Page 11 of Breaking Through

Sighing, I pulled out my journal and extracted the Polaroid. Parker practically snatched it from my hands, studying it withthe intensity he usually reserved for analyzing blog metrics with Cole.

"Oh." The single syllable held volumes. "Oh, Holden. This is..."

"Just a lucky shot," I finished, trying to sound casual.

"No." Parker handed the photo back with surprising gentleness. "This is art. You captured something raw here; look at how the mist softens everything except his eyes. They're so clear, so present. I've never seen Wade look so... seen."

Thunder rattled the windows, underscoring his words. I tucked the photo away, trying to ignore how my fingers trembled slightly. "Speaking of seeing things, Grandpa mentioned something about murals in an old storm shelter. Something about Gran helping restore them?"

Parker sat forward so quickly that he nearly toppled his laptop fort. "Yes! Isabella's lake scenes! I can't believe I forgot about those while planning the Hidden Places series." He dove into one of his paper piles and came up with a green notebook in his hands. "The original artist nearly died in a storm, then painted what he saw. Your grandmother helped restore them in the seventies and added her own touches. They're incredible—or they were. I doubt anybody's maintained them since."

"Since Gran died," I finished quietly.

"Yeah." Parker's smile faltered for a moment, then returned with renewed determination. "But that's exactly why we need to document them now. Preserve that piece of Blue Harbor history and your family's connection to it. We should check them out once this storm passes."

"Assuming they survive the storm." I glanced at the rain-lashed windows. "Though I suppose the point of a storm shelter is to withstand this kind of weather. Checking on how it comes through the wind and rain could be worth a photo or three, and yeah, I guess I'd have to set that up with Wade."

"Before we get completely derailed by your love life…" Parker turned back to his laptop. "What do you think about the heritage boats series mockup?"

I grabbed a chair, opened my laptop, and pulled up the draft on my screen. I'd spent the last week designing social media templates showcasing the vintage wooden boats still docked in Blue Harbor Marina. The images balanced historical photos against current ones, with space for Parker's stories about each vessel.

"I played with the layout." While Parker looked over my shoulder, I clicked through the slides. "See how the before and after shots mirror each other? I also added this subtle wave pattern to the background. It matches the blog's aesthetic while lending a distinct identity to the series."

Parker leaned over my shoulder, studying the design. "That's exactly what I was hoping for but couldn't articulate. How'd you do that thing with the fonts?"

"Paired a classic serif with something more modern. The contrast works like the old-versus-new photos." I pointed to specific elements. "Also added some hand-drawn illustrations that echo the original boat blueprints we found in the maritime museum archives."

"God, I love your brain." Parker shook his head in admiration. "When you first moved here, I just wanted someone to help streamline our announcements. Instead, I got a full-service creative director who actually gets what makes Blue Harbor special."

"Speaking of special... " I clicked another window. "I started mapping out how this could expand beyond social media. What if we did a physical installation during the Heritage Days Festival? It might have interactive displays where people can scan QR codes to see the boats' histories."

"Yes!" Parker's whole body seemed to vibrate with possibility, as it always did when he caught the scent of a good story. "We could work with the marina to set up viewing stations along the dock. Maybe even get some of the boat owners to—" He stopped mid-sentence, a familiar glint in his eye. You know who we'd need permission from for the dock installations?"

I groaned, already seeing where this was going. "Let me guess, the park service?"

"Specifically, a certain grumpy ranger who oversees waterfront permit applications." Parker's grin was downright wicked. "What wonderful timing."

"You're impossible." Still, I couldn't stop myself from smiling. "Can we focus on one project at a time? The storm shelter murals first, and then we can worry about Heritage Days."

"Fine, fine. I'm just saying the universe keeps creating these opportunities for you two to cross paths. It's looking less and less like a coincidence."

I sighed. "So Mother Nature decided to hurl a mega-storm at Blue Harbor just to introduce me to Wade?"

"Something like that." Parker checked his phone. "Speaking of weather, Cole just texted. He's grabbed us a booth at Joe's. Says we shouldn't waste a perfectly good storm watching it through dirty windows."

On the way to Joe's, we walked a gauntlet of horizontal rain and wind that seemed determined to test Newton's laws of motion. We arrived looking like we'd gone swimming fully clothed, but the diner's warmth wrapped around us like a hug—the scent of coffee and grilling burgers mixed with the peculiar ozone smell that intense storms always carried.

Cole waved from our usual booth, looking annoyingly dry and put-together. He chuckled as we squelched toward him, leaving puddles on the worn linoleum. A waitress darted past with a mop, eyes rolling as she snickered.

I pulled out my phone, checking for messages from Maria. She'd promised to stay with Grandpa through the storm, but low barometric pressure increased the stress on his lungs.

"I ordered you both hot coffee." Cole slid over to make room for Parker. "And before you ask—yes, Holden, I made sure they know you want the vanilla syrup."

"You're a lifesaver." I collapsed onto the opposite bench, peeling off my soaked jacket. "Though I'm starting to think Sarah's got the whole town trained in my coffee preferences."

My phone buzzed—a text from Maria:

"Clark's oxygen levels are good. Stop worrying."

---