Page 77 of Second Chance with the Half-Elf
It says:I’m here.
That’s it.
NotI’ve chosen.NotI’m staying forever.Not evenI love you.JustI’m here.And somehow that’s more. Because it’s real. It’s present. It’s hers.
The wind picks up, a soft current rippling across the bay, sending the lanterns into a slow spiral above the crowd. The sea responds with a hush of foam on sand, the tide just beginning to rise, gentle and deliberate, kissing the edge of the pier like it knows the moment needs quiet applause.
And then she starts walking. Boots against wood, coat brushing her knees. Her braid half undone, windblown. The strap of her camera cuts across her chest like armor, but there’s no battle here tonight.
She moves through the people without hesitation, eyes never leaving mine.
I don’t move a muscle. Because to move would be to rush it. To taint it. To shift the weight of something that’s finally found balance.
When she reaches me, she doesn’t speak.
She just steps into my space like it’s hers to claim, and the rest of the world narrows until all I know is the shape of her in the glow of paper light.
The lanterns still rise. The music still plays. Someone laughs behind us, someone else starts a soft cheer for a heart-shaped flame drifting above the docks.
But for me, everything else falls away.
Because she’s here.
And I believe her.
CHAPTER 29
EVIE
The crowd hums with lantern-light laughter, but I don’t blink. Just keep my boots moving toward him—steady, deliberate—until I’m close enough to smell cedar oil and salt lingering on his coat. His eyes track me, wary as a harbor seal spotting a hunter’s net. Good. Let him wonder.
I hook two fingers into his belt loop and tug him backward behind a vendor’s stall stacked with oyster buckets. He doesn’t resist, but his exhale hitches—sharp, like I’ve yanked a rusted nail from wood.
“You stare any harder, Harbor Master, people’ll think you’re hired security.” My voice stays lazy, but my thumb brushes the worn leather of my camera strap. Anchoring.
He leans against the railing, arms crossed. Moonlight slips through the gaps in his silver hair. “Whole town’s staring. You just notice me because I’m the only one not hiding.”
“Bullshit. You’ve got ‘brooding sentinel’ down to an art form.” I flick a shrimp shell off his shoulder. “How many kids asked if you’re a vampire tonight?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Three. One offered garlic bread.”
“Generous. Should’ve taken it—you’re cranky when hungry.”
A lantern bursts into a shower of sparks overhead, the crowd gasping in unison. His gaze flicks up, then back to me. Always back. “You didn’t drag me here to critique my diet.”
“No.” The key in my pocket digs into my thigh—cold iron teeth. I palm it, press the jagged metal into my skin until I feel the imprint. “I rebuilt the Hale place. Fixed the porch, ripped out the rotted floorboards. Even unclogged the chimney.”
His brow creases. “I heard.”
“Yeah? Hear what else?”
“That you used salvaged wood from the old schooner dock.”
“And?”
“That you turned the attic into a darkroom.”
“And?”
