Page 48 of Tides of Discovery
“I know that, too.” I wiped down the counter with mechanical precision. “Gossip will spread. Martin will make sure of it.”
Jack leaned closer and dropped his voice so only I could hear. “Cooper, whoever posted that? They’re not just trying to hurt your business. They’re trying to sabotage you.”
A cold knot twisted in my stomach. “The hacker.”
Jack nodded grimly.
“Could it have been Martin? Ben?”
“Could have been one of them. Or someone we haven’t considered yet.”
“But why?” The words tore from me, raw and bewildered. “Why go to all this trouble just to destroy The Coffee Cove?”
Jack shook his head, his jaw tense. “Business rivalry? Jealousy? I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”
I stared at him, overwhelmed by gratitude and a deeper, more dangerous feeling I couldn’t—wouldn’t—name. Jack was my anchor in the middle of this gathering storm, the only solid thing I had to hold on to.
But as the weight of everything crashed down on me—the relentless attacks, the threat to my business, the constant fear that had become my daily companion—a darker thought crept in. Did Jack think that being my boyfriend meant signing up to deal with problems that weren’t his to solve? Was I asking too much of him, dragging him into a mess that could destroy everything I’d worked for?
The thought tightened my chest like a vise. Maybe I was too much trouble, too complicated, too damaged. Jack had his own life, his own career, his own problems to worry about.
Self-doubt threatened to pull me under. But then Jack offered me a small smile that was both reassuring and resolute, and something shifted inside me.
No. I wasn’t going to let fear and insecurity destroy our temporary bargain. Jack was here because he chose to be here. And if he was willing to fight for me, then I was willing to fight for him.
We needed a break from all this—the cyberattacks, emergency after emergency like the flu and the power outage that had disrupted our lives for days. More than that, our relationship deserved the attention it needed to develop properly, not just stolen moments between crises.
I met Jack’s gaze. “Hey, want to go on an actual date tomorrow night? No emergencies, no hackers, just us. Seacliff Bowl. Seven o’clock.”
Surprise flickered across his features before his mouth spread in a crooked grin. “I’d love that. But you know I’m terrible at bowling.”
“Perfect,” I said, feeling lighter already. “Something I might actually beat you at.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jack
The neon sign for Seacliff Bowl flickered against the dark sky as Cooper pulled into the gravel parking lot. The building looked like it hadn’t been updated since the seventies—faded blue paint peeling around the edges, and a hand-painted sign advertising “Cosmic Bowling Friday Nights!” in enthusiastic bubble letters.
“This place has character,” I said, taking in the retro charm.
Cooper grinned as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “That’s a polite way of saying it’s a dump.”
“I didn’t say that.” I followed him toward the entrance, my stomach doing nervous flips. Cooper had askedmeout. After days of carefully navigating our new dynamic, he’d been the one to suggest this date. The thought sent warmth spreading through my chest, but it also ramped up the pressure I’d been putting on myself. Tonight needed to be perfect.
The interior hit us with a wave of familiar bowling alley scents: floor wax, beer, and the faint mustiness of well-worn rental shoes. The sound of pins crashing echoed from the dozen lanes, punctuated by cheers and groans from other bowlers. Overhead speakers played classic rock at a volume that energized bowlers and drowned out conversation.
“Two games and shoe rental,” Cooper told the teenager behind the counter, sliding cash across the scratched Formica surface.
“I can pay,” I protested.
“You can get the beer.” Cooper’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re going to need it after I destroy you.”
“Confident, are you?” I accepted the red-and-blue rental shoes, trying not to think about how many feet had worn them before mine. “What makes you think you’re so good at this?”
“Absolutely nothing. But you’re terrible.”
We claimed lane seven, and I busied myself entering our names into the scoring system while Cooper laced up his shoes. The familiar weight of performance anxiety settled on my shoulders. What if I was so bad it wasn’t even fun? What if I overthought every throw and made things awkward? The perfect boyfriend would be charming and confident, maybe even let Cooper win gracefully.
