CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CATHERINE
After helping me off the boat onto the small wooden dock, Elliot swiftly secures it to one of the posts with a bowline knot. We weave through the crowd and up the worn stairs until we’re swallowed whole by people, music, and light.
The bass hits so hard it feels like it’s moving through my ribs, turning my heartbeat into part of the song. I’d be overwhelmed in seconds if not for Elliot’s hand, warm and steady at the small of my back like it belongs there. Like I belong beside him.
Which is… a dangerous thought.
String lights hang overhead between tall poles, casting golden halos over bodies moving to the hypnotic EDM beat rolling in from the DJ booth farther down the shore. The whole beach looks like it’s breathing.
And I hate that my magic notices.
It always does this now, like it’s listening for something I can’t hear yet.
The song shifts, the bass line dipping into something deeper, slower, heavier. My skin prickles. Magic stirs beneath it, like it’s waking up, like it wants to answer.
Nope. Absolutely not. I am not doing spontaneous magical awakening in public with witnesses and probably liability.
I tighten my focus on walking in a straight line instead.
I’m not a dancer. I’m a quiet night, tea, book, and zero social interaction kind of person.
Or I was.
Before layoffs. Before Crescent Cove. Before Elliot showed up like a human anchor for every chaotic thing my life has become.
Before I started noticing things like how easily his hand fits against my back.
Which is bad. Objectively bad.
Because this is fake dating. A temporary arrangement. A magical-learning exchange with benefits-that-are-not-emotional-attachment.
And at the end of summer, I leave.
No long distance. No lingering looks. No whatever this almost-feeling is becoming.
“Come on, Cat. This way.” Elliot leans in just enough that his breath brushes my ear, warm and maddeningly casual, like he isn’t currently rearranging my nervous system. Then he turns sharply, guiding me away from the densest part of the party.
I should be relieved.
Instead, I feel oddly… disappointed.
What is wrong with me?
The crowd thins as we move farther down the beach.
Bonfires glow in scattered clusters, ringed with people laughing, shouting, passing drinks.
Someone—a fire witch, if I had to guess—makes a spark dance through the air while a cluster of beach crabs scuttle in a perfect circle as their friends cheer.
Okay. That’s kind of impressive.
I vaguely remember making animal-shaped bubbles with my water magic as a kid, but I’d dismissed that long ago as childish. Watching this witch perform her party tricks while her friends cheered her on felt… normal.
My stomach chooses that moment to betray me with a loud, embarrassing growl.
Perfect. Starving and developing questionable emotional attachments. Great combo.
The smell of street tacos drifts on the breeze and my brain short-circuits for a second. I realize the only things I’ve had today are coffee and two granola bars, and suddenly I would sell my soul for something fried and wrapped in a tortilla.
“There they are.” Elliot lifts a hand, pointing toward a group near the closest bonfire.
A cluster of people turn and wave back, and he starts toward them.
And just like that, his hand slips away from my back.
The absence is immediate. Sharper than it should be.
Which is ridiculous. We weren’t actually holding hands. We weren’t actually anything.
Just… acting.
Helping me.
I follow him anyway, smoothing my expression into something normal and functional while my brain insists on replaying the warmth of his palm like it’s important data.
Elliot greets them first—easy smiles, quick hugs, familiar laughter. He moves through them like he belongs in every room he enters.
“Catherine,” he says, turning back to me. “This is Liz, Mia, Atticus, and Kenneth.”
He gestures to each one like he’s done it a hundred times before. “This is the marine life rescue team I told you about.”
“Oh, please.” Mia rolls her eyes so hard it’s practically athletic. “Team is generous. We mostly argue with dolphins and lose.”
Atticus snorts. Kenneth raises his drink in silent agreement.
Liz steps forward, offering a bright smile. “It’s really nice to meet you, Catherine.”
“Please call me Cat.” The words leave me before I can stop them, and I immediately regret how formal I sound. Like I’m in a meeting. Like I haven’t been standing barefoot on a beach pretending my life isn’t currently on fire in multiple metaphorical ways.
When did I get awkward again?
I used to run presentations in front of entire boards without blinking.
Now I’m intimidated by people in flip-flops.
Elliot glances at me like he’s checking in without actually asking anything. That stupidly soft, attentive look he does sometimes. Like I matter. Like I’m not just a problem he’s temporarily helping solve.
Dangerous. Again.
“I’m going to grab drinks.” He’s already turning back toward the vendors when he pauses, peering at me over his shoulder. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I can come with—”
“Nonsense.” He cuts me off easily, like he knows I’ll argue. “Stay. Relax. You’re my guest.”
My guest.
Right. Fake dating. Protective act. Helpful coworker-adjacent witch situation.
Nothing else.
He steps closer again, too close, and reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. His fingers linger a second too long.
His thumb brushes my jaw, barely there, and my entire body forgets what language is. The party noise drops out for half a heartbeat. My breath catches.
Elliot’s eyes flick to my mouth.
Oh no.
Absolutely not.
This is where I should step back. Make a joke. Say something sarcastic and emotionally safe.
Instead, I tilt my chin up slightly.
Just enough.
A mistake. Definitely a mistake.
The air between us tightens like a pulled thread.
He leans in.
Closer.
And I swear I can feel the space between us collapse into something that is not fake anything.
Then he stops.
Like he remembers.
Like I remember.
Summer ends.
And when summer ends, I leave with it.
One kiss was enough to haunt my dreams every night. If I let myself keep kissing Elliot, I don’t think I could stop. I don’t know if I’d be able to choose between him and my future career.
He exhales softly, something unreadable crossing his face, then steps back like nothing happened at all.
“Something sweet, then,” I manage, my voice annoyingly steady considering my entire nervous system just tried to launch itself into the ocean.
His mouth quirks. “Something sweet for my little Wren.”
That nickname curls through me a little too easily.
Warm. Familiar. Possessive in a way I’m definitely not going to unpack.
He turns and walks away.
Sand shifts beneath his feet, leaving a trail behind him like he was never meant to stay.
Behind me, Liz’s voice drifts over, amused.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “We don’t bite…”
A pause.
“…Much,” she adds, staring pointedly at Mia.
I blink, forcing myself back into my body, back to the bonfire glow and the sound of waves and everything that is not the feeling of almost kissing someone I am absolutely not allowed to want.
“Good to know,” I reply faintly.
But my eyes still track Elliot.
And that is also a problem.
“So how did you snag Elliot? I haven’t seen him even attempt to date anyone since he first moved to Crescent Cove and hooked up with Selena’s cousin.” Mia turns curious eyes my way.
“I, uh, well.”
My brain scrambles for something—anything—that doesn’t sound like: Hi, I ran away from my entire life, accidentally reawakened dormant magic I don’t understand, nearly drowned twice, and now I’m emotionally dependent on the man who keeps pulling me out of the ocean like it’s part of his job description.
Which feels… too honest for a group of strangers I just met.
“We sort of met when I was walking my aunt’s dog on the beach,” I offer instead, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near mildly suspicious but fine.
I shrug and glance around the circle like maybe someone will rescue me from my own sentence.
“She got excited, I tripped near the tide line, and Elliot happened to be nearby. He pulled me out when the undercurrent got a little… enthusiastic.”
That’s normal. That’s a normal sentence.
No mention of the fact that I absolutely did not “just trip,” and the ocean very much tried to claim me like a debt collector.
“How romantic.” Atticus lets out a theatrical sigh, leaning back on his hands like he’s watching a soap opera unfold in real time. “I’d love it if a hunky sea daddy stepped out of the ocean and rescued me.”
I blink.
Once.
Slowly.
“I’m sorry—what kind of daddy?”
Mia snorts into her drink. Liz looks like she’s trying very hard not to laugh.
“Oh, is Cat telling you how I was out patrolling the beach and rescued her from an untimely meeting with Poseidon?” Elliot’s voice comes from behind me, far too amused to be trustworthy.
Of course he was listening.
He steps into view like he owns the shoreline, holding a sunset-colored drink that looks like it belongs in a magazine ad and not my increasingly chaotic life.
“I keep telling her she shouldn’t be searching for fictional men,” he adds lightly, handing me the cup, “when I’m right here.”
My fingers brush his when I take it.
Bad idea.
Heat flares up my arm like my body has decided to betray me on principle.
I take a sip too fast just to have something to do and immediately regret it when the sweetness hits wrong in my throat.
“Poseidon?” I cough, turning away from everyone, hacking like I’ve personally offended the ocean. “You told them Poseidon?”
Elliot’s hand lands between my shoulder blades, steadying me with infuriating calm.
“You’re supposed to drink your cocktail, not inhale it.”
“And you’re supposed to not embellish my near-death experiences,” I hiss back once I can breathe again. “Also, I do not simp over Poseidon.”
“Good to know,” Mia murmurs, eyes bright with delight.
Elliot leans closer, his voice dropping just enough that it stops feeling like he’s performing for the group and starts feeling like it’s just for me.
“You prefer your men warm-blooded, then?”
There’s something in his tone—playful, yes, but threaded with something sharper beneath it. Like he already knows the answer. Like he’s testing me anyway.
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Which is humiliating.
Because my brain has suddenly decided to replay every time he’s touched my back like it means something. Every time he’s pulled me out of danger like it means more. Every time I’ve looked at him too long and had to look away first.
I should say something witty.
Something safe.
Instead, I just stare at him.
“Taco?”
“What?” My brows pinch together as I try to catch up with him.
Elliot simply lifts his other hand like it’s evidence in a very important case, and the smell hits me a second later—warm grilled meat, cilantro, lime, something smoky and unfairly good.
My stomach basically applauds.
“What would you do without me?” he asks with a grin, as though he hasn’t just committed a small act of heroism in the form of street-food procurement.
Then he places the taco in my hand like it’s something delicate. Like it matters.
Like I matter.
Which is… a very bad line of thinking. I should probably stop that.
“Probably starve,” I mutter.
“That’s what I thought.”
I glare at him, but it doesn’t land properly because I’m already taking a bite.
And—
Oh.
Okay.
That is unfairly good. Like ruin-my-relationship-with-all-other-food good. The flavors hit all at once—bright lime, heat, salt, something I can’t even name but suddenly feel emotionally attached to.
I let out an embarrassing moan I hope no one hears.
Elliot watches me like he’s waiting for something. Not approval exactly. More like… confirmation. Like seeing me enjoy it is the point.
“You’re staring,” I mumble around a mouthful, because apparently I have no self-control left.
“Am I?” he counters easily.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t even look away. “I’m observing.”
“That’s still staring.”
“That’s not how observation works, Cat.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but it’s hard to commit to intimidation when I’m actively being seduced by a taco.
His friends drift into quieter conversation behind us, their voices blending into the crackle of the bonfire and the ocean’s steady hush. The world should feel crowded. Loud. Overwhelming.
Instead, it feels weirdly… narrowed.
Like everything keeps pulling back to him.
Elliot shifts slightly, just enough that his shoulder is closer to mine. Not touching. Not quite. Still close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the air between us.
Which is ridiculous. I should not be aware of that. At all.
I take another bite too quickly just to have something else to focus on.
Bad strategy. Worse timing.
Because when I glance up, he’s laughing at something Kenneth said off to the side, and it hits me—unfairly—how it changes his whole face.
The way his dimples show up as though they’ve been waiting for permission.
The way the corners of his eyes crinkle, like he’s not just handsome in a distant, abstract way, but alive in a way that makes it hard to look away.
And I don’t.
That’s the problem.
I don’t look away fast enough.
My stomach does something stupid and unfamiliar, like it’s dropped out from under me and decided to float somewhere behind my ribs instead.
I remind myself firmly that this is fake dating.
That he’s been helping me.
That I am leaving.
That I do not do long distance. That I do not do complications. That I do not do this feeling I am currently experiencing while holding a taco like it’s suddenly the most important object in the universe.
Elliot glances back at me mid-laugh, catching me staring.
Something flickers across his face.
Just slightly.
Like he noticed something too.
And for a second, neither of us says anything over the sound of the waves and the fire and the music bleeding faintly from somewhere down the beach.
Then I look down at my taco as though it suddenly requires my full attention.
Because it does.
Obviously.
“Wren—”
“Elliot!” a feminine voice calls from behind me and I freeze, the taco going cold in the pit of my stomach.