17. The Crab Boil Pact
Chapter seventeen
The Crab Boil Pact
Piper
By Sunday evening, Azure Palms had collectively decided emotional tension should be ignored in favor of seafood.
Respect.
The weekly crab boil transformed the beach into organized tropical chaos:
lanterns swinging overhead
long wooden tables in the sand
steaming seafood pots
live island music
barefoot guests dancing near the tide
And somehow—despite storms, scandals, break-ins, and emotional instability—
the resort still felt magical tonight.
Maybe that was the real secret of Azure Palms.
Not wealth.
Persistence.
“Piper!”
I turned near the buffet tables where two little girls pointed excitedly toward the dunes.
“There’s a dog!”
Of course there was.
A scruffy sandy-colored mutt trotted proudly across the beach wearing what appeared to be one of the resort’s blue linen napkins tied around its neck like formalwear.
I closed my eyes briefly.
“Please tell me no billionaire has adopted beach wolves.”
The girls giggled.
Then one pointed farther down the shore.
“Mr. Graham did.”
Naturally.
Absolutely naturally.
I followed the dog’s path toward the firepit area where Graham crouched beside a crate of supplies adjusting an actual tiny bowtie around the animal’s neck.
My heart melted immediately against my will.
Rude.
Very rude of him.
The dog wagged furiously while Graham scratched behind its ears with the same careful gentleness he seemed to use on literally everything alive.
Children. Guests. Sea turtles. Apparently mystery beach dogs.
Honestly it was becoming unfair.
“You found another rescue project,” I called while approaching.
Graham glanced up.
And there it was again – that immediate softening whenever he saw me.
Dangerous man.
“He was hiding near the marina,” Graham said. “Looks underfed.”
The dog barked proudly like this was excellent news.
I crouched beside them.
“Oh my gosh.” I rubbed the dog’s ears instantly. “You tiny emotional manipulator.”
“He stole three dinner rolls already.”
“That’s survival instinct.”
“He also chased Boone into the water.”
I blinked.
“…Intentionally?”
“Hard to say. Boone screamed ‘land shark’ though.”
Worth it.
From the shoreline Boone yelled defensively:
“IT CAME AT ME WITH PURPOSE IN ITS EYES.”
The dog leaned against my knee dramatically.
Traitorous adorable creature.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“I haven’t assigned one.”
“You say that like we’re processing official paperwork.”
Graham’s mouth twitched faintly.
The tiny bowtie sat crooked against the dog’s scruffy fur.
I reached to straighten it automatically.
At the same moment—
Graham reached too.
Our hands brushed directly over the knot.
Everything stopped.
Again.
This was becoming medically concerning.
The music faded behind the sound of my pulse. The firelight warmed gold across his face. His fingers rested briefly against mine.
Huge problem.
Neither of us moved immediately.
And suddenly all I could think about was the dock, the kitchen, the almost-kisses, the things he still wasn’t saying.
Graham’s eyes lifted slowly to mine.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Then the dog sneezed directly into both our hands.
Moment ruined.
The universe needed hobbies.
I burst out laughing first.
Graham followed a second later, shaking his head.
“That felt intentional.”
“He sensed emotional vulnerability.”
“Smart dog.”
The dog immediately stole Graham’s crab bib and sprinted away triumphantly.
“Okay no,” Graham muttered, standing instantly.
I laughed so hard I nearly tipped sideways into the sand while Graham chased the tiny mutt across the beach.
And somehow—
watching the calmest man on the island lose an argument with a twelve-pound dog felt dangerously attractive too.
This week was exhausting.
The warmth between us lingered though.
Soft. Unspoken. Real.
And somehow that felt scarier than the secrets now.
Nearby guests gathered around the seafood tables while servers carried steaming trays across the sand.
The crab boil officially began.
And immediately devolved into chaos.
“WHY IS THIS CRAB LOOKING AT ME?” “Because you’re holding it upside down, Linda.”
“DOES THIS BIB MAKE ME LOOK POWERFUL?” “No one has ever looked powerful in a crab bib, Vincent.”
Laughter exploded across the beach.
A hedge-fund manager accidentally launched a crab leg into a tiki torch and screamed like he’d witnessed warfare.
I watched Graham scan the crowd automatically.
Always checking. Always noticing.
An older guest looked cold near the shoreline?
He quietly handed her a blanket.
A little boy seemed overwhelmed by the noise?
Graham distracted him with flashlight games.
One donor complained about spice levels?
Graham somehow rerouted garlic butter before the man could emotionally collapse.
It was constant.
The steady invisible care underneath everything.
And suddenly—
suddenly all I could see were the tiny things.
The things most people missed.
The things he never did for attention.
How he remembered people’s names. How staff relaxed when he approached. How guests instinctively trusted him.
Not because of authority.
Because of safety.
The realization settled deep in my chest.
Oh no.
I was in trouble.
Real trouble.
Eleanor appeared beside me holding lemonade.
“You’ve got it bad.”
I nearly jumped.
“WHY does everyone on this island ambush me emotionally?”
“Because you’re obvious now.”
“I am not obvious.”
Eleanor pointed toward Graham.
“You look at him like he personally invented home.”
Well. That was upsettingly accurate.
I grabbed a crab cracker aggressively.
“He’s just…”
Dangerous. Kind. Steady. Beautiful. Terrifying.
Safe.
“…Graham.”
Eleanor smiled knowingly.
“That’s usually how it starts.”
Before I could recover, Boone Ashcroft climbed onto a driftwood log holding a cocktail dramatically.
Oh no.
Public speaking millionaire. Never good.
“ATTENTION, BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!”
The beach quieted slightly.
Vincent groaned immediately.
“Every year this man becomes louder.”
Boone ignored him completely.
“I would like to announce that whoever organized tonight’s crab boil deserves billionaire-level appreciation!”
Guests cheered.
The island band played celebratory drums.
And before I realized what was happening—
Boone pointed directly toward Graham.
“If anyone here’s the real deal,” he boomed loudly, “it’s that guy!”
The beach erupted instantly.
“No wait—I knew it!”
“LOOK AT HIM.”
“The dog thing was suspiciously attractive.”
“He does have mysterious forearms.”
“That man definitely knows how to install shelves correctly,” one woman sighed dreamily.
I choked on lemonade.
Graham looked deeply unimpressed with existence.
Boone jumped down from the driftwood proudly.
“I’m just saying! Rich-man energy.”
“Boone,” Graham said flatly, “you own three helicopters.”
“Exactly. I recognize my people.”
Guests laughed harder.
But underneath the humor—
I saw something shift in Graham’s expression.
Tiny. Quick.
Worry.
The realization tightened my stomach immediately.
Because suddenly I understood. These jokes weren’t funny to him anymore.
They were getting too close.
The reporter stood near the edge of the crowd too.
Watching.
Always watching now.
The firelight flickered across his face while he quietly observed Graham like a man assembling puzzle pieces.
And for the first time—
I felt genuinely afraid of where those pieces might lead.
Then the beach dog returned wearing someone’s sequined sandal around its neck like a war trophy.
Even Graham closed his eyes briefly.
“He fits right in here,” I muttered.
Graham looked at me then.
Tired.
Guarded.
Soft around the edges only for me.
And beneath all the laughter and lantern light and crashing waves—
I realized something terrifying –
whatever truth he’d been trying to protect me from…
we were running out of time before it found us anyway.