Page 27 of Our Bay Will Come

I'll have dinner ready. Nothing fancy.

I find myself smiling at my phone like a teenager. This is the kind of shit that terrifies me—how easily he makes me smile, how much I look forward to his texts, how often I've caught myself daydreaming about those strong hands and that quiet laugh.

"Get it together, Griffin," I mutter, shoving my toiletry bag into my weekender with more force than necessary.

Forty-five minutes later, I'm on the road, my GPS guiding me toward Cedar Bay. The closer I get, the tighter my chest feels. When I hit the coastal highway, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

What if this weekend changes everything? What if it doesn't? What if I'm building this up in my head? What if I'm not building it up enough?

I crack the window, letting the salt air clear my head. The ocean appears in glimpses between the trees, steel gray under the cloudy sky. It's beautiful in that moody, Pacific Northwest way that sometimes catches me off guard, even after years of living here.

"Open mind," I remind myself, echoing Rory's advice. "Just go with an open mind."

The GPS announces my exit, and I take a deep breath. Cedar Bay welcomes me with a weather-beaten sign featuring a carved cedar tree. It's the kind of small coastal town that shows up in Hallmark movies—quaint storefronts, a main street that probably hosts parades on holidays, and locals who've known each other since birth.

I follow Fox's directions, turning onto a winding road that hugs the coastline. The houses here are a mix of old fishing cottages and newer, more modern homes with spectacular views of the bay.

His house is near the end of the road—a modest but well-maintained craftsman with a wide front porch and large windows facing the water. As promised, I can see the sun beginning its descent and painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink.

I park behind his truck and sit briefly, hands still on the wheel. This is it. It's my last chance to turn around, head back to Seattle, and pretend I suddenly came down with food poisoning.

Then the front door opens, and Fox steps onto the porch. He's wearing jeans and a simple gray henley, his dark hair slightly tousled like he's been running his hands through it. Even from here, I can see the smile transforming his usually serious face.

He doesn't wave or call out. He stands there, waiting, giving me space to make my choice.

And despite all my doubts, despite the voice in my head screaming about self-preservation and caution, I find myself opening the car door and stepping out.

Open mind, open heart—maybe they're not so different after all.

CHAPTER NINE

FOX

"All set?" Rowan asks, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. We've been finishing up the Miller's bathroom renovation all afternoon, and the August heat is making even the usually air-conditioned main suite feel like a sauna.

"Yeah, I just need to seal this grout, and we're good." I run my hand over the herringbone tile pattern we just installed. Not bad for a rush job. The craftsmanship matters to me, even when we're under the gun.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, trying not to get grout dust on the screen. It's Prue.

Prue: Just passed the Cedar Bay sign. See you in 10.

Something flutters in my chest. I've been checking my phone all day, waiting for this message.

"Prue's almost here," I say, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Rowan grins knowingly. "Yeah, Cilla texted me. She's been tracking her sister's drive up, ensuring she doesn't chicken out."

"Wait, what?" I look up sharply. "Why would she chicken out?"

Rowan shrugs, wiping down the new vanity. "Relax, man. Prue's just cautious. Cilla says she hasn't done the whole weekend-away thing with anyone since her ex."

"She didn't mention that." I frown, setting down my trowel. "Maybe this is too much pressure. I should've just suggested dinner or something."

"Now, who's chickening out?" Rowan laughs, then holds up his hands when I glare at him. "Look, all I'm saying is, take it slow with Prue. She's not like the women you usually date."

"I don't 'usually date' anyone," I mutter, gathering our tools. "And I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean anyway."

Rowan sighs. "Prue's been through some shit with her ex. He did a number on her confidence. Cilla says she's built up these walls, you know? You gotta take it day by day."

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