The Coast Guard boat waits at the dock, solid and ready. The crew is already aboard. I step onto the deck and look up—
And there he is.
Finn O’Donoghue.
He’s leaning near the console, gear on, hair pulled back, clearly just another day at the office for him. When his eyes land on me, his mouth curves into his now familiar, cocky smile.
“Well.” He sounds entirely too relaxed. “Fancy seeing you here.” He steps closer. “You ready to go have some fun?”
I smile.
Because in that moment, with the boat rocking gently beneath my feet and the urgency humming in the air, something clicks into place. The stress, the move, the uncertainty—all of it fades back just enough for me to breathe.
This is why I came here.
This. Right now. To show up when it matters. To help when something bigger than me needs it. This is what I’ve been dreaming of doing since I was a little girl.
We’re handed life jackets, and Finn launches into a quick briefing as the crew finishes prep.
“Conditions are choppy,” he says. “High tide, swell’s rolling in hard. It’s gonna be a bit of a bumpy ride out to Whale Cove, so keep your footing and listen to instructions.”
He moves as he talks, checking straps, securing loose gear, scanning everything with quick efficiency. When he stops in front of me, I barely have time to react before he reaches out.
“Hold still,” He adjusts my life jacket, tugging at the straps. His hands are warm, confident, and entirely too distracting.
I feel heat creep up my neck.
Cassie catches my eye from a few feet away and raises her eyebrows.
I flush.
Finn steps back, satisfied. “That’ll do you.”
I clear my throat, suddenly very aware of how close he is—and how real it all feels.
The engine kicks in, and the boat eases away from the dock, the harbor opening up in front of us.
Depoe Bay slips past quickly, the water still calm enough to lull you into forgetting what waits beyond it. The bridge rises ahead, pale against the sky, arching over the harbor. I’ve driven over it so many times in the past few weeks, but seeing it from the water feels different. Slower, wider, as if I’m being let in on a version of this place most people never see.
We pass a cluster of harbor seals near the rocks, their slick heads bobbing above the surface. A few of them are sprawled out along the edges, babies tucked close, blinking lazily as the boat moves by. I catch myself smiling, warmth settling in my chest.
Then we clear the bridge.
The ocean doesn’t ease us into it. The first wave hits hard, lifting the bow and dropping it just as quickly. Bumpy doesn’t begin to cover it. The boat bucks and slams, water spraying over the sides as the swell rolls in fast and unevenly.
I hold on to the rail for dear life.
My knees bend automatically, body adjusting, trying to stay upright as the deck shifts beneath my boots. The air is sharp and cold, salty spray hitting my face again and again, soaking into my jacket.
I hear laughter over the engine.
Finn’s at the front of the boat, standing near the helm, one hand braced, completely at ease. He turns, scanning the deck, and his eyes find mine. Even through the gear, I can see the smile under it, wide and unapologetic.
The conditions are rough, but it’s beautiful. The sky is open and pale, the water dark and alive beneath us, and the salt clings to my lips, my skin, and my lashes. Every breath feels clean.
The boat cuts south toward Whale Cove, and as we angle along the shoreline, the cliffs rise beside us. I glance toward them instinctively, and there it is—my house, perched above the water, small but unmistakable.
Home.
