Harmony laughed softly. “She’s consistent.”
They moved on. A laughing child barreled toward them and stumbled. Harmony lunged without thinking, catching her before she hit the ground.
“Are you okay?” she asked. The little girl’s eyes filled with tears as her mother rushed forward.
Hurt kids were the one thing Harmony could never detach from. She’d never been able to treat their pain as writing material.
“Thank you,” the woman gasped, grabbing her daughter’s hand.
“She’s beautiful,” Harmony said. Mother and child hurried away.
“You’ve always been a warrior for kids,” Cass said.
“I couldn’t let her fall.”
“I prefer dogs,” Cass joked.
“I like both,” Harmony replied, laughing as they walked.
They circled back to Bluewater and claimed a patio table with a perfect view of the passing crowd. Harmony let the scene settle—scraping chairs, clinking glasses, the swell of conversation. Tosh and Lisa entered soon after them. Then, there was a ripple in the air when Candy started tuning her guitar near the rail.
In the shadows, Harmony saw a woman slip through a patch of light—short hair, slim build. Her head turned, but her face stayed hidden.
Torie? A chill swept down Harmony’s spine.
Ridiculous, she told herself. She blinked, and the woman was gone.
Mary passed along the boardwalk next, pausing at the rail to stare at the water like it held something she wanted back. The set of her shoulders made Harmony ache in a place she couldn’t name.
Laughter burst from the bar. Someone shouted Tosh’s name. Lisa leaned in, holding his arm, trying to anchor him. Futile. Tosh was a tide no one controlled.
“Will you write this summer or take the break you so desperately need?” Cass asked. Then her lips tilted. “Or will you flirt with writing and have an affair with observation?”
“I can do both,” Harmony said. “Multitasking is only impossible for the weak.”
Cass pulled her from the dark again, like she always did.
“You’re humble, too,” Cass teased.
Harmony laughed, tracing a ring in the condensation on her glass. She loved it all. The island spoke a language she understood—beauty layered over secrets, kindness masking hunger, a town that smiled even as it sharpened its teeth.
“Okay,” Cass announced. “It’s decided. We’ll do the gallery reception at six and pretend to know things about line and form, compliment men in toolbelts, and try not to start a fight with Janie.”
“I never start fights,” Harmony said.
“You end them.”
“Only if I have to.”
“Define,have to.”
“Someone gets too close. Someone lies to me while looking me in the eyes. Someone underestimates me—which is always a mistake.”
Cass snorted. “So, inevitably.” Harmony nodded.
They finished eating, waving to those they hadn’t seen in a while. The day drifted lazily toward evening. Shadows stretched across the bay. Families disappeared; night people emerged, sharpened by cocktails and expectations.
The Marlin Club’s half-door creaked open for the first regulars, Heath standing sentry, always watching. The gallery lights glowed warm over glass and wood. Bluewater shifted from bright to intimate.
