Asher claps me on the back, laughing. “This is going to be fun. Welcome back, man.”
Hudson raises his beer. “To personal growth.”
“I like my height exactly as it is,” I mutter.
The others laugh, and though this whole thing is a mindfuck, the sound feels good.Familiar.
Until I glance at the book tucked under my chair.
The Hunting of Red.
Well, that’s one book Iwillbe reading. Mostly because Sadie tried to hide it from me.
And I don’t like secrets. Unless they’re my own.
six
SADIE
I wake up the next morning feeling so refreshed I actually bounce out of bed. I grin, barely recognizing myself. Maybe it’s because last night was the first proper sleep I’ve had in days, or maybe it’s because last night was exactly what I needed. A few glasses of wine with the girls, a lot of gossip, some baby squishes with Autumn’s new little one, and the smug satisfaction of not knowing what happens at Bro’s Book Club.
I have to admit, when Romy first asked to host a men-only book club in Books by the Sea, I laughed. I couldn’t imagine she’d get many attendees. Yet every month they’re lined up at the door at seven, like they’re desperate to be let in.
She’s promised me there are no illegal activities going on in there. That they actuallydoread books. And quite frankly, that’s all I need to know.
It’s still so early as I look out my bedroom window thatthe island is barely awake. The first ferry hasn’t left yet, the sun is barely above the horizon, and there’s a special kind of silence in the air that you barely get when it’s light outside.
So I decide to do something different. To go for a run.
After my mad dash to the art committee meeting, I’ve gotten a newfound appreciation for how good it felt to move. To let my body take over when my brain won’t stop spinning. I live by the beach, for crying out loud. I should take advantage of it.
So I tug on my shorts and an old sweatshirt, lace up my shoes, and step outside into the salt-sweet morning air. The sky is pale and streaked with pink, the waves rolling in slow and lazy, smoothing out the sand in wide, glittering sheets. I start with a walk down the lane toward the beach, breathing in deep, the air cool against my throat, before picking up my pace.
When I reach the sand, it doesn’t take long to find a rhythm, like my body remembers exactly how to run even if it’s been a long time since I was on the track team.
My steps match the sound of the surf, my pulse syncing with the steady push and pull of the tide. Every breath feels clean, new, like I’m rinsing something stale out of my system.
When the first ferry leaves for the mainland, I’m already halfway down the beach. The sound echoes through the morning, low and familiar. And that’s when I see another runner at the far end of the long stretch of sand.
I swallow hard, knowing exactly who it is.
He’s running toward me, bare-chested, sun striking across his shoulders and the hard lines of his chest. There’s a focused set to his jaw, his movements sure and powerful. Every stride eating up the sand like he owns the island.
I should look away. Itellmyself to look away.
But I don’t.
Because there’s something hypnotic about him. The control he has over his body. The ease with which he runs. The sense that, if he wanted to, he could keep going forever.
My pulse quickens. I try to convince myself it’s because I’m exercising. That it has nothing to do with the stupid TikToks I’ve been watching. The book I’ve been reading.
Nope. Not at all. No Siree.
Zach’s wearing reflective running shades and there’s no sign that he’s spotted me. No change in his speed or direction. His pace is unbroken, with the kind of steady rhythm that belongs to a man who never doubts himself. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the breeze.
Before I can think better of it, I turn and start running the other way.
It’s totally rational, after all. I’m avoiding an awkward small-town encounter before breakfast, not reenacting the plot of my current bedside reading material.
