CHAPTER SEVEN #2
The patio is warm and bright, the sun hitting at just the right angle to start drying the damp fabric clinging to my skin. I drop into a chair, Gin immediately settling at my feet, her tail thumping happily against the concrete.
Elliot sets the drinks down and pulls out the chair across from me.
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper to Gin as she looks at the two plates.
She lowers her head between her paws, the picture of innocence.
As if she wasn’t already plotting to steal my food the moment I got distracted. She didn’t know any better that chocolate was bad for dogs. Or that I wasn’t sharing my croissant with anyone.
Even the handsome man who hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
“So,” he asks, sitting down and wrapping his hands around his coffee, “what brings you to Crescent Cove, Cat?”
“It’s Catherine. And not that it’s any of your business.” I blow across the top of my macchiato.
Then, after a beat, “I’m here for the summer. Dog-sitting for my aunt.”
Silence stretches between us as he leans back in his chair.
I glance at him. “What about you?”
“I live here.” He gives a small shrug. “Work at the marine animal rescue. Have for about a decade.”
Of course he does.
Why wouldn’t he be some kind of ocean-saving, animal-rescuing local hero?
“Wow,” I mutter. “Like a real-life Aquaman?”
I raise a brow, but curiosity slips in anyway before I can stop it.
“How’d you get into that?”
I immediately regret asking.
I do not need to know more about this man. His ocean job. His stupid dimple.
I am only here for the summer.
This was supposed to be a quick coffee. A change of scenery. Time to fix my résumé. Send out applications. Get my life together.
Not… whatever this is.
And definitely not him.
“I’ve always been interested in the ocean,” he replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “When I was studying for my marine biology degree, I just… knew. This is what I wanted to do.”
He takes a long pull from his coffee like it wasn’t a life-defining decision, just something that happened to him the way tides come and go. His eyes never quite leave mine over the rim of the cup.
“Okay,” I say slowly, tilting my head. “But why Crescent Cove?”
“Why not?” He sets his cup down with a soft tap and leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. “The job was here. I took it.”
His gaze sharpens. “Why are you so interested?”
“I’m not.” The denial comes too quickly. “I’m just making polite conversation.”
“Uh-huh.”
I look down at my drink, watching the swirl of cream dissolve into the coffee.
“You’re really bad at that, by the way.”
“At what?”
“Pretending you’re not curious.” That dimple flashes again. “You ask questions like you’re collecting evidence.”
“I do not.”
“You do. And you deflect like it’s a professional sport.”
I huff. “Wow. You read people for a living too, or is that just a fun side hobby?”
“Occupational hazard. Animals are easier. People lie more.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“Good thing I’m not lying, then.” I lift my cup and take a sip.
“Didn’t say you were.”
But he doesn’t look convinced.
“So,” he continues, leaning back in his chair, studying me like I’m something he hasn’t quite figured out yet. “What do you do, Cat? Granddaughter of the esteemed Prescotts. You know everyone around here still talks about your family like they built the place.”
“That was a long time ago,” I cut in. “Only my aunt lives here now.”
“And you?” he presses, softer this time. “What do you do when you’re not visiting for the summer?”
I hesitate.
“I work in marketing,” I answer after a beat. “Corporations. Conferences. Launches.”
“Sounds intense.”
“It is.” I shrug. “But I like it.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You don’t sound like you do.”
I let out a short laugh. “Do you always psychoanalyze people over coffee?”
“Only the interesting ones.”
Heat crawls up my neck.
“I’m just here for the summer,” I repeat, more firmly. “Helping my aunt. Watching Gin. Taking a break.”
“A break from what?”
“From my life,” I snap.
Silence drops between us.
“Must’ve been one hell of a job,” he says quietly.
“You have no idea.”
Too honest.
I stand abruptly, draining the last of my coffee before shoving the uneaten croissant into my bag.
“Thanks again.” I sling my purse over my shoulder. “You really didn’t have to.”
“Cat—”
I wrap Gin’s leash around my wrist. “Come on, Gin.”
She gets up reluctantly, tail giving one last hopeful wag in his direction before following me.
I make it two steps off the patio.
“Catherine.”
Something in his voice stops me.
Not loud. Not forceful.
But certain.
I turn, just slightly. “What?”
He’s already standing now, one hand braced on the back of his chair, the other still holding his coffee like he forgot to set it down. His gaze is locked on me, too intent, too knowing.
For a second, he doesn’t say anything.
The air shifts.
A faint, electric pressure prickles along my skin like the moment right before a storm breaks.
The wind stirs.
Just enough to lift the edges of the napkins on the nearby tables. Just enough to ripple the surface of the untouched water glasses.
His eyes flick not to me, but to the condensation sliding down the side of my abandoned cup.
The droplet trembles.
Then shoots sideways.
My breath catches.
He sees it.
Of course he sees it.
His gaze snaps back to mine, something sharp and unmistakable flashing there now.
“Earlier,” he says slowly, carefully, like he’s testing each word before letting it out, “in the café… and just now. The night at the ocean, the tides—”
“No,” I cut in.
Too fast. Too defensive.
His mouth tightens, like that told him everything he needed to know.
“Cat,” he tries again, quieter this time, stepping closer. “You don’t just—”
“I said no.” My pulse hammers now, heat crawling up my spine. “It’s faulty plumbing. Old pipes. Small-town problems. The freaking ocean, for goddess’s sake.”
The lie sounds ridiculous even to me.
His gaze drops briefly to my hands, to the faint tremor in my fingers, to the way the air around me feels just a little too charged.
Then back to my face.
“You’re telling me”—his voice drops lower—“that pipes explain why it feels like standing next to a live wire every time you walk into a room?”
My stomach drops.
“Maybe that’s a you problem,” I shoot back, forcing a tight smile. “You said it yourself. You read into things.”
Emotion flickers across his expression—frustration, curiosity… something deeper. Golden flecks flash briefly in the dark brown of his eyes like a wild animal surfacing beneath the man.
But he doesn’t push again.
Even though his gaze is full of questions he isn’t asking.
“Right.” The word lands heavily between us.
But I can tell he doesn’t believe me.
Not even a little.
Do I even believe myself?
I take another step back, tightening my grip on Gin’s leash.
“I’m only here for the summer,” I insist, like that explains everything. Like that’s a boundary he shouldn’t cross.
Something in his jaw shifts.
“Yeah.” His gaze stays locked on mine. “I’m starting to get that.”
I turn before he can say anything else, before I can second-guess myself. Gin trots beside me as I step off the patio and into the sunlight, my heart still racing, skin buzzing like I walked straight out of a lightning strike.
I don’t look back.
Even though I can feel his eyes on me.
Even though part of me wants to.
Because letting this turn into something, letting him see too much…
That wouldn’t just break his heart.
My chest tightens as I walk away.
It would break mine too.