Chapter Twenty-Two
HARPER
If chaos had a scent,mine was a mix of clean laundry, glitter glue, and whatever last-minute dinner Finn had rejected half an hour ago. The kitchen counter was a battlefield of lunchboxes, scattered construction paper, and the lone, precious parrotfish tail we’d nearly lost to the trash. Somewhere under all that, my clipboard lurked, a reminder that I was both general manager and reluctant seamstress, all while hoping one didn’t show up in the shoes of the other.
Finn, cheeks faintly blue from face paint, darted through the tangle of chairs and discarded markers, arms tucked in like bright green fins. He landed in front of me with a flourish, shoving his chin out. “Look, Mom. Watch my ‘eating coral face.’”
His jaw dropped, lips stretched wide and ridiculous, one eye squeezed shut. He looked less like a tropical reef species and more like a fish in urgent need of dental care.
“Convincing. I feel the spirit of the parrotfish alive andwell in this kitchen.” I reached for the elastic band on his tail, fingers snagging on Velcro. “Did we lose your dorsal fin again or is it hiding with the missing socks?”
He twisted around, suddenly frantic, tugging the waistband around as though it held the meaning of life. I caught sight of the fin in the great room, half-stuffed beneath a couch cushion and wedged next to the remote and an empty juice box.
There was a sharp knock at the door. The sound cut through Finn’s dramatics and the low thrum of my nerves. I brushed a stray curl from my forehead, flicked my gaze to the hallway mirror—pale, clean blouse, necklace readjusted, eyes a little more tired than yesterday—and forced a steadying breath.
Chase’s silhouette hovered in the glass for a split second before he stepped in, keys dangling from his fingers. He took in the mess with a quick scan—no judgment, just that quiet, subtle smile he saved for Finn. Still, the tightness was there at the corners of his mouth, just out of reach from anything Finn or I might fix. I’d first noticed it a few days ago, right after he’d lost out on the home remodel he was hoping to land. If anything, the lines in his brow had only deepened since, the relentless pressure of putting out a million small fires.
“Hey, buddy,” Chase greeted Finn, making his way over without hesitation. “Is that a real parrotfish or an extra fromSharknado 5?”
Finn bounced from foot to foot. “It’s me! Watch this.” He darted over, mouth already forming his next line, posture practically vibrating. “You know parrotfish help save the reef, Chase? I’ve been working on my speech. Wanna hear?”
“Definitely,” Chase said, offering a high five that Finn slapped with the unbridled confidence of a six-year-oldconvinced he was changing the world one monologue at a time. Because after a series of costume revisions that rivaled Sunset Siesta’s and endless rehearsals, tonight was the big kindergarten play.
The two of them fell into the familiar pattern with Chase kneeling down to Finn’s height. Finn launched into his best theater voice, manglingcoral bleachingandalgaewith all the right seriousness, flapping the half-secured fin so hard I worried for both costume and furniture.
While he performed, I wrapped myself in logistics—find Finn’s shoes, double-check my purse, make sure there was enough time to make it across Dove Key before the curtain went up. I caught Chase glancing at his phone, thumb sliding across the screen like a reflex he was barely aware of, face hardening for an instant before Finn drew him back in.
He was good at this. At showing up, at smiling, at being the sunniest version of himself for a boy who adored him. But it didn’t erase the line between us that had been growing sharper, two people who worked too hard and weren’t good at navigating the complexities that caused. He’d asked me for understanding, for help. And I’d done my best to be quietly supportive and whatever the opposite of clingy was.
But Brenna’s voice echoed in my head. That we needed to talk this over. That I needed to come clean with my fears and get him to admit his, which had sounded so easy while we were sitting in her office. I fiddled with the hem of my sleeve, trying to gather my own resolve with the same practical efficiency I’d bring to resort staff schedules.
Because what if I asked for honesty and didn’t like the answer?
I balled my hand into a fist and tapped it on the counter. No more evading. There would never be theperfect time, and I could at least get the ball rolling. Finn trotted off to hunt for socks, tail flapping, and the thud of his feet disappeared down the hall. I watched Chase watching him, his shoulders rising and falling in an endless breath he probably didn’t realize was audible. Before the space between us could fill up with small talk or excuses, I edged closer.
“Hey. Got a second?”
He didn’t jump. But he did look over a beat too slowly, wariness flashing over his face before he managed the careful version of a smile. I hated that I recognized it.
I leaned back against the edge of the kitchen island, fingers lacing together to keep myself from fussing with the stack of mail. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About work and feeling stretched thin. I can see it, Chase. Even when you’re trying to hide it. The way you come in smiling for Finn, but your shoulders are up near your ears.”
He hesitated, staring past my shoulder at the lamp, or maybe just through it. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m in a really precarious spot right now, but things will settle down. We’re good—you and me. Really.” His voice was practiced, low, and meant to soothe, but with a razor-sharp edge. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting to the digital clock on the oven.
I didn’t step away. “Are we? Sometimes it feels like maybe all of this is just…”
Too much? Too heavy? The cost of caring? The words trailed off, refusing to fit neatly together.
Chase ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up a little at the crown—boyish and impossibly tired. “Work’s been utterly over the top,” he said, voice flattening. “That Franson thing took a lot out of me. The budget numbers Jules sent over weren’t great, but it’s nothing I can’thandle.” Another pause. He wouldn’t meet my gaze for long. “We’re starting the other part of the first floor of Room Block One tomorrow, and I’m just trying to make sure it goes smoothly. Just be a little patient with me, okay? We’re fine.”
“I know we’re starting the other side tomorrow.” Despite my best efforts, my voice took on a sharp edge. “I’m the general manager, remember? I don’t sit around all day, either.”
“No, you sure don’t. I can hardly keep up with you.” After a lopsided smile, he glanced pointedly toward the hall, then at the clock. “We should probably get going, right? Don’t want Finn to be late for his big debut.”
He was right, technically. But the words landed with the weight of a slammed door. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. I knew that. He just couldn’t orwouldn’t walk through the opening I’d offered. That familiar frustration pressed against my chest, a coil of disappointment that almost burned.
Chase was already scooping up Finn’s discarded hoodie and laying it on the arm of the couch, defaulting to logistics as if the question hadn’t been asked. “I’ll make sure we’ve got everything. The head too. Can’t let our parrotfish go topless.”
I swallowed, pressing my hands to my thighs to keep from wringing them in front of him. My voice was too bright when it came out. “Right. The play. Wouldn’t want to miss the”—I couldn’t help it—“dramatic fin-flapping.”
