Page 2 of Tides of Redemption
I gestured to an alcove. “There’s a washer-dryer hookup, but no machines. Laundromat’s down the street.” I handed him thesecond set of keys, our fingers brushing briefly. The contact sent a jolt through my entire body. “There’s a new mattress on the bed.” Heat crept up my cheeks from memories of snuggling up to Caleb on a lazy Sunday morning, but I tamped them down. “Parking’s in the back alley. Access is off First Street.”
He nodded and slipped the keys into his pocket. “For what it’s worth…it’s good to see you again, Mason.”
Then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the stairs. My legs gave out, and I sank onto one of the ancient kitchen chairs. I might have just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Or maybe the second biggest. The first had been letting Caleb go in the first place. No, I corrected myself firmly. The first had been falling for him all those years ago. I couldn’t make that mistake again.
Six months. I just had to guard my heart for six months, keep things professional, and find another tenant.
How hard could that be?
CHAPTER TWO
Caleb
The croissant at The Coffee Cove was decent—the butter properly layered, the exterior appropriately crisp—but it couldn’t compare to the ones at my favorite boulangerie in the Marais. Not that it mattered. I hadn’t come to Seacliff Cove for the pastries.
I’d come for Mason.
My hands curled around my latte as I watched clouds roll off the ocean and remembered how Mason had looked yesterday in the bookstore. The years had changed him in subtle ways—short hair instead of the longer style he’d worn in college, the heavy scruff along his jaw that made me want to reach out and touch it. But some things remained achingly familiar. The way he ran his fingers through his hair when stressed, leaving it standing in wild tufts. The expressive hands that punctuated his words. The warm brown eyes that still made my heart race.
Six years together, then eleven years apart. No other man had ever measured up to him. But I couldn’t tell Mason why I was here. Not yet. Not when the hurt in his eyes was still so raw. I had to earn his forgiveness first, prove I wasn’t going anywhere this time.
Merde.The gallery position was real—I’d never lie about that—but it wasn’t why I’d left Paris. The truth was, I’d returned to the US for Mason.
For eleven years, I’d regretted leaving him to follow my dream career—eleven years of missing him, of profound loneliness no amount of professional success could fill.
I’d ghosted Mason to preserve what remained of my heart, but had kept in touch with his former roommate. Anthony had provided reluctant updates, never failing to chastise me for not contacting Mason myself. When I’d learned his beloved grandfather had died, I knew Mason needed support, even from the man who’d left him.
It was time to beg for a second chance, but I needed to tread carefully. After the hurt I’d caused, any direct approach would only make him retreat further. I’d applied to all three art galleries in Seacliff Cove and struck gold when Mary Anne, owner of the Coastal Light Gallery, seized the opportunity for a six-month break.
The bells on the coffee shop door chimed, capturing my focus. Mason walked in with a tall, handsome man in a deputy sheriff’s uniform, laughing at something the officer said. My stomach clenched as I watched their comfortable exchange, the way Mason’s entire face lit up as he talked to the deputy. If only he’d looked at me like that again.
Then Mason spotted me at my corner table, and his smile vanished. “What are you doing here?”
I gripped my cup and fought the urge to retreat from his cold reaction. “Eating breakfast. I haven’t had a chance to buy groceries.”
The deputy glanced between us, clearly sensing the tension. Mason’s jaw tightened. “Garrett, this is Caleb Sullivan. He’s renting my third-floor apartment. Caleb, Deputy Garrett Whitlock.”
Garrett raised his eyebrows and asked Mason, “Where you used to live? You rented out your family’s apartment?” Kindness softened his voice.
Mason nodded, the movement jerky.
My breath caught—the apartment held sentimental value to him. I hadn’t known. I would take good care of it for him, of course.
Garrett clapped Mason on the back and politely nodded at me. He moved to the counter where the barista was already preparing Garrett’s order. The easy friendship—I hoped it was friendship—made my chest ache. This was Mason’s world now. These were his people, and I was the intruder.
“How, uh, is the apartment? Any problems?” Mason’s fingers twitched toward his hair, but he stopped himself.
“It’s good. No problems.” Any space near Mason was fine, even if it was a closet.
Mason ordered his coffee, greeting the barista by name—Cooper—and another spike of jealousy shot through me at their closeness. But what right did I have to be jealous? I was the one who’d left, who’d let our relationship wither across an ocean.
But I was there, in Mason’s building. After eleven years, I had a second chance.
I couldn’t afford to ruin it.
I wandered over to the bookstore when it opened. Dull gray clouds blocked the sunlight, but the interior of Tides & Tales was brightly lit and welcoming. I’d forgotten how beautiful the store was, with its second-floor balconies, rolling ladders, and the careful arrangement of books by topic and genre. I inhaled thescents of paper, glue, and endless adventures between the covers of the books.
