Chapter 7
The Town
Emma didn’t sleep well.
It wasn’t the kind of restless night where you toss and turn without knowing why.
It was sharper than that. More aware. Every sound seemed louder than it should have been—the quiet creak of the cottage settling, the steady push of the wind against the walls, the distant crash of waves that never quite faded into the background.
She lay awake longer than she meant to, staring up at the ceiling in the dim light, her thoughts replaying everything from the day. The letters. The key. Luke’s words.
Once you know, you don’t get to go back.
They had followed her into the dark, settling into the corners of her mind in a way she couldn’t ignore. She had told herself she wasn’t planning on going back anyway, but lying there in the unfamiliar quiet, she realized that not going back and not being able to were two very different things.
Sometime after midnight, she must have drifted off, because the next thing she knew, the light in the room had shifted.
Morning.
Emma blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting as she pushed herself up onto her elbows.
The room looked different in daylight, softer somehow.
The shadows had lifted, replaced by the steady glow of the sun filtering through the curtains.
The unease that had settled so heavily the night before had loosened just enough to make the space feel more manageable.
Still unfamiliar.
But not as overwhelming.
She sat there for a moment, listening.
The ocean was still there, steady and constant, but now it felt less like a presence and more like a backdrop. Something reliable. Something she could hold onto.
Emma swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching slightly as she took in the room again. It looked the same as it had the night before, but something about it felt different now that she had slept in it. Like she had crossed some invisible line from visitor to… something else.
Not quite owner.
Not yet.
But closer.
She moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside, her gaze drifting out over the dunes. The grasses moved in the morning breeze, the ocean catching the early light in a way that made it shimmer. Everything looked calm. Still.
Normal.
No sign of the figure she had seen the day before.
No indication that anything unusual had happened at all.
Emma exhaled slowly and let the curtain fall back into place.
“Okay,” she said quietly, more to herself than anything else. “New day.”
The words felt simple, but they carried weight. A reset, or at least the closest thing she was going to get to one.
She dressed quickly, choosing comfort over anything else, and made her way into the main room. The space looked cleaner now, the work she had done the day before already making a difference. The surfaces she had wiped down caught the light more easily, the room feeling just slightly more open.
More hers.
The envelope sat on the table where she had left it, the paper lying flat, unassuming in a way that didn’t match what it held. Emma paused when she saw it, her steps slowing as her gaze lingered.
She didn’t pick it up.
Not yet.
Instead, she moved past it, grabbing her bag and slipping her shoes on near the door. She needed to get out for a bit. Clear her head. See something that didn’t come with layers and questions attached to it.
The town.
Luke had mentioned it briefly, and she had seen signs for it on her way in. It wasn’t far, just a short drive from the cottage, and the idea of being around people—normal people, going about their day—felt grounding in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.
Emma grabbed her keys and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her and locking it without thinking. The action felt automatic now, a small but noticeable shift from the hesitation she had felt the day before.
She glanced once toward the dunes, her eyes scanning the area instinctively.
Still nothing.
“Good,” she murmured, though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was reassuring herself of.
The drive into town was short, the road winding just enough to keep the view changing without ever losing sight of the ocean entirely. Houses lined parts of the route, some bright and well-kept, others more worn but still full of character. Everything felt… lived in.
Connected.
It was different from where she had come from, where everything had felt structured and predictable, each day blending into the next with little variation. Here, there was a sense of movement, of life happening in a way that didn’t need to be controlled or planned out.
Emma slowed as the town came into view, the small cluster of shops and buildings coming together in a way that felt both simple and complete. It wasn’t large, but it didn’t need to be. There was a rhythm to it, a quiet kind of energy that suggested everything had its place.
She parked along the street and stepped out, the sound of conversation and movement replacing the steady quiet of the cottage. People moved in and out of shops, some carrying bags, others stopping to talk, their interactions easy and familiar.
Emma paused for a moment, taking it all in.
This was normal.
This was what she needed.
She started down the sidewalk, her pace unhurried, her eyes drifting from one storefront to the next. A small bakery caught her attention first, the scent of something warm and sweet pulling her in before she had fully decided to go.
Inside, the space was cozy, the kind of place that felt welcoming without trying too hard. A few people sat at small tables near the windows, their conversations low and easy, while behind the counter, a woman moved efficiently, greeting customers with a warmth that felt genuine.
Emma stepped forward, her shoulders relaxing just slightly.
“Hi there,” the woman said with a smile. “What can I get for you?”
Emma hesitated for a second, then returned the smile.
“Coffee,” she said. “And… whatever you recommend.”
The woman laughed softly.
“Smart choice,” she said, turning to grab a cup. “First time in town?”
Emma nodded, leaning lightly against the counter.
“That obvious?”
“Not in a bad way,” the woman replied. “Just… new.”
Emma let out a small breath.
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
The woman handed her the coffee and set a small plate on the counter with a pastry Emma hadn’t even seen her grab.
“On the house,” she said. “Welcome to Corolla.”
Emma blinked, caught slightly off guard.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I know,” the woman said with a gentle shrug. “But I want to.”
Emma smiled, something in her chest easing just a bit.
“Thank you.”
She took her coffee and found a seat near the window, settling into the chair as she let herself breathe for what felt like the first time since arriving. The warmth of the cup in her hands grounded her, the normalcy of the moment pulling her out of the spiral she had been caught in.
For a few minutes, she just sat there, watching the town move around her.
It was easy to imagine herself here.
Too easy.
“Wild Horse Cottage, right?”
The voice came from beside her, pulling her out of her thoughts so quickly that her grip tightened slightly on the cup.
Emma looked up.
A man stood a few feet away, older than Luke, maybe late fifties or early sixties, his expression open but curious. He held a cup of coffee in one hand, his posture relaxed, but his eyes were sharp in a way that suggested he wasn’t just making conversation.
Emma’s stomach tightened slightly.
“I’m sorry?” she said.
He nodded toward her.
“You’re staying out there,” he said. “By the dunes. Blue-gray place. Wraparound porch.”
Emma set her coffee down slowly.
“Yes,” she said carefully. “I just got in yesterday.”
The man studied her for a moment, something shifting in his expression that she couldn’t quite place.
“Huh,” he said quietly.
Emma’s pulse picked up again, the sense of normalcy she had just settled into slipping slightly out of reach.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee before answering.
“Just didn’t think anyone would be moving in there again,” he said.
The words landed in a way that felt familiar.
Too familiar.
“Why not?” Emma asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.
The man hesitated, his gaze drifting briefly toward the window before returning to her.
“Some places,” he said slowly, “don’t stay empty without a reason.”
Emma felt her chest tighten, the quiet tension from the cottage slipping back into place.
“That doesn’t really answer my question,” she said.
He gave a small, almost apologetic smile.
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”
Silence settled between them for a moment, the sounds of the bakery filling the space in a way that felt almost too loud now.
Emma held his gaze, waiting.
Finally, he exhaled and nodded once, as if making a decision.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” he said quietly. “But people around here… they don’t talk about that house much.”
Emma’s fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table.
“Why?”
The man’s expression shifted again, something more serious settling in.
“Because the last time someone left that place,” he said, his voice lower now, “they didn’t exactly leave clean.”
Emma’s breath caught.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
But the man shook his head, already stepping back.
“Like I said,” he murmured, “you didn’t hear it from me.”
Then he turned and walked away, leaving Emma sitting there, her thoughts racing, her grip tightening around the cup as the warmth of it faded unnoticed in her hands.
The normalcy she had been looking for was gone.
Replaced by something else.
Something heavier.
And for the first time since stepping into town, Emma realized something she hadn’t fully considered before.
Whatever story Wild Horse Cottage held…
It didn’t stay contained within its walls.