I pack a small basket of fruit, cheese, and bread. Then drive to the pull-off, hands tight on the wheel, park, and walk the path to the beach with legs that feel wooden and unsteady.
He’s already there, sitting on a blanket he’s spread out. He stands when he sees me, smiles easily at first, then falters when he reads my face.
“Grace?”
I stop a few feet away. “We need to talk.”
He nods slowly, expression guarded. “Okay.”
I sit on the far edge of the blanket. He sits opposite me, leaving deliberate space between us. The distance feels vast.
“I got a text from Mark yesterday,” I start, voice thin. “He saw a picture of us online. Said some things.”
Jake’s jaw tightens. “What things?”
“The usual.” I force the words out past the lump in my throat. “That I’m too old for you. That I’ve turned into a cougar. That I should have more self-respect than to parade around with a boy toy.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, hands clenching on his knees. “He’s wrong.”
“Maybe.” I look at my hands instead of his face. “But he’s not the only one thinking it. I see the looks in town. And I keep wondering, what if they’re right? What if I’m holding you back from someone younger, someone without all this history, someone who doesn’t come with an ex-husband texting poison every time I dare to be happy?”
Jake leans forward. “Grace. Stop.”
“I can’t.” My voice cracks. “I’m trying to protect you. Protect myself. I don’t want to be the reason you get judged. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize you stayed out of pity or guilt or?—”
“Stop.” He reaches for my hand. I pull back like I’ve been burned.
“I need space,” I say. “Just for a little while. To think. To breathe.”
He stares at me like I’ve slapped him. “You’re pulling away.”
“I’m trying to be honest.”
“Honest would be telling me you’re scared and letting me help, not shutting me out like I’m the enemy.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. “I don’t know how to do this without getting hurt again. Without hurting you.”
He stands and runs a hand through his hair. “Then let me show you, help you, but I can’t do that if you won’t let me near you.”
I look up at him, vision blurring. “I need time.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know.”
He nods once, sharp and controlled. “Okay. Take the time you need. But I’m not going anywhere. When you’re ready to talk, really talk, I’ll be here.”
He leaves the blanket and walks back to his truck without looking back.
I sit alone on the sand until the sun burns high overhead and my skin feels tight and hot. As I walk back to the cottage, chest aching, mind spinning, all I can think is that I wish Jake were here holding my hand.
8
JAKE
The shop feels too quiet.
I lock the front door early, flip the “Back Tomorrow” sign, and head out the back to the small deck overlooking the dunes. The ocean stretches wide and restless today, waves breaking hard against the sand like they’re angry about something. I lean on the railing, forearms braced and let the wind whip salt across my face until my eyes sting.
