Chapter 2
Cooper Moss stood on the corner of Central Avenue, feeling like a ghost in a pair of expensive leather loafers.
The wrong shoes, too formal and pristine for the sandy sidewalks of Brookwell Island on this sunny afternoon.
He knew better and still hadn’t paused to change into his sneakers or flip-flops.
He’d been too intent on getting to the beach.
To the familiar caress of the Atlantic Ocean, so different from the Pacific coast where he’d spent the past seven years.
Where he’d expected to spend another three to five years, according to his carefully planned career schedule.
But here he was, forty years old, trying to distract himself from the unexpected disaster of losing his job.
Not through any fault of his own. Academia was as precarious as anything else these days.
The college had closed. Gone bankrupt. Overnight, the beautiful campus perched on the edge of the California coast was shut down, leaving students, professors, and staff scrambling to figure out a new way to reach their goals.
Sure, the generous severance package eased the sting, but it couldn’t erase the profound, hollow sense of displacement.
The majority of his peers were hyper-focused on applying for any open teaching opportunities.
And that was the logical move. A professor was meant to teach, after all.
Cooper loved being in the lecture hall as much as he enjoyed small group independent studies.
He found his greatest reward in those a-ha moments when things clicked for a student.
Surely, there would be more in his future?
But he hadn’t thrown himself into the job search.
No, Cooper had thrown his most treasured possessions into storage, listed his house with a property management agency, and embarked on a road trip across the country to the one place that he’d missed: South Carolina.
Specifically, Charleston and the local island beaches.
As he noted the signs for the beach access, he laughed at his foolishness. After moving from a summer post to his dream job, he’d learned the oceans were not interchangeable. Neither were the people.
One woman, in particular, still haunted his thoughts, though it was silly to think she’d still be around. Scarlett Evans had been destined for great things and he’d kept watching for her name to crop up in the expected places in academia or academic research.
It never had.
Maybe that was why he’d been drawn back to the area.
To learn what he could about where she’d gone.
Although big things were going on within, Charleston and the surrounding communities retained that small-town vibe.
It was tempting to give in to the feeling and ask about her, but the statistician in his head wouldn’t let him.
The numbers didn’t support such a foolish notion.
He had spent his life in the pursuit of logic, mathematical theory, and the orderly progression of a well-planned career.
Now he felt off-balance, incomplete. He had come back to the Lowcountry because it was the only place where the air felt ripe with happy memories that buoyed his spirit.
Seven years ago, an interim semester at the College of Charleston had led to a summer he still revisited in his sleep.
It had been a season of heatwaves and late-night debates with Scarlett, a brilliant, math-minded senior student who had challenged his cynical views on academia with her raw, unfiltered intellect.
With another annoyed glance at his shoes, he turned into the Palmetto Perk coffee shop.
It wasn’t the beach, but the caffeine boost would be welcome for unpacking once he reached his rental.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the glass door—his dark hair was showing silver at the temples, and the lines around his eyes were deeper.
From laughter as well as his recreational time outdoors hiking, surfing, and skiing.
No regrets over any of that. But his forehead was showing signs of intense concentration.
He couldn’t change that either.
Good grief, he had to stop wallowing. He was at a crossroads, that’s all. Life happened. So what if he was starting over unexpectedly? Pasting a smile on his face, he made the decision—again—to enjoy the month of vacation time.
At the counter, the barista’s gaze drifted upward and he could see her calculating. His height brought that assessing expression all the time.
“Welcome to the Perk. What can I get you, sir?” the barista asked, with that polite Southern charm he’d almost forgotten. Her name tag read, Willow.
Cooper scanned the menu and couldn’t work up enthusiasm for any of the special drinks.
“Just a black coffee,” he decided. As the barista poured, he noticed a stack of flyers by the register advertising the Brookwell Music Festival scheduled for the first weekend in August. “Is there a lot of live music on the island?”
“As much as we can get.” Willow rang up the sale and he handed her cash.
“Open mic nights at the Pelican Pub, usually once a week. Regional bands show up on the weekends so the locals can listen and have some input on who we invite to the festival. And Charleston has a wide variety of musical options too. Are you looking for something in particular?”
“Last time I was in the area, I found a few guitar players to hang out with. We had a great time. But that was in Charleston.”
Something flashed in the barista’s eyes. “If you like guitar, you should check out the Pelican Pub tonight. One of my friends will be on stage tonight. I swear she should be performing professionally.”
“Good to know.” Cooper nodded, pocketing his change.
“It’s open mic night,” she added. “If you’re so inclined.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” he admitted. Of course he’d brought his guitar, but performing for an audience wasn’t as easy as people wanted to believe. “And I need to unpack.”
“Either way, the Pelican is a great place to hang out and relax.”
“No dress code?”
The barista laughed. “Around here, ‘resort casual’ is about as fancy as it gets.” He must’ve looked as perplexed as he felt, because she explained. “For you that would mean a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts with a belt and boat shoes. But tonight, you’ll find more jeans, flip-flops, and tees.”
“Got it.” Some things were exactly the same on this side of the country.
“Where are you visiting from?”
He remembered this sort of gentle interrogation from his summer as an interim professor. He’d acclimated so quickly back then that the lack of genuine interest out west was another culture shock. “Northern California.”
“Well, I’m glad you found your way to Brookwell.” Her sincerity warmed him more than the coffee in his hand.
He smiled, taking it as a sign that this cross-country trek—outrageous according to his friends—was the right one. “Me too.”
Rather than risk any deeper inquiry, Cooper left the Palmetto Perk and continued to the beach.
Crossing the dunes at the boardwalk, he toed off his shoes and socks and rolled his pants up a bit.
What good was a beach walk that didn’t include some wading?
He loved the feel of the water rolling over his feet and tugging at him as it raced back to join the ocean.
He crossed the warm, loose sand down to the tideline, wading through the cool foamy edge of the waves until he found a spot that didn’t feel as if he was intruding on others.
Several families were on the beach today and he recognized the college spring-break groups too, by age and the music they were playing.
Somehow it all combined to make him feel older and isolated. Staring toward the horizon, he thought about where he was and what he wanted. He didn’t have a family. Hadn’t dated in months.
Wait. Months?
Annoyed with himself, he moved away from the water and sat down in the sand. After settling his coffee cup in the sand, he pulled out his phone, scrolling back through his calendar until he found a note of his last date—ten months ago.
Ten. Months. How had he let his social life fizzle away?
Sure, he was serious when it came to his students, prioritizing their needs.
But it wasn’t as if every student in his classes asked for extra help or needed his undivided attention.
It wasn’t as if there weren’t plenty of academic breaks in that time frame.
Where had he let that time go? He hadn’t been plotting a novel or researching a pet project.
He’d simply detached himself from his personal life without even realizing it.
Pathetic, but true.
But he had the power to change it. Right now.
Opening a dating app, he assessed his current profile with a critical eye. After tweaking a few details, he changed his location. Just because memories of an old flame brought him back to this area, there was no reason not to meet someone new for coffee… or even open-mic night at the Pelican.
Though he didn’t anticipate such a speedy response.
Feeling somewhat better for that small forward progress, he let himself enjoy the gentle beat of the ocean against the shore. The Atlantic Ocean was remarkably different from the Pacific and the gentle ease of the water today smoothed out the ragged edges from his trip.
He basked in the warm afternoon sunlight while pelicans glided through the sky, occasionally diving awkwardly to crash into the water for a meal.
He listened to the voices of other beachgoers, letting it blend into a soothing background track.
Gulls cried and wheeled, landing to scurry around the tidepools created as rippling waves retreated.
At some point, he had to find his rental and unpack.
Supposedly the bungalow was right on the marsh, with a dock that included a boat lift.
Not that he had a boat. Maybe he would rent one for a day, just for the experience.
He was hopeful that the scents and sounds of the marsh could recreate the same peaceful magic he’d discovered seven years ago.
And once he was settled, he could revisit the idea of open-mic night at the Pelican Pub.