Page 14 of Tides of Redemption
I moved toward him, closing the distance between us. “Not for me either.”
His hand reached up to cup my face, thumb gently tracing my cheekbone. “I’ve missed you, Mason. For eleven years, I’ve missed you.”
I leaned into his touch, allowing myself to believe, just for this moment, that this might be real. That he might stay. That we might have a second chance.
When his lips met mine, it wasn’t tentative like yesterday. It was a promise, warm and certain. My hands found the soft fabric of his sweater, and I pulled him closer as the kiss deepened. I wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted—heartbeats, minutes, hours.
As we locked up the bookstore later, stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight, I allowed myself to fully feel the hope that had taken root. Yes, there were still uncertainties—plans that might fall through, fears that needed to be faced. But for the first time in years, I could see a future I wanted to walk toward.
But was I setting myself up for heartbreak again if Mary Anne’s plans fell through?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Caleb
On Wednesday morning, the sky over Seacliff Cove had transformed into a perfect cerulean blue that seemed to promise endless possibilities. I carried two lattes from The Coffee Cove toward Tides & Tales, unable to keep the smile from my face.
Mason was unlocking the front door when I approached. His eyes widened with surprise and then crinkled at the corners, his expression melting into a warm smile that lit his features from within. My heart stuttered.
“Morning,” I said, offering him the larger cup. “Extra shot of vanilla, just as you like it.”
“You’re making this a habit.” His pleased smile told me he didn’t mind. Our fingers brushed when he took the cup, and the simple contact sent warmth spreading up my arm.
Inside, the bookstore held a hushed tranquility, the early morning stillness broken only by the soft hum of the heating system and the occasional creak of the old building settling. Mason moved through his opening routine—checking the register, turning on the computer, adjusting displays—with a practiced grace that I found mesmerizing. The scent of books and coffee mingled with the subtle hint of his citrusy body wash.
When he moved past me to unlock the door, I caught him around the waist and pulled him gently toward me. I stole a quick kiss. His lips were warm from the coffee, sweet and familiar in a way that made my chest ache with happiness.
The tender moment transported me back to Monday—the storm raging outside while we sat beneath his mother’s afghan, the taste of macaroni and cheese, the way Mason had curled against me so naturally, as if eleven years hadn’t passed at all. When he’d said he’d forgiven me, it had felt like being granted a gift I didn’t deserve but desperately wanted.
The bell above the door chimed, announcing the first customer of the day. Mason stepped away, professional once more, but the private smile he gave me before turning to greet the elderly woman carried a promise of more moments to come.
I browsed the shelves while Mason helped his customer, content just to be in his space. This was what I wanted—mornings bringing coffee to him, helping with events, evenings together. A future. If Mary Anne retired…
My phone vibrated in my pocket. The screen displayed a number I recognized instantly, and my stomach dropped. Monsieur Fontaine, my director at the Louvre.
I stepped toward the back of the store, and Mason’s eyebrows rose slightly as his gaze followed me.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Fontaine,” I answered, automatically shifting into French.
“Monsieur Sullivan. I trust your sojourn in America has been satisfactory.” His formal tone brought with it a flood of memories—the echoing galleries of the Louvre, the excitement of major exhibitions, the prestige of working at one of the world’s greatest museums.
“It’s going well. Thank you for asking,” I replied politely. “The gallery here is small but interesting.”
“Indeed. I shall proceed to the purpose of my call. Michel Renaud has accepted an offer at the National Gallery. His position at the Louvre shall become available at the conclusion of your sabbatical. The board would like to offer you this appointment.”
My gut lurched. It was the promotion I’d worked toward for years, the job that would allow me to shape the Louvre’s collections, to work with the finest curators in Europe.
“I…I’m honored,” I managed, my free hand slipping into my pocket, fingers curling into a fist.
“You have demonstrated exceptional aptitude in your current role.”
His praise warmed me.
“However, we require you to sign the contract within a fortnight. We must ensure the fulfillment of the post.”
I looked across the store at Mason, who was stealing glances while helping his customer. Everything I wanted was here in this cozy bookstore. But what if Mary Anne decided not to retire and she returned to work? What if…?
“I will consider it,” I said finally.
