Page 24 of Tides of Redemption
“Move in with me,” he blurted out.
I tensed and shifted to look him in the eyes, not sure I’d heard correctly. “What?”
“Move in with me,” he repeated, more certain this time. “You’re here most evenings, anyway. It seems silly to keep paying rent on the third floor when…”
“When what?” I prompted gently.
“When this is where you belong.” The words sounded both vulnerable and true.
I hesitated, torn. “But you need the rental income, don’t you? For the bookstore?”
“Cooper has been asking around about an apartment for his friend, Jack. It’s perfect timing.” He sat up to face me properly. “Besides, it’s time, don’t you think? Time we merged our lives. Time you made Seacliff Cove truly your home.”
Emotions flickered through my gut—hope, joy, a touch of lingering disbelief. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ve waited eleven years. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
My mouth spread in a smile, and my insides lit up with it. “Yes,” I said simply. “Yes, it’s time.”
The kiss that followed felt like a promise, like a blank canvas waiting for its masterpiece. His hands tangled in my hair as mine gripped his shoulders, anchoring us together.
When we finally parted, slightly breathless, the look in his eyes made my chest ache with happiness. I’d been afraid to hope, to believe I could stay. Now, with the gallery purchase confirmed and this new step ahead of us, the last of our doubts were finally falling away.
“We still have a lot to figure out,” I mused, the practical side of me coming out. “The gallery transition, fitting into your apartment, what to do with my belongings in Paris…”
“We’ll figure it out. Together.” He rested his forehead against mine. “We have time now.”
The simple truth of that statement settled between us, profound in its ordinariness. We had time. Weeks, months, and years stretching before us. No deadlines, no imminent departures, no countdown clocks.
Just us, and the life we would build together in this small coastal town where we’d found our way back to each other for a second chance.
EPILOGUE
Mason
The rich scent of my vanilla latte filled our apartment as I sorted through the new shipment of books. Even on my day off, I couldn’t resist unpacking them—the excitement of new stories never got old. I set aside the ones I’d ordered for myself for evening reading, a habit Caleb had come to expect from me. Every night before bedtime, I’d read aloud a few chapters while he sketched, his pencil scratching against paper, as the words washed over us both.
One year. We’d been living together for a year now, and the thought still gave me a thrill. Our apartment—not mine anymore, but ours—had transformed into a perfect blend of both of us. Caleb’s art books mingled with my novels on the shelves. His collection of paintings hung beside my vintage book cover posters. His drawing table sat by the window where the light was best, while my reading chair occupied the cozy corner nearby.
The business arrangement had exceeded all our expectations. Tides & Tales had seen a thirty percent increase in foot traffic since we’d begun our collaboration with local artists. The events room was booked a solid six months in advance for exhibitions, readings, and community gatherings, bringing inadditional income. Jack’s rent provided a financial cushion, but it was no longer essential. The bookstore ran in the black every month, even during the winter.
And Caleb…Caleb had flourished as the owner of Coastal Light Gallery. Under his direction, the gallery had developed a reputation that extended beyond Seacliff Cove, attracting artists from across the Bay Area who might never have considered showing in a small coastal town. He’d maintained Mary Anne’s commitment to local artists while bringing in fresh perspectives that energized the community.
Most importantly, we’d built a life together—ordinary in its day-to-day rhythms, extraordinary in its joy. Morning coffee. Shared meals. Late-night murmured conversations after making love. The gentle choreography of two people moving through space together, learning and relearning each other’s patterns.
Not that it had been perfect. We’d argued about stupid things—whose turn it was to do the dishes, whether we should set the thermostat at sixty-five or seventy, how to arrange the furniture. We’d navigated the complications of being both romantic partners and business collaborators. We’d each brought our own baggage—my fear of abandonment, his guilt over our past.
But we’d worked through it all. Together. And somewhere along the way, the old wounds had begun to heal.
The apartment door opened, and Caleb walked in, looking slightly breathless. He wore casual clothes—a soft camel sweater that brought out the gold flecks in his eyes and worn jeans that hung perfectly on his trim frame.
“There you are,” he said, as if he hadn’t known exactly where I’d be. “Can you come down to the events room? I need your opinion on a painting.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you need my artistic opinion?”
“Since always,” he said with a smile that still made my heart skip. “Please? It won’t take long.”
I set aside the book I’d been examining—a new release on coastal architecture that I knew would appeal to Todd’s artistic sensibilities. “Lead the way.”
