Chapter 21
JASMINE
Three mornings had passed since the meeting at the Whistle, but the tension it stirred hadn’t gone anywhere. The high from Paradise Key had dulled, replaced by questions Kai still wouldn’t answer.
Over coffee and the lingering scent of his cologne, I let him pull me into a slow, lazy kiss, hoping the heat between us might burn away the unease. Instead, the questions pressed harder against my lips than his mouth did, and when I asked one—just one—he froze.
It wasn’t even an accusation, just a soft, careful, What are you not telling me? But the shift in his eyes was instant—like a door slamming shut. His hands slid away from my hips, and the warmth between us drained into the morning light spilling across the kitchen.
“Not now,” he said, reaching for his mug.
Not now, not ever. That’s what it felt like.
I tried to smile it off, to tell myself that he couldn’t give me answers if there weren’t any. But the doubt settled hollow in my chest. He rinsed his cup, grabbed his keys, and pressed a quick kiss to my hair. It was the kind of kiss you give out of habit, not want.
“See you tonight,” he said, and then he was gone, leaving the bungalow quieter than I liked and me staring at the faint coffee ring on the counter like it held answers.
The silence stretched until the creak of the front steps pulled me out of my head. Faith’s voice carried through the screen door before she even knocked.
“Jasmine?” she called, the sound of her flip-flops slapping against the porch.
I blinked, smoothed my hair, and tried to arrange my face into something that wasn’t I might’ve just broken my boyfriend.
“Come on in,” I called back, trying to snap myself into artist mode. Faith was here for a painting for her mom. “I only have a couple to choose from at the moment.”
Faith stepped inside with a bright smile and a canvas tote slung over her shoulder, but her eyes were scanning the bungalow like she was on a mission.
The morning light streamed through the French doors, catching on half-finished canvases stacked against the wall, making my little space feel more like a gallery than a cottage.
“Let me see your scraps,” she grinned.
I walked her straight to the corner where two canvases sat on easels. “Seascape or amateur turtle?”
“Amateur? Pfft.” She said, studying the turtle. “It’s great. But so is this.” She lifted the seascape off the easel, tilting it toward the light. “This one will remind her of Miami Beach.”
Her focus sharpened, quiet but intent, and I felt that familiar twist in my stomach—half dread, half thrill—waiting for judgment. Finally she nodded, satisfied. “This is good, Jasmine. Like… really good.”
I smiled, a little sheepish. “Thanks. I think they’re getting better each time.”
“Corinne told me that you’re making five larger ones for Paradise Key.”
“Yeah.” I gestured toward two big blank canvases leaned against the wall, their white expanse both intimidating and inviting. “About to start them actually.”
Faith grinned. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair and leave you to it.” She reached into her tote and pulled out a crisp $100 bill.
“That’s too much. In fact, why don’t you just take it as a gift from me.”
“Nice try. But no way. You deserve to be paid for your work. Besides, I can’t be the perfect daughter if the gift is coming from you.”
“She’d never know,” I teased, grinning.
She gave me a sly smile, forcing the bill into my hand. “Thank you.”
As I wrapped the painting in brown craft paper, she gave the turtle one last glance. “You should keep at these. I know you say sealife isn’t your thing, but… it could be.”
“That’s the plan. I need to expand my repertoire if this Paradise Key thing pans out.”
Faith beamed. “It will. I appreciate you doing this when you’re so busy.”
“Of course. Anytime.” I handed her the neatly wrapped seascape. “Stay for a quick coffee?” I walked toward the French press on the counter. “It’s made.”
“Alright,” she smiled. “If you have time, I do.”
While I poured two cups, the aroma of strong brew filling the room, I asked as casually as I could, “Any leads on the latest smugglers?”
After a flash of confusion, she said, “Oh, the square grouper Kai found?”
“Yeah. Do they know whose it was?” I asked, handing her a mug.
“Doubtful,” she said, scrunching her face a little. “But I’m not sure. Those investigations get turned over to the Coast Guard and DEA immediately. They get all the fun,” she laughed, taking a careful sip.
I forced a dry chuckle. Being caught in the middle of it wasn’t one bit of fun.
Faith must’ve sensed my concern. “Don’t get freaked out by the bale. Sadly, they’re not uncommon. Nothing to worry about.”
Her tone was reassuring, but her eyes lingered on me a beat too long. I shifted in my seat, heat creeping into my cheeks. She wasn’t buying my casual act, not completely.
I smiled, though unease coiled low in my stomach. “Can I run something by you? Totally hypothetical.”
Faith tilted her head, gaze sharpening. “Sure.”
“Let’s say you knew someone who stumbled into…
umm… a situation. Involving something that didn’t belong to them.
Something valuable.” I hesitated a moment, Faith staring like she was concerned about my mental wellbeing by then.
:The kind of thing the Coast Guard and the DEA might care about—and the kind that the people who lost it might care about even more. ”
Her brows lifted a fraction, and she kept her gaze steady on me, like she was filing each part of the question away in separate mental folders. “Go on.”
“Would there be a discreet way to get assistance from authorities without tipping them off?”
“Them being the ones who lost the thing?”
I nodded, stirring my coffee even though I hadn’t added anything to it.
She eyed me cautiously. “If anyone were to find themselves in possession of such a thing, they’d better turn it in. Immediately.”
I hesitated, then blurted before I could stop myself. “What if they did turn it in, and the people who lost it show up saying that half of the thing was missing. And they think you have it." My voice cracked, nerves buzzing in my chest, and I rushed to tack on, "Hypothetically.”
Her professional composure faltered, concern slipping through. “They came looking for it because half of it’s missing?” she asked slowly.
I sipped my coffee, but it caught in my throat. “That’s the assertion—was supposed to be double what was reported.”
Faith’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Her tone stayed measured, but her eyes sharpened, weighing me like she suspected there was more beneath the surface. “Jasmine, if you need to report something, I can help.”
My heart raced. This was a mistake. “No, no. Not me. But thank you. I’ll keep that in mind in case I do.”
“Call me anytime. I mean it. Even if it’s hypothetical.”
The way she emphasized the last word made my skin prickle. She wasn’t fooled. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I kicked myself for opening my big mouth. “Thanks, but please, forget I even asked.”
Faith gave me a long, steady look before nodding. “Hypotheticals aside—you’re not alone, Jasmine. Just remember that.”
Her words lingered after she left, the bungalow too quiet once again. She told me I wasn’t alone, but the echo of the door clicking shut said otherwise. I felt more isolated than ever, the silence pressing in until it was hard to breathe.
The urge to paint wrestled with the urge to scream.
Instead, I sat in the stillness, replaying Faith’s expression—calm on the outside, sharp underneath.
Regret gnawed at me for opening my mouth at all.
I had wanted reassurance, but what I got was suspicion and a reminder that every word could be a noose.
Faith said I wasn’t alone, yet I’d never felt more abandoned, stranded with my secret and the echo of my own mistake.
I let my gaze drift to the canvases leaning against the wall, brushes waiting, but even they offered no refuge. No amount of paint could cover the regret thick in my chest.