Page 39 of Second Chance with the Half-Elf
CHAPTER 14
AERON
Jamie finds me where the harbor planks meet the gravel—boots deep in brine-streaked dust, arms buried in the guts of the sea float’s rudder system. The morning sun’s already clawing its way up the sky, too bright, too cheerful, like it doesn’t know I’ve been awake since before dawn, too wired to sleep and too damn stubborn to call it grief.
“Uncle Ae-roooon!”
He’s all energy and squeaky boot soles, dressed like a walking tidepool: octopus shirt, mismatched socks, jellyfish beanie slipping sideways over his curls. There’s a seagull feather stuck behind one ear like he’s trying out for pirate captain.
I glance up, squinting. “You yelling, or calling the storm?”
He grins wide. “Mama says you gotta come to story hour.”
I wipe my hands on a rag. “Tell Mama I’m up to my elbows in marine engineering.”
“She said you’d say that.” Jamie skips closer, his boots squelching in a puddle left from last night’s high tide. “She also said you owe her for the popcorn machine fire.”
“That was not my fault,” I mutter.
He tilts his head like a suspicious crab. “She said you broke iton purposeso you could test your fire warding spell.”
“…Maybe a little bit my fault.”
“Come ooon,” he sings, grabbing my wrist with those sticky, determined fingers. “Please? It’s my favorite book today.”
The kid’s got a death grip and a pout that could guilt a kraken into tears. I give in.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But I’m not doing voices.”
Jamie’s smirk says he knows better.
The Gilded Page smells like warm paper, cinnamon from the scone tray near the register, and the faint mineral tang of old ink. The store’s full of velvet shadows and gold dust dancing through the light shafts breaking in through the tall sea-glass windows. Dust motes swirl like tiny ghosts every time someone passes between the shelves.
There’s already a crowd of kids in the reading nook, which Liara’s padded out with every beanbag and quilt the store owns. Sea creature plushies are tossed around like someone hosted a kraken-themed brawl. A mermaid doll dangles from a curtain rod like she’s seen too much.
Liara leans against the endcap beside the register, sipping something in a reusable cup that probably contains three kinds of espresso and poor choices.
“You’re late,” she says without looking up.
“I’m here.”
She gives me a smug half-smile. “Jamie pickedThe Kraken’s Lonely Song. Try not to get emotional again.”
I raise a brow. “I had sand in my eye.”
“You had feelings, sailor. It’s okay. We allow those now.”
Before I can fire back, Jamie tugs me down the aisle, dodging a toddler in a shark hoodie. He plants me in the big overstuffed reading chair like he’s the captain and I’m just the ride.
The book is already waiting on the armrest. Worn cover. Gold-foil title flaking off like it’s been read a hundred times. Probably has. I pick it up. The room settles. Even the scone-stealing seagull that keeps showing up outside the bay window seems to pause.
And then I see her.
Evie.
She’s standing behind the poetry display, half in shadow, half in sun, camera hanging loose against her hip like it doesn’t belong there anymore. Her eyes are fixed on me, wide and unreadable. Her lips part slightly, just enough to let out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.
The room blurs around the edges.
