Chapter 4
Chapter Four
TESSA
I was not cyberstalking my ex.
I sat at the kitchen table of my rental as morning birds twittered outside, laptop balanced on a stack of tide charts like a makeshift lectern. The glow from the screen cut across the maps in thin blue light. I told myself I was doing due diligence. Strictly professional.
Tidal Hops’s website was clean—good branding, bright photos that made the brewery’s stainless-steel tanks look like cathedral arches.
At the top of the page, a headline from a lifestyle magazine declared Braden The Unlikely Craft King of the Keys.
Braden’s face dominated the frame, sleeves rolled, holding a glass up to the light like he was investigating a new species.
He wore a small, sideways smile that was heavy on confidence.
I clicked further. Instagram showed a stream of images—brass taps glinting, Braden speaking on a makeshift stage at a fundraising event at the pub, a flyer boasting a benefit for the ocean.
I kept scrolling because an internet search was a small, controllable risk.
Not the same as walking into his taproom and watching him move through his life in real time.
Words scrolled past—vision, founder, built it from the ground up.
There were candid shots of him and his staff, tourists standing around a table under string lights, reviews filled with grateful, ecstatic emojis.
Threads of comments from locals praising him and tourists recommending him.
The internet search rewired something inside me into a string of new facts. The seventeen-year-old I’d left in the rearview mirror clashed with this adult who ran a business with PR polish and trivia nights.
Pride surged through me, quickly followed by something colder—the old, sensible story of why I’d left town. Seeing Braden Coleridge on the other side of my decision made me question both my choices and the narrative I had been clinging to.
I closed the laptop on his handsomely smiling face.
Enough. I needed to get out of this townhouse and back to the tangible world of my work.
But as I mentally ran through my prep list, a problem snagged.
The plastic sample vials I’d been supplied were flimsy.
One good knock and they’d crack, ruining a whole data set.
For the delicate work I had planned, I needed reinforced ones that could withstand pressure changes.
It was a small detail, but one that could affect the integrity of the project.
I needed to find them before morning. Rising to my feet, I left my tan abode and headed out.
A walk down Main Street would do me good anyway.
The air inside Camden Marine Supply was a familiar, comforting blend of rubber and the clean scent of new rope.
It was a place where every problem had a practical solution, neatly organized in bins.
A woman with sun-bleached blonde hair stood behind the counter with her back to me, talking on the phone while effortlessly untangling a snarl of fishing line.
“No, Dad, the order for the Yamaha fuel filters came in yesterday. I logged it myself. Check your email.” Her voice held a mix of exasperation and deep affection.
She hung up the phone with a sigh and turned, a wry smile already on her face.
Her smile froze when we made eye contact. Her hazel eyes widened in recognition.
“No way. Tessa Donovan in the flesh?”
A laugh escaped me, a sound of pure surprise. “Lila Camden. Good to see you again. Guess I shouldn’t be too surprised to see you here.”
She came around the counter in a flash and wrapped me in a hug that smelled faintly of WD-40. It was the kind of hug that assumed no time had passed at all. “What are you doing here? I thought you were off saving the world’s most glamorous coral reefs.”
“Right now I’m just trying to save my data from cheap plastic.” I held up one of the flimsy vials I’d brought with me. “I’m leading a Scripps project here for a few months, and I need a rush order of reinforced sample vials. The five-milliliter ones, if you have them. I was hoping you could help.”
“Oooh! You’re part of the Scripps team? That’s amazing, Tessa.
” Lila’s eyebrows shot up. When she took the vial, her expression shifted instantly into professional competence.
“Yeah, we’ve got these. Back here.” She led me toward the back of the store, pushing through a hanging curtain of bright orange life jackets.
“So, a big-shot scientist at last, huh? This seems like a pretty major project. And here I am, still telling my dad to check his email.”
We fell into the easy rhythm that used to make our lunches last all afternoon in high school.
Her family had owned Camden Marine Supply for generations.
We’d kept in touch over the years, texts and Facebook Messages, but nothing beat catching up face to face.
Lila finished ringing up the vials and leaned on the counter, her smile softening.
“Seriously, though. How are you? Coming back here... it can’t be easy. ”
“It’s motivating,” I corrected. “I’m seeing some patchy bleaching on the north ridge. It’s the kind of early warning sign we might be able to act on if we move quickly.”
Her gaze was steady, full of an understanding that went beyond words. “You always saw things on the reef nobody else did. Even in high school, you were the one pointing out the specific corals that were thriving while the rest of us just saw pretty colors.”
A small, determined smile touched my lips. “A lot of good it did. I left.”
“You went and got the tools to protect it. That’s why you came back, right? To use them.” She slid a pack of waterproof note cards across the counter. “For the data, and it’s on the house. Don’t let the ocean eat your homework.”
We laughed, then she leaned in, conspiratorial. “So. The inevitable question. Have you seen Braden? Been to Tidal Hops?”
I tried for an even expression. “I saw some social media posts about the brewpub. It looks successful.”
“It’s fabulous. Braden’s got a real thing going.
It’s a fun place, modern without being pretentious or hipster.
Plus, he does charity nights for island causes.
Full disclosure—he gifted us a keg last month for a cleanup crew, and I’m still accepting his generosity.
” She made a small bow with mocking reverence.
“Sounds like he’s done well for himself.” The old prickle skittered through me—something like vindication, then shame. “He was at the marina yesterday, making a delivery.”
“You saw him?” Lila’s eyebrows rose.
“Not really—” I started, then groaned. “I saw him and I fell off the dock.”
She cackled, utterly delighted. “You? Fell in? Classic Tessa move. Never change.”
“I did my best to be dignified.”
“About as dignified as a turtle wriggling on its back.” She reached for mugs and poured two coffees.
From there, we slid into a catching-up that was less like filling gaps and more like placing missing tiles into a mosaic.
Lila updated me on new boating license regulations and which local fishermen still trusted electronics versus those who swore by their grandfathers’ methods.
She spoke about the community with an intimate, unvarnished knowledge that only comes from belonging to something for a long time.
“Well, I’m glad you’re back.” Lila put a hand on my arm.
“It was great to see you. Let’s get together soon, okay? I might need a friend over the next few months.”
I left Camden Marine Supply with a bag of sample vials in one hand and a feeling of being unexpectedly seen in the other.
Lila’s easy laughter and her unwavering belief that I could actually fix things echoed in my head, a stark contrast to my mother’s talk of stepping stones and more prestigious addresses.
I’d walked into that shop on a simple errand and walked out feeling like a part of myself I’d packed away a decade ago had been handed back to me.
The sun pressed on my shoulders as I walked under the fragrant hanging baskets of Main Street, the heat radiating up from the sidewalk.
The air was thick with the sweet, yeasty smell of baking bread from Sweet Dreams Bakery.
For the first time since I’d arrived, I wasn’t just observing Dove Key like a scientist cataloging a foreign ecosystem.
I was breathing it in. The familiar crack in the sidewalk still existed in front of Island Market, the one that always used to snag the wheel of my bicycle.
The faded mural of a leaping marlin remained on the side of the old hardware store.
A stroller the size of a small vehicle, expertly navigated by a woman with a familiar sweep of chestnut hair, emerged from the shade of the Bookshop in Paradise awning.
I recognized Harper Coleridge immediately.
She had a baby strapped to her chest in a sling, and another was in the stroller, chubby legs kicking with furious energy.
She looked tired and radiant all at once.
And Ben stood next to her, the two of them chatting.
There was no avoiding them. I took a breath and walked forward, my professional composure sliding into place like a shield.
Harper saw me first. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, followed by a polite yet friendly smile. It was the friendly but reserved acknowledgment of someone with a long and complicated history. Someone like me.
“Tessa,” she said, her smile remaining. “I heard you were in town leading the Scripps project. Welcome back.”
“Hi, Harper. Ben.” I gave a small nod, my gaze taking in the two sleeping infants. “Twins? Congratulations. They’re beautiful.”
“They’re tiny tyrants who run on milk and chaos,” she said, a touch of warmth entering her eyes. “But Chase and I are keeping them.”
My eyes drifted to the patch on Ben’s sleeve. EMT. “Looks like so much has changed. Congrats to you too, Ben. EMT is a big deal.”
“He’s not just an EMT anymore.” Harper’s voice swelled with unmistakable pride. “He’s in the paramedic program.”
Ben’s neck flushed, but he stood a little straighter. “Still in training. A lot to learn, but I’m working on it.”
“Good for you, Ben.” I understood the dedication required for a demanding, all-consuming field, spending nights wrestling with textbooks and protocols, driven by a passion that most people didn’t grasp. Exhaustion lingered in his eyes, but beneath it burned the steady light of clear purpose.
He met my gaze, and in that moment, a silent acknowledgment passed between us. He wasn’t the angry, slightly frightening guy I’d known before. He was a man fighting for something, just like me.
“So you’re here for a while?” he asked.
“Three months, maybe. Depends on funding, grants, and how many riots the coral wants to stage.”
“Eli told us you’re looking at the bleaching on the north ridge,” he said. “If I weren’t so buried with this program and work, I’d offer to volunteer. Help with the grunt work.”
“I appreciate that,” I replied, touched by the offer. “If you dig yourself out, just let me know.”
A small smile touched his lips.
“Well,” Harper said, her tone shifting back to polite briskness as she rocked the stroller. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around, Tessa. It’s a small island.”
“I’m sure,” I agreed.
I walked away from them, the bag from Camden Marine Supply suddenly heavy in my hand. It was filled with the tools of my trade, symbols of the life I had built for myself. A life of academic rigor, prestigious grants, and a future gleaming with the promise of the Great Barrier Reef.
As I walked the last blocks home, the town settled into me like a tide settling shells into sand. A guy painted a fence and waved. Kids rode bikes in small, zigzagging lines. The Corner Scoop’s OPEN sign flickered like a friendly heart.
The warmth of my encounter with Lila and my interaction with Harper and Ben lingered. The people who stayed here didn’t settle. They chose. They built. They thrived.
Now the island felt like a place where I might do real work and belong while doing it.
My internal conflict was no longer just about a boy I’d left behind over a decade ago.
It was about an entire life I had chosen to walk away from.
The professional equipment in my hand was solid and real, a symbol of my success.
But for the first time, I wondered if it was enough.