I turn onto my side and punch the pillow into a better shape. This assignment got interesting. Real interesting. And if I have to pretend to be her doting fiancé, or whatever while I keep her alive and dig up answers about Liotta, I’ll play the part like I was born for it.
The waves keep rolling outside. I let their rhythm pull me under. Tomorrow we start selling our story to Sunbreak Harbor. And I start figuring out exactly who wants Sadie Wells gone.
4
Sadie
Sunlight pours through the kitchen windows the next morning and warms the tile under my bare feet. I fold the last dish towel and set it on the counter, smoothing the fabric with careful hands. The bungalow already feels lived-in after one night. My suitcase sits empty in the bedroom, and the faint scent of ocean air drifts in through the open sliding door. I grab my coffee mug and take a slow sip as Jace strolls into the kitchen.
He wears a fresh blue T-shirt that stretches across his chest and board shorts that show off tanned, muscular legs. His hair looks freshly tousled, like he ran his fingers through it instead of using a comb. He flashes me that easy, arrogant grin that probably works on every woman he meets and grabs the stack of reusable bags from the hook by the door.
“Ready to play happy couple at the market, future Mrs. Hawthorne?” he asks, voice warm and teasing.
I set my mug down and shove my sunglasses onto my face, even though we haven’t left the house yet. “I agreed to pretend. Notto audition for a romcom. Keep the pet names to a minimum in private.”
He holds the front door open with a dramatic bow, one arm sweeping wide. “After you, my almost-bride. I promise to be on my best behavior. Mostly.”
I step past him into the bright morning light. The salty breeze lifts the hem of my sundress and carries the sound of distant waves. We climb into his black Jeep Wrangler. The top is off, and the wind immediately whips my ponytail across my face as we pull away from the bungalow and head toward the small grocery store in the heart of Sunbreak Harbor.
Jace drives with such a confidence I find alluring. He points out landmarks as we go. “That little white building on the corner? Best coffee in town. The dock over there is where the charter boats leave every morning. And that pink cottage with the blue shutters? Rumor says it belongs to a retired pirate. Or maybe a guy who really likes rum.”
I glance at him sideways. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Only when I’m eating or kissing,” he replies without missing a beat. “Both activities I highly recommend.”
I fight a smile and stare out at the passing storefronts. The town feels small and bright, with colorful awnings and people already strolling the sidewalks in flip-flops and sun hats. My stomach twists with nerves. Pretending in public means touching. Smiling. Selling a story I never asked to star in.
Jace parks near the entrance of the grocery store and kills the engine. The second my feet hit the pavement, he reaches for my hand. His palm feels warm and steady, fingers strong as they close around mine. I almost pull back on instinct. My heart kickshard against my ribs. This is too much, too fast. But then an older couple walking past glances our way with knowing smiles, and I remember the plan. I lace my fingers through his and plaster on what I hope looks like an adoring smile.
Inside, the store buzzes with a mix of tourists and locals. Carts rattle down narrow aisles. A radio plays soft country music overhead. The air smells like fresh bread from the bakery section and ripe fruit from the produce displays. Jace steers us toward the produce section with easy confidence, still holding my hand. He stops in front of the mangoes and picks up a bright orange one, holding it up like a trophy.
“Perfect for our romantic beach picnic,” he says, loud enough for a woman browsing nearby to hear. “Or I could feed you slices while we watch the sunset from the hammock. Very couple-y. Very swoony.”
I snatch the mango from his hand and drop it into the cart with a little more force than necessary. “You would probably drop it in the sand and call it extra flavor. Then I’d have to clean up after you like always.”
He clutches his chest in mock offense, eyes sparkling. “Ouch. Direct hit to the heart. I make excellent picnic choices. Ask anyone who’s ever shared a blanket with me.”
“Anyone except the woman stuck pretending to date you,” I shoot back. I add a bag of fresh spinach to the cart and bump his hip with mine to move him out of the way of the avocados. He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that turns a few heads in our direction. I catch myself smiling before I can stop it and quickly look away.
We move through the aisles trading jabs like it’s second nature. In the cereal aisle he tries to sneak a box of sugary kids cereal with cartoon characters on the front into the cart. I replace it with a plain canister of oatmeal and raise one eyebrow.
“Really?” he says. “You’re choosing cardboard over joy?”
“I’m choosing something that won’t rot your teeth before we even solve this mess,” I reply. “Besides, I like oatmeal. It’s reliable. Predictable.”
He counters by adding two pints of chocolate chunk ice cream to the cart. “A girl needs some comforts when her life turns into a bodyguard romcom. I’m thoughtful like that.”
I let them stay. The truth is I do need something sweet after everything that has happened. We continue down the aisle. A middle-aged woman pushing a cart loaded with wine and cheese stops to watch us. She smiles warmly.
“You two are darling,” she says. “Reminds me of my husband and me when we first started dating. All that spark.”
Jace wraps his arm around my waist without warning and pulls me gently against his side. “She keeps me on my toes. Best decision I ever made, bringing her here.”
I tense for a split second, then relax into the role and rest my hand on his chest. The muscle there feels solid under my palm. “He’s impossible,” I say with a light laugh that sounds almost natural. “But I suppose I am stuck with him now.”
The woman chuckles and moves on. The second she turns the corner, I step away from Jace’s side. He doesn’t comment, but his eyes linger on me a moment longer than necessary.
Near the deli counter, a man in a fishing hat glances our way twice. Jace notices. He reaches for my hand again, fingers brushing mine. This time I pull back on instinct, my nerves flaring. The store suddenly feels too small, too watched.
