Chapter 28
SOPHIE
Lunch tasted better when no one was watching you decide your life.
I sat alone at a small café just off East Bay, a shaded table, iced tea sweating onto a chipped saucer, a sandwich I’d ordered because it sounded good. The kind of lunch you ate when you weren’t rushing back to anything. When you weren’t apologizing for taking up space.
I turned my phone face down on the table.
Not because I was avoiding Wyatt. Not because I was afraid of what I might see.
Because for the first time in a long while, I wanted to sit inside my own thoughts without interruption.
Afterward, I wandered.
On foot at first—letting the city meet me at walking speed.
The harbor stayed close, water flashing between buildings, white boats rocking lazily against docks like they had nowhere else to be.
I cut through marinas and past a cluster of sleek condos with glass balconies and rooftop pools—beautiful in a way that felt curated.
Places that photographed well. Places you stayed, not places you rooted yourself.
I didn’t linger.
I caught an Uber and let myself be a passenger, watching Charleston unfold through the window instead of trying to control the route.
We drifted away from the polish, away from the shine.
The streets narrowed. Trees thickened. Spanish moss sagged between branches like soft punctuation, unbothered by time or traffic.
Neighborhoods opened slowly—older homes with deep porches and ceiling fans turning lazily behind screens.
Porch swings that creaked even when no one was sitting on them.
Flower boxes overflowing like someone had loved them too much to prune.
It smelled like cut grass and salt and something warm baking somewhere unseen.
This felt different.
Lived in.
I imagined it without forcing it.
A place like this. Something modest but intentional. Enough room to breathe. Enough quiet to rest. Somewhere that didn’t demand anything from you the moment you walked through the door.
Somewhere Wyatt could come home and not feel like he was still on alert.
I pictured him here. Boots by the door. A coffee mug in hand. Late nights when he didn’t say much. Mornings when he did. A life that made room for motion and stillness both.
I didn’t imagine him saving me.
I imagined us standing side by side.
Later, as the Uber eased toward Aquarium Wharf, I felt it—quiet and sure. The sense that I wasn’t circling a decision anymore. I was moving toward something that had already made space for me.
The setup for the interview was already underway when I arrived. A small Channel 4 crew, cameras angled to catch the water glittering behind us, a couple of city staffers hovering with clipboards and purpose. Natalie stood near the railing, navy dress, hair pulled back in a ponytail,
posture relaxed but commanding in the way women who knew exactly who they were tended to carry themselves.
She smiled when she saw me. Not a politician’s smile. A human one.
“Sophie,” she said, stepping forward. “You look grounded.”
“I feel grounded,” I said, surprised again by how true it was.
Jax Moore—tall, polished, all camera-ready confidence—introduced himself and ran through the plan quickly. Short segment. Gratitude. Awareness. Keep it clean. Keep it useful.
I was ready.
The camera light flicked on.
Jax smiled into the lens. “I’m here at Aquarium Wharf with Mayor Natalie Kennedy and real-life hero Sophie Clarke—”
“Natalie Dane,” Natalie corrected smoothly, barely breaking stride. “I got married.”
Jax blinked, then laughed. “Right. Of course. The flood. The horse.”
Natalie’s mouth curved. “Hard to forget.”
I filed that away.
Jax recovered easily. “Mayor Natalie Dane is here today thanking Sophie for her quick thinking and bravery during a dinner cruise incident that could’ve ended very differently.”
Natalie turned to me, her voice warm but steady. “Sophie stepped in without hesitation. A man was choking, and she knew what to do. That kind of action saves lives.”
The questions were simple. Where did I learn CPR? Why did I act? What would I want people to know?
“I took a CPR class in college,” I said into the camera, hands steady. “I’m from Texas. I was here on vacation. I didn’t think—I just moved.”
Jax nodded. “And you’re encouraging people to learn these skills?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “You don’t need to be a professional. You just need to be prepared. CPR. The Heimlich. Those moments matter.”
“And you’re staying in Charleston?”
I smiled. “Actually, I’m moving here. I’m looking for work.”
Natalie’s eyes flicked to me—sharp, assessing—but her smile never faltered.
The camera cut.
Once the crew began packing up, Natalie touched my arm lightly. “Walk with me.”
We moved a few steps down the wharf, out of earshot.
“I meant what I said,” Natalie told me, folding her hands loosely in front of her. “About you stepping in. The city could use more people like that.”
My pulse kicked, surprised and wary all at once. “I was just there.”
“That’s exactly the point,” she said, eyes steady. “You didn’t hesitate. You assessed, you acted, and you stayed calm while everyone else froze. That’s not instinct alone. That’s training.”
I hesitated. “Some of it is.”
Natalie studied me for a beat, then asked, “What’s your background, Sophie? Education. Work.”
The question wasn’t casual. It was deliberate.
“I have a bachelor’s degree in psychology,” I said. “And a master’s in counseling. Both from the University of Texas at Austin.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “Licensed?”
“Yes. Fully licensed as a professional counselor. I’m currently practicing.”
“And yet,” she said, tilting her head, “you don’t sound like someone eager to stay in a therapy room all day.”
A small smile pulled at my mouth. “I’m not.”
She waited.
“I care about people,” I said carefully.
“Deeply. But sitting across from someone hour after hour, processing pain without being able to do anything in the moment—it started to feel like I was absorbing instead of helping. What happened on the boat … that was immediate. Useful. It mattered right away.”
Natalie nodded slowly, like something was clicking into place. “You like being where the need is.”
“Yes,” I said. “I want to help in a different way. Prevention. Response. Support systems. Making sure people know what to do before something becomes a crisis.”
Her expression warmed—not with sentiment, but approval.
“That’s exactly the gap,” she said. “Charleston has resources. We have volunteers, nonprofits, first responders. But we don’t always have someone connecting the dots. Someone who understands human behavior under stress and knows how systems work.”
My heart was pounding now.
“I’m putting together something new,” Natalie continued. “We’ll work out the specifics, but I want to offer you a role. Community Response Manager.”
The title landed heavy and electric all at once.
“I think you’d be very good at it,” she added. “And more importantly—I think you’d care.”
I swallowed. “I would.”
Natalie smiled then—decisive, satisfied. “Good. Because I think you’re exactly what this city needs.”
The words landed cleanly. Solidly.
“I need someone who understands people in crisis but doesn’t freeze. Someone who can move between departments, between situations. Someone who can show up.”
She named a salary that made my breath catch—not extravagant, but respectful. Real. A start date a month out.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
Natalie smiled. “Good. We’ll talk logistics soon. Welcome to Charleston.”
Holy shit. That just happened.
And the strangest part wasn’t the offer itself—it was how unsurprised I felt by it.
From the moment I’d made the decision that morning, really made it, something in me had settled into certainty.
Like the path had already been laid and all I’d done was step onto it.
I’d felt the pull almost immediately. As if the city had already been making room for me, lining things up quietly while I caught up.
I marveled at how fast it was all unfolding. How cleanly. How right it felt.
By the time the Uber pulled back up to The Palmetto Rose, the world looked brighter. Sharper. Like someone had turned the color up one notch and I was seeing everything clearly for the first time.
Like this was what it felt like when you stopped resisting the life that wanted you back.
I walked into the lobby with that quiet, humming pride still in my chest—and stopped.
Wyatt stood near the front desk, posture tight, jaw clenched, hands flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them. He turned the second he saw me.
Relief hit his face so fast, it scared me.
“Sophie,” he said, crossing the space in three long strides.
I glanced at the desk, at Sasha, whose expression was sympathetic and calm. “I turned my phone off,” I said quickly. “What’s wrong?”
He exhaled, hard. “I couldn’t find you.”
Alarm spiked. “Sasha—do you have somewhere private?”
She nodded immediately. “Conference room. Back hall.”
Wyatt didn’t argue. Just reached into his pocket, pulled out the black credit card like he was done pretending he had limits. “Fuck it. We need a room.”
Sasha blinked at the card, then at him. “Name?”
“Wyatt,” he said, then, after a beat, “Dane.”
Her eyes widened. “The Danes? Dominion Hall?”
He looked like he might actually sit down on the floor. “Yes.”
Sasha’s tone shifted instantly. Softer. Familiar. “You don’t need to pay. Your family owns this hotel. I’ll put you in a suite.”
My head snapped up. “Your family what?”
Wyatt swallowed. “Yes.”
Sasha glanced at her screen, then back at me with a small, knowing smile. “Actually, Isabel already reserved one for you.”
“Isabel?” I repeated.
“The owner,” Sasha said. “I mentioned her earlier. She flagged your name this morning and told me to hold a long-stay suite, just in case.”
Wyatt dragged a hand down his face. “What?”
“And,” Sasha added casually, as if she were mentioning the weather, “Isabel’s married to Ryker Dane.”