Cassie smiles. “I like it.”
Once everything is archived and submitted, I sit in on a video call with the aquarium team to finalize the re-release plan for the seal I helped rescue a couple of weeks ago. Hearing timelines and protocols, watching faces that are quickly becoming familiar nod on screen, feels grounding. Another small success folded into the day.
By the time I leave, my brain is pleasantly tired.
I make the twenty-minute drive to Newport, walking aisle by aisle through the grocery store, grabbing essentials without rushing. Pasta, eggs, milk, chicken, and a bottle of wine. Enough veggies to cook for a few days, and a few cookies to survive, because balance.
The drive home is quiet. 90s rock hums softly through the speakers, the road stretching out in front of me. The sun is still high, light scattering across the ocean, turning the water silver and blue.
I plan the rest of my evening in my head.
Carry the groceries in. Let Neptune out into the backyard. Shower. Pour a glass of wine. Start the pasta. Make enough for leftovers.
What I don’t plan for is the man kneeling in the dirt outside my house.
He’s bent over the flowerbed near the front, hands deep in the soil, completely focused, planting hydrangeas by my door.
Chapter 15
Ididn’t expect my day to go this way, but here we are.
I had a plan. I always do.
My day started early, with a quick walk with Skye while it was still dark out, then a drive up to Lincoln City to grab flowers from the local nursery. After that, I was supposed to work my way through Mom’s gardens. First, the Fire station, then the Coast Guard, and lastly the Senior home.
I would go to the gym afterward to do a little cardio, and then go out to surf with Nathan.
That was the plan.
Seeing May this morning changed everything.
Surfing—usually the thing that clears my head, the one place where nothing else matters—suddenly didn’t feel important. Not compared to the way she smiled when she talked about herexperience out in the water. Not compared to the way her eyes lit up when she told me all about her very first whale rescue.
I hadn’t expected to see her there.
Her hair was pulled back into a messy braid, strands stuck to her face from the salt air. Her skin was still damp, flushed from the boat ride. Every time I’ve seen her before, she’s been so put together, calm and collected.
I didn’t realize she’d be even prettier a little disheveled.
I also hadn’t planned on talking about my mom.
I don’t usually talk about her. I don’t enjoy revisiting how we lost her, way too soon. I didn’t share much, only about me keeping up with her gardens, but I did, and it felt so natural.
At first, when I noticed May’s eyes filling up with tears, I thought she felt sorry for me.
Then she said hydrangeas were her mom’s favorite too, and I realized, she didn’t feel pity, she understood me.
She knows what it’s like to carry that kind of loss. To have an empty space in you that no one ever will be able to fill.
So after she left, I finished up the gardens. I ran a few errands for the folks at the senior home—I carried boxes down to the basement, fixed a loose step, said hello to some of my favorite residents, and then I drove back to Lincoln City to buy more hydrangeas.
Because the look on her face when she saw them stuck with me. Because I want her to feel the way she felt this morning, every single day. I want her to walk past her door and see something she loves. Something that comes back every spring, no matter what.
So I got to work.
I cleared the space by her front walk, digging down past the old soil, breaking it up, mixing in fresh dirt and compost. I set the plants carefully, spacing them the way Mom taught me, making sure the roots have room to settle. Watered them slowly.Packed the soil back in firm but gently. I worked fast, wanting to be done before she got home, but I didn’t get to.
Her truck pulls into the driveway just as I’m finishing the last plant. I straighten, hands dirty, heart thudding hard. She steps out, one hand still on the door, surprise written all over her face.
