Chapter 11
SOPHIE
By the time I made it back to The Palmetto Rose, the morning sun had fully committed.
Charleston didn’t do half-effort weather.
The sky was a clean, endless blue, the kind that made you forget deadlines and obligations existed at all.
Palmetto fronds rustled lazily in the breeze, shadows shifting across the pale stone patio that wrapped around the pool like an invitation to stay a while.
Beth was already stretched out on a lounger, oversized sunglasses on, one leg bent, the other dangling lazily over the side. Natasha sat upright at the small table between chairs, scrolling on her phone with one hand while sipping something iced and pink with the other.
“There she is,” Beth called. “The woman of the hour.”
I dropped my bag on the chair beside them. “You say that like I’ve been gone all day.”
Natasha glanced up. “Long enough.”
“It was coffee,” I said, peeling off my sandals and letting my toes hit the warm stone. “And conversation.”
“And sexual tension,” Beth added.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re projecting.”
Natasha smiled faintly. “You’re glowing.”
“That’s humidity,” I said quickly, even as heat crept into my cheeks.
The pool shimmered in front of us, water catching the light in gentle ripples.
A couple lounged at the far end, sharing headphones.
Somewhere, a server laughed softly as they set down towels for another guest. The whole place felt unhurried—like Charleston itself had decided to take a long lunch and never come back.
I sank into the chair, exhaling. “Okay. You can ask your questions.”
Beth sat up instantly. “Excellent.”
Natasha angled her chair toward me. “Start from the beginning.”
“He’s … still him,” I said slowly, choosing my words. “But also not. Taller. Broader. More … settled in his body.”
Beth smirked. “Settled where, exactly?”
“Beth.”
“I’m just saying.”
“He’s charming,” I admitted. “In that quiet way that sneaks up on you. And he looks—” I stopped, laughed softly. “He looks unfair.”
Natasha hummed. “He does.”
We ordered lunch—salads piled with grilled chicken and citrus vinaigrette, fries we pretended were for sharing but weren’t, iced teas sweating in the heat.
When the food arrived, we rearranged ourselves around the little table, plates balanced on our knees like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“And,” Beth said between bites. “Line dancing tonight.”
“Yes,” I said. “He’s coming.”
Natasha’s eyebrows lifted. “He is?”
“He said he’d need to wear boots and a hat,” I added. “But yes.”
Beth grinned. “I love a man who respects the assignment.”
I laughed, the sound light and unguarded. “It feels … easy. Which is strange. And a little terrifying.”
Natasha studied me over the rim of her glass. “Easy doesn’t mean shallow.”
“No,” I agreed. “It just means it fits.”
The words surprised me as they left my mouth.
Charleston heat wrapped around us, thick but not oppressive, softened by the breeze drifting in from the harbor.
Somewhere beyond the hotel walls, the city moved on—tourists wandering cobblestone streets, church bells marking time, history humming quietly under everything.
It felt like being suspended inside a postcard.
My phone buzzed on the table.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Natasha glanced down. “You should check that.”
I sighed and picked it up. A message request.
Hello Sophie, this is Jax Moore with Channel 4 Charleston News. I hope you’re doing well. I’m reaching out regarding the incident on the harbor dinner cruise last night.
My stomach dropped.
I read on.
There’s been significant local interest after the video of you assisting a passenger went viral overnight.
Internet sleuths identified you by name, and several viewers mentioned you’re currently in Charleston.
We’d love to speak with you briefly—just to thank you and share your story, if you’re willing.
I stared at the screen.
“Oh, no,” I murmured.
Beth leaned over. “What?”
“I think I accidentally went viral.”
Natasha went still. “How viral?”
I scrolled.
Very.
There were clips. Comments. People arguing about angles and technique like they were experts. Someone had slowed it down, added captions. Someone else had called me “the Charleston Harbor Hero.” Another had asked if I was single.
I locked my phone and pressed it to my chest. “I hate the internet.”
Beth squinted. “You look great, though.”
“That’s not helping.”
Another message popped up before I could stop it.
We’d also like you to know that the mayor’s office reached out to us this morning. Mayor Natalie Kennedy has expressed interest in personally thanking you for your quick action. There’s no obligation—just a brief acknowledgment, if you’re comfortable.
I froze.
Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The mayor?”
“Yes,” I said faintly. “Apparently.”
I swallowed. “They say people are already looking for me because the internet figured out I’m here. He says it might be better to tell my story myself instead of letting strangers do it for me.”
Beth frowned. “That’s unsettling.”
“It is,” I agreed. “But I get it.”
I hadn’t planned on being seen. I hadn’t planned on attention or gratitude or cameras. I’d just acted. Instinct. Urgency. A moment that didn’t ask permission.
Now, it was asking everything else.
Natasha reached over and squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I know.” I took a breath. “But maybe it’s okay to say yes. To remind people that ordinary people can step in.”
Beth tilted her head. “Since when are you ordinary?”
I smiled weakly. “You know what I mean.”
The reporter messaged again, gentle this time.
No pressure at all. We simply wanted to reach out before rumors fill the gaps. The mayor’s office felt the same way—this would be informal and brief.
I stared at the pool, at the way the sunlight fractured across the water. At the ease of this morning. At the version of myself that had stepped forward without thinking.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll talk to them.”
Beth’s mouth dropped open. “You’re serious?”
“I am.”
Natasha nodded. “I think you’ll handle it beautifully.”
I typed back.
I’m in town through the week. I’m willing to speak briefly, as long as it stays focused on awareness.
The reply came almost instantly.
Thank you, Sophie. I’ll coordinate details and keep it minimal. And for what it’s worth—you did an incredible thing.
I set the phone down, my pulse humming.
“Well,” Beth said. “That escalated.”
“Just a little,” I agreed.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered what Wyatt would think. Whether he’d already seen the videos. Whether this would complicate something that felt so simple just hours ago.
But for now, I let the warmth of Charleston sink in. The laughter of my friends. The promise of music and dancing later.
Whatever this was becoming, I could face it.
The rest of the afternoon unfolded in that strange, suspended way that only happens when something big has already happened and something bigger feels like it’s waiting just out of sight.
Beth slid her sunglasses down her nose and stared at me. “You’re just … casually meeting the mayor tomorrow?”
“I’m not meeting the mayor,” I said, even though that was exactly what it sounded like. “It’s more like a thank-you. A handshake. Maybe a photo.”
Natasha hummed. “That’s still a meeting.”
I groaned and leaned back in my chair, letting the sun warm my face. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“No,” Beth agreed. “But the universe clearly thinks you needed it.”
“I was fine before.”
“You were hiding,” Natasha said gently.
That landed harder than I expected.
I watched the pool for a moment—ripples catching light, the slow rhythm of people moving in and out of the water.
A woman swam laps with determined focus.
A couple laughed as they dipped their feet in, splashing each other like teenagers.
It all felt normal. Grounded. A sharp contrast to the way my phone now felt like it contained a second life I hadn’t signed up for.
“I don’t want it to become a thing,” I said quietly. “I don’t want people dissecting me. Or turning it into something bigger than it was.”
Beth softened. “You helped someone. That’s all it has to be.”
“And if it becomes more?” Natasha asked.
I thought about that. About the conversation with Wyatt that morning. About how stepping forward on the boat had felt different from anything I’d studied or trained for. Immediate. Physical. Necessary.
“Then maybe I let it,” I said. “Just enough.”
My phone buzzed again—this time a text.
Wyatt: Hope your pool day is treating you right.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
Me: It is. I may have accidentally gone viral.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Wyatt: I saw.
My stomach flipped.
Me: You did?
Wyatt: Hard to miss when half the internet is calling you a hero.
Me: Please tell me you didn’t read the comments.
Wyatt: I did. And?
I laughed, the sound easing something tight in my chest.
Me: Reporter wants to talk. Mayor’s office, too.
There was a pause this time. Longer.
Wyatt: You okay with that?
I considered the question, how carefully he’d asked it. Not That’s amazing or Of course, they do. Just concern. Space.
Me: I think so. It feels weird. But not wrong.
Wyatt: That checks out for you.
Me: What does?
Wyatt: Doing the hard thing even when it’s uncomfortable.
Heat crept up my neck. I glanced at Beth and Natasha, who were pretending not to watch me text.
Me: I’ll tell you more tonight.
Wyatt: Looking forward to it. And—Texas Night?
Me: Still on.
Wyatt: Good. I’ll bring my best two-step.
Me: I expect nothing less.
I set the phone down, my pulse doing that familiar, unsettling thing again.
Beth cleared her throat loudly. “Who was that?”
“No one,” I said too quickly.
Natasha smiled. “You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
Beth leaned closer. “You are radiating.”
I surrendered with a sigh. “Him.”
Beth squealed softly and clapped once, immediately drawing a look from a nearby guest.
Natasha’s smile was quieter. Knowing. “You seem lighter.”
I considered that. “I think I am.”
Lunch plates were cleared away, and the afternoon stretched long and golden. I dozed for a while, the sounds of Charleston drifting around me like a lullaby—distant traffic, voices carried on the breeze, the soft splash of water.
When I woke, my phone had another message waiting.
Jax Moore: Thanks again, Sophie. We’ve scheduled the brief sit-down for tomorrow afternoon. Mayor Kennedy’s office?
I sat up slowly, the reality settling deeper now.
Me: That works. Please keep it low-key.
Jax Moore: Absolutely. And for what it’s worth—the mayor is very particular about who she lends her name to. She asked to be involved, personally.
I stared at that line longer than necessary.
Beth peeked over. “What now?”
“The mayor specifically asked,” I said.
Natasha exhaled softly. “That’s significant.”
I nodded. “Apparently, she’s big on community service. And first responders. She wants to thank me as a citizen.”
Beth smiled. “That’s kind of amazing.”
“It’s intimidating,” I admitted.
“But also affirming,” Natasha said.
I leaned back again, letting that sink in. Affirming. Not because of praise or attention—but because it meant the moment mattered. That stepping forward had rippled outward in ways I couldn’t have predicted.
The sun dipped lower, shadows lengthening across the pool deck. Eventually we packed up, heading back to our room to get ready for the night. The air-conditioning felt glorious after hours in the heat.
As I showered, I let the water run longer than necessary, thoughts drifting. Wyatt’s smile. His easy laugh. The way he’d looked at me that morning like he was seeing all of me at once—past and present layered together.
I thought about dancing with him. About the press of his hand at my waist. About whether the line we’d carefully not crossed would still hold once music and movement entered the equation.
When I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, Beth was already laying outfits across the bed like a stylist on a mission.
“Okay,” she said. “We need to establish a vibe.”
Natasha nodded. “Texas, but elevated.”
I laughed. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
As I dressed, pulling on curve-hugging jeans and boots I hadn’t worn in years but had packed just in case, a spark of anticipation lit in my chest. The night ahead felt charged with possibility. Music. Laughter. Wyatt.
And somewhere beneath it all, a quiet awareness that this trip—this week—was already reshaping something inside me.
Charleston had a way of doing that. Of slipping under your skin when you least expected it.