Chapter 20
Jake
The cold morning air is harsh against my face as we unload some of the newly constructed benches from the truck. Kelly signed off on the installations a couple of days ago, and we’re finally ready to start constructing on site.
Ocean wind whips through the grassy field below the lighthouse, while waves crash against the rocks in the distance. I glance toward the bar under the lighthouse, now closed, its windows dark and shuttered for more than a year now. Harbor’s Edge hasn’t been the same since the hurricane and the oil spill.
My phone buzzes in my pocket again, and I check it quickly—it’s just my office manager, nothing from Adele, thank God. It was a battle to get her to school again, and these days every time my phone rings I’m expecting it to be her telling me she needs to be picked up and is sick or whatever excuse she’s giving not to be there.
Whatever is going on at school isn’t getting better, and I hate that I can’t fix it for her. But her birthday is coming up, and she seems happy about that at least—it’s just her closest girlfriends, and I guess that seems safe for her.
I shove my phone in my pocket and shift my focus back to the crew. We all work together, getting the benches lined up and ready for installation later in the week.
“Jake, you good?” Mark asks, coming up beside me.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just got a lot on my plate. Let’s keep going.”
We heft a bench together, muscles straining. My mind, though, is still elsewhere—on Adele, on everything we need to do for the festival, on Kelly, who’s been running herself ragged. I’ve been telling her not to worry so much about things being perfect, but this festival is more than just a project for her. And, truthfully, it needs to be a win for all of us.
Kelly arrives mid-morning, and the moment she steps out of her car, the whole site shifts. I should be focused on the crew, the work that needs doing, but all I can see is her. The way the morning sun catches in the hair falling over her shoulders, each strand glinting with hints of chestnut and ebony.
She inspects the benches and talks to the crew, her smile so easy and genuine. My gaze follows her, helpless to do anything else.
A few minutes later, she stops by the benches closest to me, bending down just slightly, and I can’t look away as her fingers trace the grain of the wood. Then she’s making her way toward me, and I quickly clear my throat, trying to pretend I wasn’t just standing there, drinking her in.
But as she gets closer, her scent drifts my way, soft and fruity, and any chance of playing it cool just goes out the window. “Hey. Everything’s on track.” I shove my hands in my pockets, and before I can stop myself, words just start tumbling out. “We, uh, should have all the installations on site by the end of the week. And, yeah, construction will take about another week, maybe a little more, depending on the weather, or you know, if we hit any snags with the materials…”
Her eyes hold this spark, and I catch myself staring at her, losing track of what I’m saying.
“Good.” Her gaze sweeps the site before locking onto mine. “You’ve done great so far. Your team is really efficient. But we can’t get complacent. We can’t afford any delays.”
There’s that determined look again, but there’s something else, too. She looks a little pale, her cheekbones more pronounced. I shift my weight, lowering my voice. “Are you doing okay? Are you taking care of yourself?”
“I’m fine,” she says lightly, glancing away. “Just a lot on my mind.”
We stand there for a moment, the air between us practically humming, thick with something charged and alive. Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, there’s just the two of us in this bubble where every tiny detail—her steady breathing, the way her lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks—feels electric.
I’m about to say something, anything to close the space between us, when my phone vibrates in my pocket, snapping the moment in two. I glance down, catching Patrick’s name flashing on the screen. All I want is to keep her here, in this charged space between us, but I better answer.
“Hang on a sec,” I say to Kelly, stepping aside and raising the phone. “What’s up, man?”
Patrick’s voice is tense on the other end. “I just got out of an emergency meeting with the mayor.” Patrick is the fire chief and often among the first to find out about issues impacting the town. “They’re predicting some serious winter storms coming our way, starting with some lightning storms in the coming days.”
He gives me a brief rundown of the meeting, the weather phenomenon that’s going to lead to a much colder, more severe winter, and none of it sounds good.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’re kidding. We just got this place back on its feet.”
“Yeah, well,” Patrick continues, his voice tense, “can you get word out to the other Valiant Hearts boys so they know what to expect? These first storms are going to be relatively mild, but it could get much worse.”
I glance out over the festival site, the ocean crashing against the shore behind us. The wind’s already picking up, colder than it should be for this time of year. Memories of the last hurricane and the oil spill flood back. Now this?
“I’ll let the boys know,” I say. “Do we need to call for volunteers?”
“Let’s see how bad the storms are over the next few days, but probably not. We’ll definitely need them when the snow hits, though.”
“Got it. Thanks for the heads-up, man.”
“Keep me updated,” he says before hanging up.
The Valiant Hearts—just a bunch of school friends who grew up together and somehow ended up becoming a team that people call on. We’re carpenters, firefighters, paramedics, guys with regular jobs, but when something goes wrong in Harbor’s Edge, we step up.
We set up the Valiant Hearts in memory of Danny Heart, our good friend who died in a fire. Danny was always the first to help, the first to think about others. Setting up a disaster response team in his honor was the best way to keep his legacy alive, so we’re out there helping where we can—because that’s what Danny would’ve done.
I pocket my phone and take a moment to collect my thoughts. The storm forecast is
a complication. With the festival preparations well under way, this is the last thing we need.With a quiet groan, I turn back to Kelly, trying to figure out how to break the news without adding to the weight I already see in her eyes. She’s standing by one of the benches, probably mentally measuring something, making sure it’s just right.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual but failing. “That was Patrick. They’re predicting a rough winter ahead. Nor’easters, high pressure over Greenland—cold air’s sticking around. There could be some pretty severe snow storms in the next few weeks.”
Kelly makes a face. “Great. Just what we need.”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Hey, we’ll get through it. The festival will still be great, even if we have to adapt.” I’m so close to her, and my pulse races like I’m a teenager all over again. “It’ll work out. You and me—we’re good at making things happen, remember?”
She presses her lips together. “I know.” But her voice is too calm. Too controlled.
I want to say something more, to reach out and pull her into my arms, comfort her and kiss away her stress. I don’t, but I want to.
Both of our phones buzz at the same time. I glance at mine, a notification from the mayor flashing on the screen. Perfect timing. I can practically see the stress roiling through Kelly.
She reads part of the message aloud, her voice tense. “Severe lightning storms expected over the next few days. Please take precautions.” She huffs, rubbing her forehead. “Well, that’s just great. I’m supposed to head out to the Pine Barrens tomorrow to scout the site for one of the festival attractions.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “You can always go after the storms. There’s no point in heading out if it’s dangerous.”
But she squares her shoulders, eyes flashing with that familiar stubbornness. “We can’t afford to fall behind, especially with the snow forecast. If we start slipping in the schedule now, everything will fall apart.”
“A few days won’t hurt.”
“A few days turns into a week or more. I’m sticking to my schedule.”
The way she says it stirs something protective in me. I get it—this festival is important to her. But it doesn’t sit right, her charging into a storm just to keep things on track. There’s no way she’s going alone. “Alright, I’ll come too.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine.”
I lean a hand on the counter, watching her closely. “You say that an awful lot.” The words land heavier than I meant, and she looks up, startled.
I shift, rubbing the back of my neck. Did I push too far? The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable, but the thought of her out there in the storm, alone, gnaws at me. “Look, I’m sure you’ll be fine. You always are. But I won’t be—not if I’m sitting here wondering if you’re okay out there.”
Her expression softens just slightly, but she doesn’t say anything, so I keep going. “I’m not letting you go alone. Not for your sake...” I pause, hesitating. With a small shrug, I let the words fall out. “But for mine.”
She blinks, caught off guard, and for a second, the space feels too still, like the air between us is holding its breath. For a minute I think she’s going to argue with me, but then her lips twitch, although she’s too stressed to crack a real smile. “Fine. We can take my car. Meet me at Town Hall tomorrow morning at nine.”
I almost tell her I’ll meet her earlier, just for a few extra minutes together. “Tomorrow, then.”
We walk toward her car, and I keep my pace slow, dragging out these last few moments. It’s strange how much everything between us has shifted. A couple of weeks ago, after that drunken hookup at the wedding, she wouldn’t have said more than two words to me.
Now we’re... something else. Not friends, exactly, but not enemies either. Maybe somewhere in between, in that messy space where things are unsaid but felt.
I open my mouth, about to say something, but stop myself. What the hell am I supposed to say? That watching her stress herself over this festival is killing me? That every time I’m around her, I’m walking on a knife’s edge between wanting to tear her clothes off and not trusting myself to maintain this professionalism we agreed to.
That I’ve loved her since I was a teenager, and every day since.
I promised myself I’d wait, that I’d earn her trust.
“Don’t worry too much, okay?” I finally say as we reach her car. “We’ll make it through these storms. The festival will still go ahead.”
Her eyes flicker to my mouth for the briefest second before she looks away. “Yeah. Sure. See you tomorrow.”
I watch her slide into the driver’s seat. She smiles at me once she shuts the door, but there’s something about the way her fingers grip the steering wheel. A moment later, she starts the engine and drives away, and I stand there, watching her disappear down the road.
Once she’s out of sight, I pull out my phone again, checking the weather update, taking in the mass of dense clouds and wind moving toward us. Turning back to my crew, I call out, “Alright, pack it up. We’ll head back to the workshop for now. Looks like the weather’s going to be bad for the next few days, and we’ve got some big storms on the horizon.”
But even as we start loading things into our vehicles, my mind’s still on Kelly. On her mouth, her beautiful face. On all the things I want to say.
If I had it my way, I’d have been in the passenger seat beside her. Hell, I’d be anywhere, as long as it’s with her. I can’t shake the pull of her, the way everything else fades when she’s in front of me, brighter and more radiant than the sun.