.
“Please pick up,” I murmur under my breath.
Because if anyone’s going to tell me whether I should send flowers to the guy who saved my life—or tell me to get a grip—it’s her.
I fidget with the hem of my sundress, smoothing it down for what has to be the fifth time as I stand in front of the beachside bar’s weathered double doors. The salty evening air clings to my skin, warm and damp, carrying the distant crash of waves and the low hum of laughter from inside.
I glance down at my phone, rereading Juniper’s text just to be sure I’ve got the right place.
Same address.
Same time.
No backing out now.
I tuck my phone into my bag, draw in a steadying breath, and push the door open.
A wave of golden light and noise washes over me, music drifting through the space, glasses clinking, voices overlapping in easy conversation. I offer the hostess a small smile and gesture toward the patio.
“I’m meeting a friend.”
Friend.
The word sits oddly in my chest.
What kind of friend lets years slip by like that? Lets distance grow while chasing deadlines and promotions and a life that suddenly doesn’t exist anymore?
How much had I missed?
The hostess nods, and I slip past her, weaving through the crowded interior before stepping out onto the patio.
The world softens.
The sky is painted in streaks of pink and gold as the sun dips toward the horizon, strings of lights overhead flickering to life, their warm glow competing with the fading daylight.
The ocean stretches just beyond the railing, endless and steady, like it’s been here all along, waiting for me to come back.
And then I see her.
Juniper beams the second our eyes meet, already pushing up from her chair before I can even fully step onto the patio. She crosses the space between us in a few quick strides and pulls me into a tight hug.
For a split second, I hesitate.
Then I hug her back just as fiercely, arms wrapping around her, fingers gripping the fabric of her dress as I pour everything I didn’t say, every text I never sent, every missed year, into this one moment.
“Cat, it’s been way, way too long,” she says softly. “We should have done a girls’ trip or something in the last couple of years. I’ve missed you.”
Emotion catches me off guard, sharp and sudden.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I blink them back quickly. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Long summers spent barefoot on this very beach, secrets whispered under blankets, dreams that felt so certain back then.
I hadn’t expected seeing her again to feel like this.
“It’s good to see you too, Junie.” Straight blonde hair frames her delicate features.
We finally pull apart, though her hands linger on my arms for a second longer, like she’s making sure I’m really here. Then we settle into our seats across from each other.
I catch the way she absently rubs the side of her ring finger, the skin there just slightly lighter, like something used to sit there and doesn’t anymore.
A strange ache settles low in my stomach.