Austin snorted. “Let’s catch a snapper first. Save marlin for next time.”
For the next few minutes, Austin moved Finn through the process of casting, reeling, waiting. Demonstrating how to watch the line’s movement, telling him about the feel of a nibble versus the current. He pointed out an osprey diving offshore, and Finn’s face split into pure awe. Austin didn’t fill the quiet with words. He dropped his advice like bait, just where Finn could grab it, then faded back, letting the boy find his own rhythm.
There were too many layers to the way I felt in that moment. Relief, seeing my son glow under Austin’s attention. Contentment, with Chase within arm’s reach. Gratitude—for all of it, for the messy, blended family that had somehow fallen into place around me.
Austin was explaining the finer points of adjusting the drag. “If you set it too tight, the line might snap. Too loose, the fish gets away. Gotta listen for the click. Feel it in your hands.” His voice had that low, steady certainty—the kind you only got from a lifetime of practice. He glanced up once, caught me watching, then looked away so quickly I nearly missed the flicker of embarrassment.
Finn frowned, brow knotting as he listened. “But how do you know?”
Austin paused, expression unreadable for a second. “Sometimes you just do. Fish don’t always play by the rules. Best you can do is pay attention and try not to get too impatient.”
He tugged the line between his rough fingers, showing Finn how to test the tension. Finn imitated him, biting his lip. The look Austin gave him then—soft, full of something quiet and unnameable—made my breath catch. I relaxed against Chase while Austin and Finn kept up their quietpractice. Chase reached for my hand, thumb tracing a lazy circle across my knuckles.
“You ever see Austin this relaxed?” he whispered.
“Not unless there’s a tropical storm and all the tourists are safe or evacuated,” I replied, trying not to laugh. “He pretends he’s all gruff and crusty, but…” I trailed off, not sure how to sum up the feeling.
“Yeah,” Chase murmured. “Guess it’s easier out here. He’s in his element.”
When the sun slipped lower,painting the sky in molten oranges and fading pinks, I enjoyed the breeze while Chase drifted closer to the helm, where Austin checked the depth finder and lines.
“Heard you finished your restoration over on Driftwood Lane,” Chase said, folding his arms, letting the gentle sway of the deck rock him into the conversation. “Eli’s been bragging it looks incredible. Word is, you scared off the last contractor who tried to put vinyl on your porch.”
Austin’s mouth twitched, almost a grin, but he reined it in fast. “Yeah. Mostly done. Still some trim work. Place was more bones and bad ideas than house.”
“Any surprises?” Chase asked, keeping his tone light and interested. There weren’t many old conch homes left, and Austin had fought to save every splinter. I wasn’t at all surprised Chase wanted to know all the details.
Austin rolled his shoulders, watching the water roll past. “Plenty. Rotten sills. Wiring from the Eisenhower era. One night, a raccoon got stuck under the floorboards—sounded like a poltergeist. Still, nothing I couldn’t handle. If you know what you’re doing, these old houses aren’t so bad. You know that.”
I followed his gaze to the shoreline, where the homes huddled together in the distance, salt-bleached and stubborn as ever.
Austin’s face darkened a shade. “Biggest problem now isn’t my place. It’s that monstrosity next door.” He jerked his chin toward a hulking silhouette farther along the beach.
I pushed to my feet and joined them. “You mean the old Heron House?”
Austin nodded grimly. “Yeah. It’s sat all but derelict for decades. But I’ve seen a construction worker over there several times lately. The other day, I was trimming my hibiscus hedge and asked him what was going on. He said Old Lady finally passed away and left the estate to her niece. Guess the niece plans to fix it up.” He snorted, unable to hide the irritated humor in his eyes now. “The place is massive. Needs everything. Roof, foundation, probably an exorcism.”
His annoyance was oddly endearing. There was a protective streak there—toward the house, the town, maybe even his own battered peace.
I laughed and brushed a stray lock of hair out of my eyes. “Well, it is getting a little cramped over at my place after Chase moved in.” I nudged his ribs with my elbow, enjoying the familiarity and rightness of it. “Maybe we should see if the niece would rather sell. We could use the extra space. Finally have enough closets for all your suits and ties.”
Austin’s eyes flew wide in horror. “That’s the last thing you want to joke about, Harper. That place is a money-pit nightmare. Mold, rot, probably ghosts out for vengeance. You want nothing to do with it.”
Chase shook his head as a grin escaped. “He’s right. I walked through that property for a site consult last year. Itneeds everything. Even the stilt piles are cracked.” He caught our eyes as a decided gleam entered his. “But if you had the right buyer, enough patience, and maybe an architect with a little vision, it would make the perfect bed-and-breakfast or boutique hotel.”
Austin shot him a sour look. “A hotel? Next door to me? God, don’t say that, Ashworth. It’s bad enough thinking about noisy neighbors, let alone tourists hanging laundry off the balcony at all hours. I’ll end up moving out to sea.”
I snorted. “You wouldn’t last a week without Tidal Hops happy hour. Besides, ghosts love a crowd. Maybe they’ll come visit you.” I turned and poked Chase in the chest. “And as for you, don’t even think about it. I was kidding about buying that heap of shingles.”
Chase broke into a wide grin. “Agreed. We have quite enough on our plate. Sorry, Austin, but we’ve been overruled.”
Austin only grunted, but I saw the faintest smile tug at his stubble before he turned away, his gaze back on the far-off lights of Dove Key.
Then Finn shouted from the port side, his voice shrill with excitement. “I got one! I got a real one!” He stood planted at the rail, the tip of his rod bucking, reel screaming like the Fourth of July.
Austin, all business now, hurried over and kneeled behind Finn, his arms bracketing the boy. “Okay, hold your reel steady now. Don’t jerk it. That’s it, just like I showed you.” His attention was total—world narrowed to Finn, the rod, and whatever surprise was coming out of the deep.
Chase and I moved to the other side of the stern to give them plenty of room while we watched. Finn’s rod jerked again, the reel protesting, and Austin was offering the world’s most patient instructions, but it felt miles away.The quiet between Chase and me grew wide and soft, stretched over the gentle slap of the waves against the hull. There was no rush, just a private kind of hush where possibilities waited.
When we returned, Finn slouched between Chase and me, barely awake. Austin stood tall at the wheel, his gaze trained on the Sunset Siesta pier, his profile carved in shadow and a strange, wistful longing. He was a man full of jagged old wounds and silences, the kind you wanted to reach out to heal but were never quite able to.
Chase hugged me a little tighter as the first stars blinked awake, and I leaned back into him, letting the joy be bigger than the worries. Family wasn’t always born. It was built, one moment at a time, on a sunset cruise with a child’s laughter, a brother’s rare smile, and the best man in the world’s arms around your waist.
