Page 2 of Second Chance with the Half-Elf
“Evie.” His voice is deeper now, rough around the edges. Like driftwood polished by the sea.
“Aeron,” I say, lifting the wine glass in a mock toast. “Wow. Harbor Master. Fancy.”
His jaw tightens. “Welcome back.”
“I’d say it’s good to be here, but that’d be a lie.”
A flicker of something passes through his eyes—anger? Amusement? I can’t tell anymore.
“I heard you were in town.” He shifts his weight, gaze flicking past me to the house. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
I lean against the doorframe, all nonchalance and bravado. “Estate stuff. Just passing through.”
“Right.” He doesn’t believe me. Hell, I don’t believe me.
Silence stretches between us, taut and awkward. Once upon a time, we could’ve talked for hours without running out of words. Now it feels like trying to hold a conversation with the tide.
“Anything else?” I ask, arching a brow.
His lips press into a line. “Storm blew through last week. Some debris near the north dock. I’m checking properties on the bluff. Safety protocol.”
Of course he is. Always the responsible one.
“I’m not exactly planning a beach bonfire.”
He nods, gaze lingering on me like he’s searching for something. Maybe the girl who used to steal boats and photograph stars with him. She’s dead, Aeron. Long gone.
“Well.” He straightens. “If you need anything... The harbor office is open.”
“Sure. I’ll add it to my list.”
Another beat of silence. Then he nods once, sharp and controlled, and turns to leave.
Against my better judgment, I call after him. “Hey.”
He stops, looking over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry about your grandmother.”
A flicker—real grief this time—softens his expression. “Thanks.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
I close the door slowly, heart pounding like I just sprinted a marathon. Leaning back against it, I drain the last of my wine.
“Well, shit,” I mutter.
The next morning, Rowan bangs on my door like she owns the place.
“Jesus, I’m coming,” I grumble, yanking it open.
She stands there in a red raincoat and combat boots, grinning like the damn Cheshire Cat. “You’re alive.”
“Debatable.” I rub my eyes. “You’re here why, exactly?”
She thrusts a crumpled flyer at me.Salt & Sea Festival: 50th Anniversary!in bright teal letters. “We’re short a photographer. You in?”
“I just got here.”
