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Sweet.Gentle.
“He’s a criminal, Austen.”
No.No, he wasn’t.Still, maybe she should justsettle down.
“I was doing just fine until I moved back to the Keys two years ago.I sort of dodged the grief for the first couple years—moved away to Hawaii and studied shark behavior with the Hawaiian shark research institute.”
“So, something safe and comforting.”
A beat, then she smiled.
He did too.
“Yeah.Well, like you said, it was a distraction.”
He gave her a grim nod.
“That’s when I started looking for the statue again.I don’t think I’ll ever find it, but...”She sighed.
“It gives you purpose.”
She met his gaze, then nodded.“It keeps me moving forward.I keep thinking that finding it might give closure.”
“Or redemption.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Because you blame yourself.”
She shrugged.
He said nothing.Around them, the night breeze stirred up the ocean smells, salty, briny, the fire flickering.
“You’re not to blame for other people’s choices.”
“Maybe.I try not to think about it.Or talk about it.”
“She made a choice, Austen.Although I get it—that’s the hardest part, right?Letting go of the things you can’t control to find peace in the outcome.”
She couldn’t look away, his words, his gaze, riveting her.
He touched his fingers to her cheek.“My mother used to say that every day is a new day of grace.”He drew in a breath.“I think that’s how you start healing.”
And that just sealed it, didn’t it?A criminal didn’t talk about grace.Or mercy.Or redemption.
“Sometimes, telling our story is what we need to do to set ourselves free.”He seemed to consider her for a moment, then his gaze flickered down to her lips.
Her heart hammered against her chest.
“Austen,” he said quietly, his voice husky.“Can I?—”
Yes.
“Not on your life!”
The words jolted through her, and she jerked, turned.What?—
Stein?