Sheer Love (Cherry Falls #2)

Prologue

KENNA

“Kenna, if you stare at that list any longer, it’s gonna catch on fire,” Rina says, leaning over my shoulder.

“It’s not that deep,” I mutter, scanning the grocery note my mom shoved into my hand. “She wants peaches and strawberries. Who even eats that much fruit?”

Natalie snorts. “Your mom. The woman who makes smoothies that taste like regret and spinach.”

We all laugh, the sound mixing with the lazy hum of a summer afternoon. It’s the kind of day Cherry Falls is famous for—sunlight dripping through the trees, cicadas screaming like they’re in a competition, and that sweet smell of asphalt and ice cream melting too fast.

Rina tugs on my sleeve. “Okay, boring errands are done. Beach later?”

“Can’t,” I say, shifting the paper bag in my arms. “My brothers’ll freak if I’m not home by dinner. Again.”

Natalie groans dramatically. “Kenna, you’re fourteen, not four. Tell Asher and Reuben to chill.”

I smile, but it feels half-hearted. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

We split at the corner—Rina and Nat heading toward the park, me toward the market. The quiet feels heavier once they’re gone, like the air itself exhales.

The market hums with small-town rhythm: the squeak of wooden crates, the soft thud of peaches being set out, the smell of sun-warmed fruit curling through the air. I grab a basket and move through the aisles, pretending I know what I’m doing.

I’m inspecting a pile of peaches when a familiar voice breaks through the hum.

“Didn’t peg you for a market girl.”

I turn, and there he is.

Cole Parker, leaning against the fruit stand, hands in his pockets, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

His hair’s sun-bleached and a little too long, the kind that probably annoys teachers but looks perfect anyway.

There’s something easy about the way he stands—like the world never rushes him.

“Hey,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “What, do I not look like someone who buys fruit?”

He grins. “You look like someone who avoids it.”

I laugh softly. “That’s fair. I’m just running errands for my mom. She’s on a smoothie kick again.”

“Ah, the famous smoothie phase.” He steps closer, picking up a peach and turning it in his hand. “So what’s the verdict—are these any good?”

I shrug. “No clue. I’m just going for the ones that smell like summer.”

He leans in slightly, mock serious. “Summer smells like sunscreen and saltwater. Not fruit.”

“Depends who you ask,” I say, taking the peach from him and holding it up to my nose. “This one smells like my mom’s backyard in July.”

His smile softens. “That’s a good answer.”

We move to the next stand, the one overflowing with berries. The air here smells sweeter, stickier. He plucks a strawberry and twirls it by the stem.

“These,” he says, “are the best. Always strawberries.”

I arch a brow. “No way. Raspberries win every time.”

“Too tart.”

“They’re supposed to be tart. It’s character.”

He chuckles. “Strawberries have balance. They’re sweet, but not too sweet.. Reliable.”

“Wow, deep analysis. You talk about fruit like it’s philosophy.”

“Maybe it is.” He looks at me, half-grin, half-serious. “People show who they are in what they like.”

I tilt my head. “And what does that say about you?”

“That I like things that last.”

My breath catches a little, and I look down, pretending to inspect the raspberries. “And me?”

He pretends to think, eyes glinting. “Raspberries, huh? That tracks.”

“How?”

“They look delicate, but they hold their shape. Sweet when you least expect it.”

I don’t know what to say to that. So I don’t. The silence stretches, soft and weightless. The market sounds fade into a blur—voices, footsteps, the buzz of summer.

Finally, I mumble, “You’re kind of poetic for a guy arguing about fruit.”

He laughs quietly. “Don’t tell anyone.”

I can’t help not smiling. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He glances toward the street. “You heading home?”

“Eventually.”

“You should come to the shore first. It’s quiet down there. You can see the sunset from the rocks.”

I hesitate. My brothers’ voices flicker in the back of my mind—warnings, rules, the usual protective noise. But Cole doesn’t feel dangerous. He feels steady. Curious. Real.

“Sure,” I say. “I’ve never been.”

He nods, like he expected that. “Then let’s fix it.”

He takes a step toward the road, and I follow, the sound of the market fading behind us. His hand brushes mine once—not enough to mean anything, but enough that my heart skips anyway.

The paper bag rustles between us, the faint scent of fruit rising in the warm air.

Raspberries. Strawberries. Summer.

It feels like the beginning of something, though I don’t have a name for it yet

The road to the shore curves behind the market, a narrow path lined with wild grass and Queen Anne’s lace. The sun’s slipping lower, that golden-hour kind of light where everything feels softer—like the world’s been holding its breath just for you.

Cole walks a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, kicking at pebbles. Every so often he glances back, just to make sure I’m still there.

“So,” he says, “how come I’ve never seen you down here before?”

I shrug, adjusting the paper bag in my arms. “My brothers think the shore’s too dangerous.”

He smirks. “What, they think I’m hiding down there waiting to cause trouble?”

“Maybe,” I tease. “You do have a bit of a reputation.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips low with a laugh. “What kind?”

“The kind that makes small-town moms whisper your name like it’s a warning.”

He looks at me sideways, grinning. “You believe them?”

I think about it for a second. The easy way he talks. The careful way he matches his pace to mine. The way he handed me strawberries like they were something sacred.

“No,” I say finally. “Not really.”

He smiles—not his usual lopsided grin, but something smaller. Realer. “Good.”

We reach the edge of town where the asphalt turns to dirt. The ocean’s scent hits first—salt and something wild. The sound follows, waves folding into the shore like a slow heartbeat.

When the view opens up, I stop walking.

The water stretches. Endless gold spilling across its surface. The horizon looks painted, blurred at the edges, like the world hasn’t decided where to end yet.

“Wow,” I whisper.

Cole glances at me instead of the ocean. “Told you it’s better from down here.”

I drop the paper bag on the sand and slip off my shoes. The sand’s still warm, soft under my toes. “It’s… peaceful.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That’s why I come here. When everything else gets loud.”

I look at him. “Does it get loud a lot?”

He hesitates, then nods. “Sometimes.”

There’s a pause that doesn’t feel awkward, just full. Like the kind of silence that understands more than words could.

I reach into the bag and pull out a raspberry. “You ever notice how everything tastes better outside?”

He laughs softly. “That a scientific fact?”

“Absolutely,” I say, popping the raspberry into my mouth. “Peer-reviewed and everything.”

He sits beside me, close enough that his knee almost brushes mine. He pulls out a strawberry, holds it between his fingers for a second, then eats it.

“Well, for the sake of science…” He smiles faintly. “Yeah. You might be right.”

We sit there, eating fruit and watching the sun slide lower, trading quiet stories—about school, about his dog that runs away every other day, about the paintings I never show anyone. The kind of conversation that flows too easily, like it’s been waiting for years to happen.

When we reach the boulders, we settle there, close but not too close. The ocean hums in the background, steady and alive.

“So,” he says, glancing at me, “what do you do when you’re not buying fruit or dodging your brothers?”

I laugh softly. “I paint.”

“Yeah? What kind?”

“Landscapes, mostly. Faces sometimes, but I mess them up. People are harder than trees.”

He looks at me for a long second, eyes soft. “I think you’d be better at faces than you think.”

Something in my chest stirs. Maybe it’s the way he says it—like he actually means it. Like he’s seeing me.

I want to say something smart, but all that comes out is a quiet, “Thanks.”

The sun starts to dip, the sky bleeding orange and pink, and it hits me how surreal this all feels. Like I blinked and stepped into a different version of my life. One where I’m not invisible. One where someone finally noticed.

He leans back on his elbows, still watching the waves. “You’re quiet,” he says.

“Just thinking,” I admit.

“About what?”

“About how weird it is,” I say slowly. “How one random day can end up mattering more than all the others.”

Cole turns his head toward me. “You think today’s one of those days?”

I meet his eyes. They catch the sunset, turning soft and silver.

“I don’t know,” I say, smiling a little. “But something tells me it is.”

Cole studies me for a long moment, like he’s trying to read what I mean between the words. The same feeling washes over me as we sit in comfortable silence.

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice quiet but sure. “Me too.”

The tide rolls in closer, foam curling around the rocks near our shoes. I pull my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them, and sneak a glance at him. He’s watching the horizon, wind ruffling his hair, sun slipping behind his shoulders like it’s setting just for him.

He doesn’t look like the same Cole I’ve always known—the loud one, the funny one, the one who my brothers talk about like he’s part of their world, not mine. Here, he seems… different. Softer. Realer, somehow.

“You ever think about leaving Cherry Falls?” he asks, still staring at the water.

“All the time,” I admit. “Not forever, just… long enough to see what’s past it.”

He smiles faintly. “Yeah. Same.” After a pause, “But I kinda like it here right now.”

That shouldn’t make my heart skip, but it does.

We sit there until the sun is almost gone, talking about everything and nothing—the weird old man who feeds the ducks at the pond, the way school feels too small, how the air smells different before it rains.

He tells me about the time he and Asher tried to build a treehouse and ended up breaking two hammers and one window.

I tell him about how I paint when I can’t sleep, how colors feel like a language sometimes.

Somewhere between the laughter and the quiet, something shifts.

Cole glances down at me, his expression softer now. “You’re not like other people here,” he says.

I roll my eyes a little. “That’s what everyone says before calling me weird.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “No. Not weird. Just… real.”

It’s such a simple word, but it hits somewhere deep. Because no one’s ever called me that before.

I look back out at the water, but I can feel him still watching me. My face is warm, and I’m sure he can tell. The sun’s gone now, but everything still glows—the sky, the water, him.

For a while, neither of us says anything. We just sit there, toes buried in the sand, waves licking closer with each minute. Then Cole shifts, close enough that our shoulders almost touch.

“You cold?” he asks.

“Not really,” I whisper, but goosebumps rise on my arms anyway.

He chuckles softly. “You’re a bad liar, Sunshine.”

The nickname hits differently this time—gentler, like a secret he’s letting me in on. He pulls his hoodie over his head and tosses it toward me. “Here.”

I blink. “What about you?”

“I’ll survive,” he says easily. “Besides, you look like you need it more.”

I slide it on. It’s too big. The sleeves swallow my hands, the collar smells faintly of salt, lemon, mint, and a flower I can’t quite name. The fabric’s warm against my skin, but it’s not the hoodie that makes me feel it—it’s him.

Cole leans back again, eyes tracing the stars just beginning to peek through the sky. “You ever think about moments?” he asks suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… how you never know which ones are gonna matter until they already do.”

I think about the heat in the air, the sand sticking to my ankles, the sound of his voice blending with the ocean. I think about how this moment feels both ordinary and huge at the same time.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I think about that a lot.”

He turns to look at me, and for a second, everything goes still. Just me, him, the hum of the waves, and that pull in my chest that I don’t have words for yet.

His hand shifts in the sand, closer—close enough that his pinky brushes mine. It’s the smallest touch, barely there, but it sends a rush through me that I’ll remember forever.

Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. It’s like the whole world is holding its breath.

And in that quiet, I know.

I know this isn’t just a normal summer day.

I know that somehow, everything has just changed—even if I can’t explain why yet.

I glance at him, heart thrumming, and say, almost to myself,

“I know it may sound crazy… but something inside me tells me this day’s one to remember.”

Cole smiles, soft and a little crooked. “Then I guess we’d better not forget it,” he says.

And just like that, the world exhales again.