Chapter 3 Unanswered Questions
Unanswered Questions
She stood at the bathroom mirror, curling her hair half-heartedly as the girls shouted dinner ideas from the other room.
But her focus kept drifting. Her chest tightened like it always did when you wanted closure that wasn’t coming.
And maybe it was stupid—maybe she was overthinking a casual, two-hour flight conversation—but the way Jaxon had ended it?
It didn’t sit right. It hadn’t felt casual at all.
Not until he made it that way.
Claire wandered back toward the bedroom where Macie was sifting through a pile of sundresses like they were battle armor. “Can you believe that?” Claire asked, still staring off like the words weren’t even meant to be out loud.
Macie glanced up. “Can I believe what?”
“The way Jaxon ended things after the flight. I mean…” Claire shook her head. “I’ve never had a problem keeping a guy’s attention.”
“Maybe he was just in a hurry?” Macie offered gently, trying to sound neutral—but Claire could hear the doubt.
“I bet he’s married,” Sara called out from the hallway. “That’s why he dipped so quick.”
Claire scoffed. “I didn’t see a ring. No tan line either. And believe me, the man was tan.”
“Girl, you stared that hard at his hand?” Macie teased, raising an eyebrow.
“When a man like that’s sitting next to you on a plane for two hours? Yeah, I paid attention.”
“Well, if you see him again,” Taylor chimed in from the closet, “why don’t you just ask him?”
Claire laughed, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Doubt I’ll ever see him again. I don’t even know where he’s from exactly.”
“You didn’t ask?” Macie blinked like Claire had just admitted to a felony. “With his fine ass, I would’ve gotten everything but his Social Security number.”
“I would’ve asked for that,” Macie added with a smirk.
“Alright,” Taylor said, cutting through the noise, “let’s leave poor Claire alone and figure out what we’re eating before Sara eats one of us.”
Sara’s voice shot back, “I’m just saying, I’m starving and y’all are talking about some mystery man in a suit instead of shrimp tacos.”
They finally landed on a spot—Tides Rising Bar and Grill, a waterfront place in Oak Island that had great reviews and outdoor seating. Sara had insisted they try somewhere new, and Claire hadn’t had the energy to argue. She was too wrapped up in trying to scrub Jaxon’s voice out of her mind.
The girls piled into the SUV and made the fifteen-minute drive with the windows down and music blasting. Claire let the wind hit her face, hoping it would clear out the part of her that still wanted answers. Still wanted him.
When they arrived, the warm coastal air wrapped around them like a second skin. As they stepped inside, a blonde hostess greeted them with a smile that had probably been fake for hours.
“Would you like to sit outside, on the deck?” she asked.
“That sounds great,” Sara answered, already halfway to the doors.
“This place just feels like a vacation,” Taylor said as they weaved through the packed dining area.
Claire took it in—the string lights, the smell of fried seafood and citrus, the soft hum of people trying to forget their real lives for a while. “All the years we’ve come here, and we’ve never been,” she mused.
The doors opened onto a wide deck overlooking the Sound. A salty breeze kissed their skin, just enough to feel like freedom. Below, the water glittered with reflections of the setting sun. It was perfect.
“This place is genius,” Macie said, tossing her bag down as she sat. “Whoever named it deserves a raise. Tides Rising? Come on. The deck literally overlooks the Sound. Iconic.”
Her comment made the waitress laugh—an easy sound that caught the girls off guard. They hadn’t seen her walk up.
“I like you already,” the waitress said, pulling out her notepad. “What can I get y’all to drink?”
They rattled off their orders, but the waitress added, “Mixed drinks have to be ordered at the bar tonight. We’re slammed and I don’t want to keep you waiting.”
Claire nodded. “No worries.”
But Sara? Sara was already annoyed. Patience was not her spiritual gift.
“And where’s the bar?” she asked, arms crossed, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
The waitress motioned toward the large window that gave a direct view into the indoor bar—and that’s when Sara’s whole face changed.
“Holy shit,” she whispered. “Never mind.”
Behind the bar stood a man—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a fitted black polo that clung to muscles he definitely didn’t get from bartending. Clean-shaven. Baby-faced, but sharp. Focused. Calm.
And for a second—
Just a second—
Sara forgot how to breathe.