He wasn't sure what to do with that. Wasn't sure he was ready to examine it too closely. But as the trees closed in around them and the cottage came into view through the green, he found himself hoping she'd stay long enough for him to figure it out.
Three months, she'd said. Three months to figure out her future.
He had a feeling those three months were going to change more than just hers.
Chapter Five
By midafternoon, the air had turned silk-smooth, warm on Tessa's shoulders with just enough breeze coming off the water to lift the hair at her nape.
Brian had gone to the shop to help Hank and Colby with something mechanical she didn't pretend to understand. He'd offered to drop her in town on his way, but she'd declined, wanting the walk. Wanting to feel the path under her feet and the sun on her face and the simple pleasure of going somewhere without a destination in mind.
The trail from White Gull Lane wound through the pines, dappled light falling through the needles in bright coins. She took her time, pausing to watch a squirrel scold her from a branch, to breathe in the scent of warm earth and resin. When the path opened onto Main Street, Copper Moon spread before her like a postcard come to life.
The craft fair was in full swing: white tents lining the green in neat rows. A guitarist tuned up under the gazebo, his fingers picking out fragments of melody that drifted on the breeze. Children darted between booths with snow cones dripping from their hands, their laughter bright and uncomplicated. The air was a braid of kettle corn, sunscreen, and the ever-present salt of the harbor.
Tessa wandered through the rows, letting herself be drawn from one display to the next. Hand-thrown pottery in shades of blue and green. Quilts with intricate stitching that must have taken months. Jars of local honey with handwritten labels. Everything here was made by someone's hands, crafted with care and intention. It was so different from the sterile efficiency of the hospital, where everything was mass-produced and disposable.
She stopped at Harbor Bean, the coffee shop Brian had pointed out on their first trip into town, and ordered a cup of tea. The barista, a young woman with pink streaks in her hair and a nose ring, handed over the cup with a smile.
"First time at the fair?" she asked.
"That obvious?"
"You've got that look. Like you're actually seeing it instead of just passing through." The barista picked up a marker and drew something on the lid of Tessa's cup. When she handed it back, there was a small heart inked onto the cardboard. "Welcome to Copper Moon."
Tessa stared at the heart for a moment, her throat unexpectedly tight. It was such a small thing. Such a silly thing to get emotional about. But kindness had been in short supply in her life lately, and even the tiniest gesture felt like a gift.
"Thank you," she managed.
She carried her tea through the fair, sipping slowly, letting the warmth spread through her chest. At a jewelry booth near the end of a row, she stopped to examine a display of silver pendants. Each one held a tiny pressed flower or leaf, preserved in clear resin, frozen in time.
"Those are all local," the vendor said, a middle-aged woman with sun-weathered skin and kind eyes. "Wildflowers from the meadow behind my house. Ferns from the woods near the bay. Little pieces of Copper Moon you can carry with you."
Tessa picked up a pendant with a delicate fern frond pressed inside, its green preserved perfectly beneath the silver frame. Moments caught and saved for later. That was what she wanted. Little pieces of quiet she could hold onto when the noise came back.
"I'll take this one," she said.
She slipped the chain over her head and let the pendant settle at the hollow of her throat. The metal was cool against her skin, grounding.
As she turned away from the booth, movement caught at the edge of her vision. She glanced to her left, toward a rack of T-shirts two booths back.
A man stood there, studying the shirts with what appeared to be casual interest. Gray ball cap pulled low. Sunglasses despite the overcast sky. He wasn't looking at her. Not directly. But something about his posture made the hair on the back of her neck prickle.
She watched him for a moment, her pulse ticking up. He picked up a shirt, checked the size, and put it back. His head turned slightly, and for just a second, the dark lenses of his sunglasses seemed to skim past her face like the flare of a mirror catching light.
Then he moved on, drifting toward another booth, and the moment passed.
Tessa let out a breath. She was being paranoid. A town full of people, a fair full of tourists, and she was reading threat into a stranger looking at T-shirts. Seven years in trauma had rewired her brain to scan for danger, to read rooms for the one small thing that meant everything. But out here, that instinct was a liability, not a skill.
She shook it off and headed toward the seawall.
The harbor stretched out before her, blue and glittering, boats bobbing gently at their moorings. She found a spot along the stone wall and settled there, both hands wrapped around her cup of tea, watching the water. A pair of teenagers practiced casting fishing lines without hooks, the loops of monofilament catching the light and falling again. Gulls circled overhead, crying to each other in their harsh, lonely voices.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out and looked at the screen. Unknown number. Chicago area code.
Her stomach clenched. She let it ring, watching the screen until the call went to voicemail. A moment later, it buzzed again. Same number.
