The camera guy drops the lens a fraction, human under the job. The reporter falters, then recalibrates. “We’d love a feel-good—”
“Then run something else, maybe the bookstore’s fundraiser.” I nod at the camera. “That’ll do more good than our faces.”
We wait. It’s less a standoff than two people testing whether the other side recognizes the difference between a story and a life. The mic lowers an inch. The camera goes to standby.The reporter nods, one professional to another. “We’ll email,” she says. “Good luck with your return.”
“Thanks,” I say, meaning it.
They leave without footage. I can’t make that happen most days in my world. Today we did. It feels like a new muscle firing.
On the porch, Bailey exhales so slow it’s almost invisible. I squeeze her hand once and don’t let go. “Reckless?” I ask, with a grin I can’t stop from breaking the tension.
She shakes her head, laughing with her whole body. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Consistent,” I say.
She steps in and puts her forehead to mine in a move that now lives rent-free under my sternum. “Tomorrow,” she whispers our now inside joke, and we both know tomorrow is closer than it’s ever been.
“Tomorrow,” I answer, and for the first time in a long time, both halves of my life nod at the same time.
Chapter Eighteen – Bailey
It’s raining again.
Of course it is. Coral Bell Cove has two moods—sunny gossipandmelodramatic rainfall.Today, it’s both.
By noon, the storm moves off, leaving everything slick and shining—the kind of quiet after that feels like the world holding its breath. The clouds hang low and heavy over Coral Bell Cove, and the air smells like salt and rain and second chances.
Crew arrives in his typical fashion, this time with an entourage of teen boys following his every footstep. Thankfully, they scatter away when I flip the CLOSED sign on the bookstore and place my arms around Crew’s waist, tilting my lips toward his in a kiss that I know will spread like wildfire through the neighborhood.
We walk down to the dock because the house feels too small for everything sitting between us. The boards are damp under my bare feet. The water laps soft and steady against the pilings, patient like it knows something we don’t.
“Remember that fundraiser senior year?” I ask, toes curling over the edge of the dock.
Crew glances over, mouth twitching. “Which one?”
“The one where someone thought selling date bids was a good idea.”
He groans. “Oh God. Don’t remind me.”
I laugh, full and bright, because for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t hurt to remember. “You went for six hundred dollars.”
“Because Jenny Decosta bid half of it to mess with Sawyer,” he says.
“And then Tanner stole the card and—”
“—and read your note to the entire gym.”
The laughter fades, leaving something quieter, heavier. The space between us fills with all the words we never said.
“You didn’t defend me,” I say finally. It comes out soft but steady.
He drags a hand through his hair, that same boyish gesture I’ve seen a hundred times. “I didn’t know how.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“I know,” he says, eyes on the horizon. “I was seventeen and stupid and terrified of looking like I cared more than I should’ve.”
“And now?”
