Page 6 of Head Over Eels in Laguna (Ports of Call #1)

*E THAN

The sun sank low over the ocean, streaking the sky with shades of gold and pink while Clare and I walked along the shore.

The waves rolled in with a steady rhythm, washing over the sand and retreating just as quickly.

I was still irritated from our earlier argument, but the fresh air helped clear my head.

“Look, I just don’t think she’s good for him,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. “And I don’t see why you’re defending her.”

Clare sighed. “I’m not defending her—I’m just saying you can’t control what your grandpa does.”

“I’m not trying to control him,” I shot back. “I’m trying to protect him.”

She gave me a pointed look. “And who made you the authority on who he can and can’t spend time with?”

Before I could answer, Clare stumbled over a piece of driftwood. Instinct kicked in, and I caught her just before she hit the sand. She landed against my chest, her hands gripping my arms to steady herself. For a second, neither of us moved.

I could feel her breath against my neck, the warmth of her skin where my hands held her waist. My pulse quickened. She looked up, her green eyes wide, lips slightly parted. The moment stretched, charged and fragile. I leaned in—just a fraction—then stopped myself.

Clare pulled away first, flustered. “Oh! Look!” she said suddenly, pointing to the horizon. “A green flash!”

I turned in time to see the last sliver of the sun dip below the water, a fleeting emerald light blinking in its wake. My heart was still racing, but I nodded. “Yeah. I see it.”

Then, from the corner of my eye, I caught movement up at Grandpa’s house. Two shadowy figures inside.

Thinking it was Celeste, I clenched my jaw. “Stay here,” I told Clare. “I need to deal with this.”

I took off up the path, ready to get rid of the hippie once and for all—only to find Grandpa and Mrs. Henderson at the kitchen table, sharing a slice of peach pie.

Mrs. Henderson raised her fork. “Would you like some, dear?”

*CLARE

I folded another sweater and placed it into the open suitcase on my bed.

The rhythmic motion of packing was oddly soothing, even though Mom stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching my every move with an expression that hovered somewhere between disbelief and disapproval. “You’re really doing this.”

“I showed you the picture.” I kept my tone light. “Even you agreed this is an amazing opportunity.”

She let out a sharp breath. “B-but moving into some stranger’s basement? You don’t have to live there.”

I sighed and turned to face her. “Mrs. Henderson isn’t a stranger.”

“She is to me,” Mom countered.

“Then let me introduce you.”

Mom snorted. “And she’s offering this out of the kindness of her heart? No one does anything without an agenda.”

I forced a smile. “Maybe she likes my work.”

Mom’s gaze flicked to my suitcase, then back to me, her expression softening for just a moment before she shook her head.

“You could live anywhere. Why tie yourself to someone else’s project?

An Airbnb ?” She said the word like it was some kind of disease.

“You have better things to do with your time.”

“It’s temporary,” I said, carefully folding a pair of jeans. “And it’s a good deal. I get a place to stay, and she gets help setting up the rental. It makes sense.”

Mom scoffed. “It makes sense for her . Not for you.”

I turned away, pretending to rearrange the items in my suitcase. “Maybe I want to do something that doesn’t revolve around ‘making sense.’ Maybe I just want to live somewhere that feels like mine for once.”

“But it’s not yours. It belongs to this Mrs. Henderson person.”

Silence stretched between us. I could feel her eyes on me, drilling in her disappointment. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. “I just don’t want you making a mistake.”

I met her gaze, my own softening despite my frustration. “I won’t know it’s a mistake unless I try.”

She shook her head, exasperated. “Fine. Do what you want. You always do.” She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving me standing there with my half-packed suitcase and a strange, hollow feeling in my chest.

I had expected her resistance. I hadn’t expected how much it would sting.

*ETHAN

I knocked on Mrs. Henderson’s door, shifting the box of Clare’s kitchen supplies in my arms. It was heavier than I’d expected, filled with cast iron and optimism. The whole thing still felt surreal—Clare moving in here, Celeste still lurking around Grandpa like some kind of mystical creature.

Mrs. Henderson swung the door open and gave me a once-over. “You look grumpy.”

I sighed. “Celeste is still at the house.”

Mrs. Henderson nodded, entirely unsurprised. “You don’t say.”

“She’s convinced she can commune with fish and Grandpa’s the Prophet Jonah sent to save Nineveh.” I stepped inside, setting the box down on the small kitchen table. “I swear, she’s always there. It’s like she’s attached herself to him—like a barnacle.”

“Goodness, you’re full of sea-euphemisms today.” Mrs. Henderson hummed thoughtfully and turned toward the counter, where a freshly baked peach pie sat cooling. “Well,” she said, reaching for a knife, “you could keep griping about it.”

I frowned, watching her slice through the golden crust. “That’s one plan.”

“Or,” she continued, placing a plate in front of me, “you could sit down, shut up, and have some pie.”

I blinked. “That’s your idea?”

She pushed the plate closer, lifting a brow. “You’d be surprised how many problems a good slice of pie can solve.”

The warm scent of peaches and cinnamon curled through the air, and despite my better judgment, I sank into a chair. Mrs. Henderson smirked in victory and slid a fork toward me.

“Eat first,” she said. “Then we’ll figure out what to do about your grandpa’s fish-whisperer.”

I exhaled, shaking my head, but I picked up the fork anyway. It wasn’t a solution, but it was tasty.

“I have an idea,” Mrs. Henderson said. “Can you do exactly what I say?”

I looked up from my pie. “Is there ice cream?”

She nodded.

“Then, yes.” Even I was surprised how easily I could be bought.

*CLARE

The dim light filtering through the curtains cast long shadows. Ethan and I crouched behind Grandpa’s worn-out sofa. A rhythmic throb echoed through me, like distant waves crashing in a storm. The silence between us was thick with anticipation.

“Do you remember your lines?” Ethan asked.

I nodded. “I hope so. I’ve never been much of an actress.” My gaze strayed out the window. “Where do you think Mrs. Henderson took your grandpa?”

“She said something about a nursery in Fallbrook.”

A car crunched over the gravel driveway. Then, the slow creak of the front door opening.

I leaned toward Ethan and whispered, “Is it on?”

He lifted a finger to his lips. His gaze locked on the entryway. Then, he nodded, barely audible. Go .

I swallowed hard and pushed myself up, stepping out from our hiding place. “I can’t believe you brought me here just to waste my time, Ethan,” I snapped, making sure my voice carried. “If you don’t want to sell, fine, but at least give me the chance to make my case.”

Ethan followed my lead seamlessly, striding into the room with barely contained irritation. “I told you, Clare. This isn’t just some house—it’s my grandfather’s home. I’m not about to let someone shove money in my face, and walk away with it.”

From the doorway, Celeste stilled, her sharp eyes narrowing. “What exactly is going on here?”

I turned to her, feigning exasperation. “Look, I know you want to take Walter away, but I need this house. My social media followers will love following its makeover and I can’t do that with you and your news crews hanging around.”

Celeste made a small harrumphing sound that was impossible to interpret. “I would have thought the attention would be beneficial.”

“It is. Or was. But enough is enough.” I balled my fists and planted them on my hips.

“And what about Walter?” Celeste asked. “I don’t think he’s interested in your renovation plans.”

“It’ll be my home soon enough,” Ethan said.

Celeste’s gaze slid from Ethan to me and then back to Ethan, as if weighing the situation.

I went in for the kill. “If it’s money that will get you to back off and go away, I’m willing to make a deal.”

Celeste’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Oh, really?” She stepped farther inside, shutting the door behind her. “And just how much are you offering?”

Ethan tensed beside me, but he kept his face impassive.

I folded my arms. “Enough to make it worth your while.”

Celeste tilted her head, eyes flicking between us. “I see. And I suppose you two just happened to be waiting here for me?”

I let out an impatient sigh. “Do you want the deal or not?”

For a moment, she hesitated—then, she laughed softly. “Fine,” she said smoothly. “Make it twenty grand, and I’ll be on my way.”

Ethan didn’t move, but I caught the subtle shift of his hand near his pocket. He had what we needed.

“Done,” I said quickly. “But I need it in writing.”

Celeste smirked. “Oh, honey, I don’t do contracts. Cash will do just fine.”

Ethan finally spoke, voice casual but firm. “I think we’ll take this to the authorities instead.”

Celeste’s smile faltered. “What?”

Ethan pulled his phone from his pocket, the red recording light blinking. “Got every word.”

Celeste’s expression darkened, her poised demeanor cracking for the first time. “You little—”

I lifted my chin, my heart still pounding but my voice steady. “I’d suggest you start packing.”

She stared at us for a long, tense moment before spinning on her heel and storming out the front door.

The sound of her car speeding off was the sweetest noise I’d heard all day.

Ethan exhaled and looked at me. “Well,” he said, a slow grin forming, “that went better than expected.”

I let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah. Let’s just hope she stays away.”

But deep down, I wasn’t sure Celeste was the kind of person to leave quietly.