Page 53 of Redeeming Melodies

Jake's smile had an edge of sadness. "I just don't want any kid to grow up like I did."

The words hung between us, heavy with unspoken history. I wanted to ask, to understand what could make someone as steady as Jake sound so raw. But he was still staring at the waves, shoulders tense like he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Dad!" Tommy's shout broke the moment. "Watch this!"

We both looked up to see him attempting what I think was supposed to be a cartwheel. Sand flew everywhere as he tumbled, popping up with the biggest grin I'd seen in months.

"Ten out of ten, buddy!" I called back, and his laugh carried across the beach like music.

"He's fearless," Jake said, that sad edge gone from his voice. "Reminds me of someone else I know who likes to go fast."

"Hey, I resemble that remark." The joke felt natural, easier than addressing whatever moment we'd just had. "Though these days I'm more interested in keeping up with him than breaking speed records."

Tommy ran back to us, dripping and breathless. "Dad! Sheriff Jake! The waves are perfect! Come on!"

"You heard the boss." Jake stood, brushing sand from his shorts. The movement drew my eyes to the solid muscle of his thighs, and fuck, this was getting dangerous. "Race you to the water?"

Tommy took off immediately, Jake close behind. I watched them splash into the surf, their combined laughter rising abovethe sound of waves. Something warm and terrifying bloomed in my chest - not just attraction, though yeah, that was definitely part of it. But something deeper, more complicated.

Hope, maybe. Or possibility.

CONFLICTED

Three in the morning and sleep was a lost cause. My bedroom ceiling hadn't changed in the years I'd lived in it, but I was studying it like it might hold answers to questions I wasn't even sure how to ask. The fan spun lazy circles, casting shadows that reminded me of the way Elliot's hands moved when he talked - all graceful confidence until something caught him off guard, made him real.

Fuck.

I rolled over, punching my pillow like it was responsible for the thoughts that wouldn't quit. Down the hall, I could hear the old house settling, creaking like it was laughing at me. Fifteen years on the force, handling everything from bar fights to drug busts without breaking a sweat, and here I was, undone by a pair of green eyes and a kid's laugh.

Here's the thing about small towns - they had a way of cracking open the parts of yourself you thought were sealed tight. Like how I noticed the way Elliot's whole face changed when he smiled at Tommy. How my chest did this weird flip thing when they both looked at me like I belonged in their orbit. How I'd spent the afternoon setting up that spare roomwith baseball gear and comics, pretending I wasn't building something that felt dangerously like hope.

Screw it. Sleep wasn't happening.

My feet hit the floor with purpose this time. The kitchen had always been my refuge - something about the simple chemistry of cooking, the way ingredients combined to make something whole. Like how my mother taught me: precise measurements, careful timing, everything in its place.

Tomorrow would bring what it brought. Questions, complications, probably a few small-town whispers. But right now, measuring flour in my quiet kitchen, I was done fighting it. Done pretending I wasn't falling for a man with kind eyes and his kid with a heart big enough to maybe make room for a small-town sheriff still figuring himself out.

Besides, if I was going to have an identity crisis, at least I could have good pancakes while doing it.

Pancake batter splatteredagainst my wrist as I whisked, the familiar motion grounding me after that sleepless night. Tommy had mentioned loving blueberries, so I'd grabbed fresh ones from Miller's bakery at dawn - definitely not because I wanted to see Elliot's face light up when he tasted them. Definitely not.

The kitchen slowly filled with morning smells: coffee brewing, butter melting on the griddle, eggs crackling in the pan. Normal stuff. Routine stuff. Except nothing felt normal anymore, not with my house about to be filled with life and laughter and-

"Holy shit, something smells amazing."

My heart definitely didn't skip at Elliot's voice. But when I turned around, the whisk nearly slipped from my grip. He stoodin the doorway looking sleep-rumpled and soft, wearing sweats that rode low on his hips and a faded t-shirt that had seen better days. His hair stuck up in about twelve different directions, and fuck if it wasn't the most endearing thing I'd ever seen.

"Didn't know you could cook," he said, padding into the kitchen like he belonged there. Maybe he did.

"Man's got to eat." I turned back to the pancakes before he could catch whatever was showing on my face. "Coffee's ready if you want some."

His grateful groan as he poured a cup did things to my concentration. "You're a lifesaver. Tommy's still passed out - kid sleeps like the dead when he feels safe."

The casual way he said it, like he'd noticed his son slept better here, made my chest tight. "Good. He needs the rest. Growing kid and all that."

"Speaking of growing kids." Elliot leaned against the counter next to me, close enough that I could feel his warmth. "Any chance one of those pancakes has chocolate chips? He's kind of addicted."

"Second batch." I nodded toward the bowl of batter I'd already mixed. "Got mini chips too - they spread better."

---