Better than Yesterday (Sunset Siesta #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

brADEN

The hardest part of owning a brewpub in a Florida beach town had nothing to do with beer. It wasn’t about perfecting a citrus-forward IPA or getting the permits squared away. It was about keeping your regulars alive and reasonably sober through hurricane season.

But that was a story for September. Tonight was smooth sailing.

Friday nights at Tidal Hops on Dove Key moved with the pulse of high tide—constant, rising, kinetic. I did my best thinking while moving, which was convenient because standing still anywhere in the taproom after 6:00 p.m. was basically impossible.

Golden light from lanterns made from old glass buoys washed over the weathered wood of the bar top, glowing on the sweat of a pint glass and the smiling faces of my patrons.

Vintage surfboards, salt-bleached and scarred, hung on the turquoise walls.

I moved through the crowd, a hand on a regular’s shoulder here, a nod to a tourist couple there.

“Braden! The Seafoam IPA is killer tonight,” called contractor Gus Davis from his usual stool at the end of the bar, his ebony face ruddy from a life spent outdoors.

He’d done the remodel on Heron House, turning it from a possibly-haunted mansion into a B&B, and was a solid guy.

In the process, my grouchy brother Austin, who lived next door, fell in love with the new owner in a scenario so unlikely I could still hardly believe it.

“Glad you like it. Just tapped a fresh keg,” I called back, my lips pulling into an easy grin.

My gaze swept the room. It was a good crowd—a mix of Dove Key locals spinning yarns and visitors soaking in the island vibe.

Everything looked right. The nautical charts I’d framed hung straight on the walls, the polished brass of the tap handles gleamed, and the low buzz of activity was the result of years of pouring my life into this place.

This was more than a business. It was the foundation I’d built after the old one had washed out from under me.

I spotted one of my servers, a young guy from the mainland, struggling to balance a full tray of food. I slid through a gap between tables and took two plates from him. “Got it?”

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the tray. “Thanks, Braden.”

“No problem. Table seven needs their check when you’re done.”

That was the job. Juggling a dozen things at once while making it look effortless. My older siblings might have chosen other paths. But to me, this was an art and a science.

And I was damn good at it.

Maria, my head server and the undisputed queen of the floor, intercepted me on the way back to the bar. She was a single mom putting two kids through college, and she didn’t have time for bullshit.

“Don’t forget about tomorrow’s keg delivery to the Salty Pelican at the marina,” she said without breaking stride, punching an order into the POS system.

“First thing in the morning,” I confirmed.

Though I had plenty of staff who could make deliveries, I enjoyed the labor.

And despite late nights being an occupational hazard, I was an early riser.

The Salty Pelican at the working harbor just south of our family’s Siesta Sunset Resort was a regular stop for me.

I gestured with my chin toward a corner table where four guys in loud fishing shirts were getting progressively more animated. “You okay with them? They look like they’re about to get cut off.”

She gave the table a practiced glance, her expression unbothered. “They’re fine. All bark, no bite. Another round and they’ll be singing sea shanties. Annoying but harmless.” She turned her sharp eyes back to me. “Hey, you look a bit tired.”

I shrugged. “It’s Friday.”

Maria arched a dark brow. “Sure it is. Get some rest, boss.” With that, she was off, a blur of purpose and a tray loaded with fresh pints.

I ducked into the quiet sanctuary of my office.

The door clicked shut, muffling the din of the taproom to a distant hum.

My office was small, barely big enough for a desk, a couple of chairs, and a filing cabinet.

But it was mine, and it was a space of absolute order.

Invoices were stacked in neat piles. Brewing schedules and inventory sheets were pinned on a whiteboard in perfect alignment, along with my five-year plan.

This was the calm, logical center of my world.

My eyes landed on the single picture frame on my desk.

I picked it up and traced my thumb along the smooth edge of the wood.

It was from one of our semi-regular bonfires, the whole Coleridge clan gathered on the beach just south of the resort.

There was my sister, Harper, beaming with her husband, Chase, as they each held one of their newborn twins.

My brother, Austin, stood with his arm around Iris Holloway, a small smile on his face that was still a rare enough sight to register as a victory.

Ben, the oldest, stood a little to the side, ever the watchful observer.

And then there was Eli with one arm slung over his wife and the other around my shoulders, grinning his fool head off.

Paired off, all of them except Ben, in their own orbits of happiness and family.

And Ben was making determined strides into the future.

Then there was me, smiling for the camera, a remainder in the equation.

The photo sent a jolt of memory through me, pulling me back to a family bonfire just a week ago. The crackle of the flames, the smell of salt and burning pine, the comfortable weight of a beer in my hand. We were scattered in a loose circle of beach chairs.

Eli, ever the agent of casual chaos, had opened his mouth. “Could have sworn I saw Tessa Donovan at Island Market earlier.” His voice was casual and light, as if he were discussing the weather.

The s’more I’d been about to eat stopped halfway to my mouth.

A current shifted around the fire, the silent holding of breath from my siblings as their eyes flickered toward me.

In that instant, I was seventeen again and caught in a spotlight I didn’t want.

I forced a casualness I was nowhere near before constructing a fortress of logic out loud.

Tessa moved on to bigger and better things years ago, so there was no reason for her to be here.

It must have been a tourist. I tossed the half-melted s’more into the flames, made an excuse about getting back to work, and stomped away from the circle of worried faces before the questions could start.

When I’d gone back to work in a huff, her name hung in the air like a chemical change in my own molecules.

Tessa Donovan.

Now, as I stood in my office, the memory was unsettlingly close.

I set the photo back on the desk, my jaw tight.

For twelve years, I had perfected the art of not thinking about her.

I had convinced myself the story was over, that we’d both gotten what we wanted.

She got her big, important life saving the ocean one species at a time, and I got…

this. A successful business, the respect of my town, and a life I’d built with my own two hands.

She left me behind years ago, the voice in my head recited in a familiar, comforting mantra.

And I let her go. It was the right thing to do. She was meant for bigger things than a small-town boy trying to outrun his fear of not being enough. Hell, I’d even believed it.

But as I stood in my office with the sounds of the life I’d created humming through the wall, the defensive narrative I’d so carefully built was dangerously fragile.

I left the office and its memories behind, stepping back into the vibrant energy of the bar.

The night was winding down, the boisterous peak giving way to a more contented buzz.

My gaze swept the room and landed on Eli, holding court at the end of the bar with a couple of tourists who were hanging on his every word about a near-miss with a bull shark.

Classic Eli. He ran the resort dive shop and was our best and only scuba instructor.

Despite being an eternal smartass, there was no one I’d trust more with my life underwater.

He saw me, excused himself from his audience, and made his way over, snagging a clean glass as he came. “There he is. The man of the hour.”

I smirked. “What’d I do now?”

“Nothing, as usual, you lazy bastard.” Grinning, he hopped onto a stool.

He flashed a grin that mirrored my own, framed by messy blonde hair that was a few shades lighter than mine.

We even had similar blue eyes, though I liked to tell myself mine were the brighter, smarter pair.

“I, on the other hand, just locked in the final details for that big Scripps marine biology project. We’re providing full dive support for their team for the next three months. It’s a huge boost for the shop.”

He paused, his expression turning serious. “Listen, most of their survey work is early mornings. I’m going to be stretched thin. I could really use a hand running backup. You know the outer reefs as well as I do.”

The name Scripps landed like a stone, sinking through the easy surface of the night. The memory from the bonfire rushed in again. My posture tightened. “Scripps? Shit. You told me at the bonfire you thought you saw Tessa Donovan.”

Eli waved a dismissive hand, laughing it off as he poured himself a taste of the new Kolsch.

“Nah, man. I was three beers in. I’m sure you’re right.

It was just some redheaded tourist who looked like her.

Besides, I’ve been on the phone with their project manager for a month.

It’s Dr. Albright, who I guess is basically the king of coral ecology, and his two grad students.

That’s the team.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly, sympathy softening his eyes.

“No haunting flames from your past in sight, don’t worry. ”