Prologue
ZAYN
My footsteps echo on the new oak floors as I walk through the house. It’s the only sound. A reminder of how much space I’ve built for a woman who isn’t here yet. It’s too quiet—a silence that feels like it’s waiting for something. Waiting for her to walk through the door and bring the place to life.
I catch my reflection in the dark window and reach for my cuffs, unbuttoning them. I haven’t been able to settle down since I crossed back into town. I roll my sleeves up to my elbows, showing the ink that covers my arms now—from my fingers all the way to my shoulders. There’s so much more of it than the last time she saw me. Five years of wanting her, of changing—all of it marked on my skin.
But the roses are still there. They were the first tattoos I ever got—the ones she loved before everything fell apart. If I close my eyes, I can still feel her fingertips tracing over them, so light it made my skin burn. Two years ago, I added the wreath around my neck. I sat through hours of pain from the needle, thinking about how she used to say my pulse jumped when she kissed me there. Every piece of ink on my body leads back to her.
I look away from the window and focus on the room. I run my hand along the bare wall. The plaster feels cool and smoothunder my palm. Sophie would love the way the light hits this room. She used to talk about it all the time—how she wanted to wake up to a real sunrise. A fresh start every morning. Every detail of this house, from the big windows to the way the hallways catch the morning light, I built with her in mind. It’s a future she doesn’t know I’ve been planning since the day I left.
I haven’t forgotten a single thing she ever told me. Every dream she shared during our late-night talks, every small thing that made her smile—it’s all right here. I can still see the way her eyes would light up when she talked about having a place of her own someday.
That light in her eyes was all I could think about when I designed the kitchen. It’s the heart of the house. Proof of the promise I made to her. I spent weeks arguing with the builder, refusing to give in until every inch was exactly how I remembered her showing me in that magazine five years ago. Through the back windows, the yard stretches out toward the trees. There’s a tall wooden fence for privacy and plenty of room for a dog to run. Her dog, Mia. I’ve seen them on the cliff path in the early mornings, the wind catching Sophie’s dark hair while Mia runs ahead. I stayed back, hidden in the shadows, waiting. I wasn’t ready to face her yet. Not until I had something real to give her.
Sophie belongs in this kitchen, sunlight shining on her dark hair. Her dog should be running in that yard. I’ve spent years preparing for this—for her—and I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving I’m not leaving again.
I press my hand against the stone countertop. The cold surface helps me focus through the rush of hope in my chest. “It’s waiting for you,” I whisper into the quiet house. “Everything is waiting for you.”
CHAPTER 1
Safe Harbor
SOPHIE
The alarm rings at 5:30 a.m. I turn it off fast before it wakes Mia.
Too late, she’s already beside my bed, brown eyes locked on me, tail wagging so hard her whole back end moves with it. She’s ready for our walk, like she is every single morning.
“Wait a sec, girl,” I murmur, my voice still rough with sleep. I reach down to pet her white and tan fur, and the warmth of her grounds me the way it does every day.
I slide out of bed. My feet touch the cold floor. The apartment is quiet except for Mia’s happy little sounds as she runs to the door and back, her nails clicking on the floor.
“I’m coming,” I tell her as I put on my workout clothes. I tie my black hair back. My work clothes are ready on the chair for later. I like knowing what comes next. A therapist would probably have a field day with how I cling to routine, but I don’t see a therapist. That would mean talking about things I’ve locked away in boxes marked “Do Not Open”.
The apartment stays quiet around us. Harper won’t get up until 7:30, and Sara doesn’t start her shift at the clinic until 9:00 on Tuesdays. Lucky them, sleeping in while I’m out here chasing sunrises with my dog.
Mia stares at me, her whole body trembling with energy she can barely contain. It amazes me how this dog—after everything she’s been through, the abuse, the shelter, the uncertainty—still greets each morning like it might bring something wonderful. Like today could be the day everything changes for the better. I wish I had that kind of hope.
“Ready for our walk?” I ask, grabbing her leash. She pulls her lips back in a pit bull smile that might look scary to strangers. Her back end wiggles with joy. She definitely loves mornings more than I do.
The air outside feels damp and cool, typical spring weather here. Dawn breaks across the sky in shades of pink and purple. Mia tugs on the leash, eager to reach our usual path.
“Slow down,” I whisper, and she falls into step beside me. We’ve taken this same route every morning for nearly three years now. Three years of slowly rebuilding my life.
The path runs along the shore, quiet this early. People walking dogs or jogging nod hello. No one talks. I like that about morning walks, everyone keeps to themselves.
When we turn the bend where the path meets the cliffs, I catch that smell—salty ocean and the wild roses growing on the rocks. Those stubborn flowers, blooming in places nothing should survive. I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs. The roses are out early this year. Probably because it’s been warm. For a second, I think about the last time I saw these roses in bloom five years ago, when I walked here with?—
No. Stop. I check my watch and force myself to focus on now, not then.
Waves crash on the beach below us. Mia stops to sniff every rock and bush, reading who passed by during the night like it’s her morning newspaper.Her white and tan fur shines in the early light. She looks so healthy now, nothing like the scared dogI brought home from the shelter. I rescued her, but honestly, some days I think she rescued me right back.
“Look at that sunrise, Mia,” I say as light breaks over the water, turning everything golden. The ocean looks like it’s on fire, all that beauty burning itself out to start the day over again. This view is why I drag myself out of bed so early every day, even when it rains. In my romance novels, this would be when the heroine has some deep thought about life and love. But really, I’m just remembering I need dog food and was wondering if my car’s weird noise is going to cost me a fortune to fix.
I need to be at the clinic by seven-thirty to prep the exam rooms before Dr. Martinez comes in at eight. Sara jokes that being on time is my love language. She says it with a smile, but I can tell it gets on her nerves sometimes.
An old man walks toward us with a fluffy white dog. Mia goes stiff beside me. She still gets scared around other dogs from when people were cruel to her. I ease us to the side of the path and shorten her leash.
