There was another tiny shift in the air. Barely noticeable. But Harmony felt it. She looked around.
At the far end of the bar, Deputy Ciscel stepped inside, pausing for long enough to scan the room. His gaze snagged on Harmony—one second too long to be casual, then moved on. He didn’t order a drink. He didn’t speak. He simply observed, filing the moment away the same way he might a crime scene detail.
Harmony drifted to the bar. Freddie poured silently, watching the room with a bartender’s perfect, predatory awareness.
“Trouble brewing?” he asked, sliding her drink.
“Only the kind people ask for,” she said, slipping him a wink.
Candy’s laugh rose over the music. “Tosh, you owe me a song request! Don’t pretend you forgot.”
Tosh lifted his glass. “You always want something.”
“Everyone does. At least I’m honest about it,” Candy shot back, her expression unreadable.
Across the room, Torie swiped at a sudden tear and slipped away. Harmony waited a beat, then followed. She found her in the ladies’ room, leaning toward the mirror, reapplying lipstick like armor.
“You shouldn’t let her get to you,” Harmony said softly.
Torie’s eyes met hers. “Who?”
“Candy.” Harmony shrugged. “She flirts with everyone. It’s survival for her. But Tosh—” She let the sentence fade, heavy and unfinished.
Torie swallowed. “But Tosh, what?”
Harmony hesitated—just long enough to make Torie lean forward, hungry for the truth she feared. “Nothing. Forget it. I shouldn’t say.”
“No,” Torie whispered. “Say it.”
Harmony exhaled, as though reluctantly yielding. “You deserve someone who doesn’t need an audience to prove they care.”
She didn’t wait for a reaction. She left Torie staring at her reflection, doubt tightening behind her eyes.
As Harmony slipped out of the restroom, she caught a faint movement—someone turning away as she looked up. A shadowed silhouette. A presence. It could’ve been a patron on their way outside . . . or someone listening. Her pulse flickered, not with fear, but with recognition.
Back at the table, Tosh leaned intimately close to Candy, guiding her through a shot she didn’t need help with. His hand brushed her lower back. Harmony didn’t have to narrate it. The room noticed all on its own.
The men at the next table watched the pair with thinly veiled curiosity. Candy was glowing, reckless with affection; Tosh was feeding off the attention. It wasn’t love. It was gasoline waiting for a spark.
She slid into the seat beside Mary. “You’ve known Tosh forever. Has he ever changed?”
Mary didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers tightened around her wineglass, knuckles whitening as if holding back a memory sharp enough to cut. “Change isn’t real,” she finally said. “People just learn better hiding places.”
“Maybe Torie should hear that,” Harmony murmured.
“Maybe,” Mary said, “but she wouldn’t listen.”
The jukebox shifted to something slow and sultry. The kind of song ghosts danced to. Harmony felt the island hum beneath it—a pulse she recognized now.
A man she didn’t know stepped toward her, smelling faintly of cedar and sea salt. His smile was the kind you answered with instinct rather than words.
Harmony felt something coil low in her stomach—power, maybe. Or the absence of fear. She was starting to understand how easy it was to slip into a version of herself the island seemed to prefer.
“Have a drink with me,” he said. Not a question. She admired his confidence.
Harmony joined him at a corner table. His arm slid along the back of the booth, fingers grazing her shoulder. The bar blurred, noise dimming until all she heard was his breath in her ear.
Hair clung to her neck as the warmth in the room thickened. Harmony felt her pulse skip. She laughed—low, surprising herself. His fingers traced patterns near her neck, teasing warmth where she shouldn’t want it. Rain threaded softly against the windows. Avalon hummed with it. The man leaned closer, his mouth brushing her ear.
