The dog’s tail thumped once, as if in agreement.
Bree laughed. “You’re serious?”
“Completely,” I said. “If Willa’s okay with it.”
Willa crossed the deck in three strides and dropped into the chair across from me, eyes shining. “I know a fellow sucker when I see one. And he obviously already adores you.” She leaned closer, stage-whispering. “What’s his name?”
I smiled down at him, at the soft brown eyes and the way he watched me like I was something solid he could trust. “Moonpie.”
Daniel’s laugh rolled out. “Moonpie? I’m bettin’ there’s a story there.”
“Not a big one. I love chocolate MoonPies. He’s exactly that color with a heart just as squishy.”
Willa made a sound that was almost a squeal. “He does have a marshmallow center. Perfect.”
Conversation surged again, energized now, the way it did when the future cracked open just enough to glimpse something good.
“So,” Rios said, glancing around. “If anyone knows of a place…”
Bree and Ford exchanged another look.
“Well,” Bree said slowly, like she was trying not to interrupt fate. “My cottage. We’ve been running it as an Airbnb, but it’s open right now. Fully furnished. Two bedrooms. Fenced yard.”
My heart started beating faster.
“You could stay as long as you want,” Ford added. “Month-to-month. If you decide it’s not the right fit, no harm done. We flip it back to short-term.”
Bree smiled at me. “I’d rather have people I know there than strangers.”
I looked at Rios. He was already looking at me, a question in his eyes.
“That sounds…” I trailed off, unable to finish.
Perfect. Safe. Ours.
Willa reached over and squeezed my hand. “Looks like you’re home.”
The word settled into me, warm and solid, no longer something I was circling or resisting.
Home.
I leaned back into Rios, the dog’s weight anchoring me, surrounded by people who’d seen the worst of this place and still chosen to stand together.
For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for the ground to give way beneath me.
I felt like I belonged.
Epilogue
RIOS
Mid-November on Hatterwick didn’t resemble the brochures. No glittering sunburned crowds, no flip-flops slapping along the dock, no rental cars multiplying in the ferry line like rabbits. Only gray-blue water under a sky that couldn’t decide if it wanted to rain, wind that carried a thin bite off the sound, and a ferry easing in like it had all the time in the world.
Ford stood with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes on the ramp like he could will it down faster. Sawyer paced two steps, stopped, paced two steps back. He’d say it was because standing still made him itch, but I knew better. We were all keyed up. None of us said it out loud.
Jace was coming home.
“Any minute,” Sawyer muttered for the third time in five minutes.
