Hank sat on his bed, unlacing his boots slowly. His fingers found the scar tissue along his thigh, pressing into the damaged muscle. Tomorrow, he'd need to be at one hundred percent. Tomorrow, thirty years of family history would ride on his shoulders.
"Hey." Colby's voice was quiet. "We're gonna do this. Your grandpa would be proud."
"Yeah." Hank lay back, still fully clothed except for his boots. The sound of waves carried through the glass door. "He would be."
Within minutes, exhaustion won. But just before sleep took him, Hank could have sworn he smelled copper on the ocean breeze, like the moon itself was blessing their arrival.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
Tonight, he just needed to believe they were ready for it.
Chapter 2
The grandfather clock in the hotel lobby chimed half past two as Bree Spencer pushed through the heavy glass doors, her travel-weary body aching from the long drive. The warm air of the Copper Moon Resort enveloped her like a gentle embrace, carrying with it the mingled scents of lavender from the fresh flower arrangements and something sweet, freshly baked goods that made her empty stomach clench with hunger.
"Hi, my name is Bree Spencer." Her voice came out raspier than intended, throat dry from hours of highway driving. She cleared it softly before continuing. "My friend, Blake Donaldson, booked a room for me here."
The pretty blonde clerk behind the reception desk looked up from her computer screen, her fingers pausing mid-type. Under the soft amber lighting of the lobby, her features seemed almost ethereal, with bright blue eyes that sparkled with genuine warmth and a messy bun that somehow looked both effortless and charming, with wisps of golden hair framing her face. A blue ballpoint pen tucked behind her ear completed the picture of organized chaos that seemed to suit the late hour perfectly.
As the clerk's fingers danced across the keyboard, searching for the reservation, Bree allowed herself a moment to truly take in her surroundings. The lobby was a study in understated elegance, earth-toned furniture arranged in intimate conversation areas, plush armchairs that looked like they could swallow a person whole, and those magnificent flower arrangements that dotted every surface. Fresh roses, lilies, and what looked like locally sourced wildflowers created splashes of color against the muted backdrop.
The soft clicking of keys filled the silence before the clerk looked up, studying Bree with those perceptive blue eyes. "Stiff from traveling?" The question was accompanied by a sympathetic smile as Bree rolled her shoulders, producing an audible crack that echoed in the quiet lobby.
"Yeah." Bree managed a self-deprecating laugh, her hand automatically going to massage the knot at the base of her skull. "I'm not used to it. I'm sort of a homebody, to be honest. This is the farthest I've driven by myself in... well, ever."
The admission hung between them for a moment, carrying more weight than Bree had intended to share with a stranger.
"I am too. A homebody, I mean." The clerk's voice brightened, as if finding a kindred spirit at this ungodly hour was a small miracle. "We have enough action here in the summer that I prefer to stay home when I can. But working the night shift, I hear hundreds of accents each year from all over. It's like traveling without ever leaving town."
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Bree found herself genuinely smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. "Wow. When Blake told me to come here, he didn't say it was such a lively place." She paused, looking toward the front doors where moonlight transformed the water beyond into a canvas of liquid copper. "He said the beach would be great for getting my creative juices flowing and that it was beautiful here. But now I'm wondering just how much he left out."
The moonlit water held her transfixed for a moment; it was achingly beautiful, the kind of scene that made her fingers itch for a paintbrush, even through her exhaustion.
"Oh, he left out plenty if he didn't mention race week," the clerk, whose name tag read April, said with a knowing chuckle. "This is one of our biggest weeks of the year. The whole town transforms. But don't worry, there are still quiet spots if you know where to look."
As if on cue, Bree's stomach let out a prolonged, embarrassingly loud growl that seemed to echo off the lobby's high ceiling. The sound was so unexpected and so thoroughly undignified that both women froze for a moment before bursting into laughter.
Bree's hand flew to her belly, her cheeks flushing pink. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I guess it's been longer than I thought since I've eaten. I was so focused on just getting here that I forgot to stop for dinner."
"I've got just the thing for you." April's eyes lit up with the enthusiasm of someone who took genuine pleasure in small acts of kindness. She practically bounced on her toes as she disappeared through a doorway behind the desk marked “Employees Only.”
The brief solitude allowed Bree a moment to sag against the counter, the polished wood cool against her palms. She was here. She'd actually done it, driven all those miles alone, pushed through the fear and uncertainty, and arrived at this place Blake had promised would help her heal.
Mere seconds later, April reappeared, carrying something that made Bree's mouth water instantly. The chocolate chip cookie was enormous, easily the size of her palm, and still warm enough that wisps of steam rose from its surface. The chocolate chips glistened, not quite fully set, promising that perfect balance of crispy edges and gooey center.
"Our cook is getting ready for breakfast and comes in at one o'clock in the morning to start baking," April explained. "This is literally fresh from the oven, maybe five minutes old. Martha makes the best chocolate chip cookies on the eastern seaboard, and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise."
The aroma hit Bree full force: butter, vanilla, dark chocolate, and something else, something that reminded her of home, of better times, of her sister's kitchen on Sunday mornings. Her stomach responded with another audible complaint, and this time her blush deepened to crimson.
"My name is April, by the way," the clerk said, extending her hand across the counter. "April Morrison. Nice to meet you officially."
"Bree." She shook April's hand, noting the firm grip and the calluses that suggested this woman did more than just work the desk. "Oh, but you know that already. Sorry, I'm hungry and tired, so I guess I'm not thinking clearly. My brain feels like it's running on fumes."
She picked up the still-warm cookie and inhaled deeply. The first bite was transcendent, the perfect combination of textures and temperatures, the chocolate melting on her tongue, the slight saltiness enhancing the sweetness. It was, quite possibly, the best thing she'd eaten in months.
"No need to apologize," April said gently, seeming to sense the deeper exhaustion beneath Bree's travel weariness. "Three a.m. arrivals are always a little disoriented. It's like being in a different dimension, not quite night, not quite morning, somewhere in between. That's why we keep the cookies coming. Martha says sugar and chocolate can cure almost anything, at least temporarily."
Bree gathered her key card and paperwork, the cookie already half-devoured despite her best efforts at restraint. "Thank you, April. Not just for the cookie, but for being so welcoming. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around while I'm here."
