Page 7 of Head Over Eels in Laguna (Ports of Call #1)

*C LARE

The first tremor was so small I almost thought I imagined it—a faint ripple through the floor beneath my feet as I stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing out my coffee mug.

Then came the real one.

A deep, gut-wrenching groan rose from the earth, followed by a jolt so violent I staggered forward, slamming my hip into the counter. The mug slipped from my hands, shattering against the tile.

The walls shuddered. A low, eerie rumble filled the air, like the Earth was growling. I froze and stared at the light fixture swinging above the kitchen table like a baton and casting dizzying shadows across the ceiling. The cabinets burst open, and dishes and glassware crashed onto the floor.

Then, the house bucked again—harder this time.

I dropped and curled into a crouch beside the kitchen island, my hands covering my head. The windows rattled. A picture frame launched from the wall and smashed just inches from my feet.

From outside, I heard a terrible, splintering crack. The peach tree. The one Mrs. Henderson had loved for years.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, the shaking slowed. Not stopped—just eased into an unsteady, rolling motion, like the ground was catching its breath.

My own breaths came in gasps. My arms and legs were trembling.

Then silence.

Not real silence—the kind that feels wrong . The power was out. No hum from the fridge. No distant buzz of streetlights. Just the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears.

“I’m okay,” I said to no one, my throat raw. I forced myself to my feet, stepping cautiously over the broken dishes.

I made it to the front door and wrenched it open. The porch light was out, but outside, I could see the damage. A telephone pole leaned at a precarious angle. Cracks zigzagged through the pavement. Dust hung thick in the air.

And in the distance, toward Walter’s house—toward the cliffs—something was missing.

Or maybe... something had fallen.

I barely had time to register the thought before I heard running footsteps.

“Clare!”

Ethan.

I turned just as he skidded to a stop in front of me, chest heaving, his face pale beneath the layer of dust coating his skin.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I said, though my body was still shaking. “What about you? What about Walter?”

He hesitated just long enough for my stomach to drop.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “He still hasn’t come home.”

“And neither has Mrs. Henderson.” I took a deep breath. “Do you know what this means?”

Ethan shook his head.

“Madame Celeste was right.”

“No. Anything but that.”

“It’s true. She said the oarfish predicted an earthquake. We just had an earthquake.”

The aftershocks hadn’t even started, but somehow, I knew—this was only the beginning.

*ETHAN

For the past few days, everything had been bedlam.

No power. No cell service. No way to know if help was coming or if we were on our own indefinitely.

Southern California had gone dark, and in the absence of electricity, people had turned to candlelight.

At night, the beach below Grandpa’s house flickered with hundreds of tiny flames—lanterns, torches, makeshift fire pits.

Families huddled together, some wrapped in blankets, others staring out at the ocean like it held answers.

But none of it mattered as much as the three names running circles through my mind.

Grandpa. Celeste. Mrs. Henderson.

Gone.

No note. No sign of where they’d gone or if they’d left together. Just an empty house and more questions than I could handle.

I exhaled, rubbing a hand over my face as I sat on the porch railing, staring out at the dark horizon.

Beside me, Clare pulled her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them.

The golden light of the sunset caught in her hair, making her look like she belonged to another world, someplace untouched by disaster.

“They’ll turn up,” she said softly.

I shook my head. “You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t,” she admitted. “But worrying ourselves sick won’t help, either.”

She had a point, but I still felt useless. And angry. And—

She reached out and took my hand.

I looked down at our fingers intertwined. Then up at her.

She was watching me, her green eyes steady and calm, like she was anchoring me. And maybe she was.

“Ethan,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Before I could think about it—before I could talk myself out of it—I leaned in.

So did she.

The moment our lips met, the world faded. No earthquake. No missing people. No chaos. Just warmth. Just Clare.

Then, just as we pulled away, breathless, a burst of light flared across the horizon.

The green flash.

She gasped and pointed. “Did you see that?”

I did. But all I could focus on was her, the way her lips were still parted, the way she was still close enough to kiss again.

And for the first time in days, maybe even years, I felt something other than worry.

Hope.

*

I was sitting at Grandpa's kitchen table, sipping my coffee when my phone buzzed—it was a text from Grandpa.

I frowned, tapping the screen to open it.

A picture of Grandpa, grinning from ear to ear, standing next to Mrs. Henderson outside the Chapel of Love in Vegas.

In the background, the neon lights of the casino glowed like something straight out of a cheesy rom-com.

Grandpa was wearing his old fishing hat, and Mrs. Henderson, well, she looked like she’d just won the jackpot.

The caption read: We got hitched.

I blinked, staring at the phone. I must've misread it. I tapped the screen again to zoom in, but no, the words were still there. We got hitched.

I did a double-take, then checked the timestamp. It was only sent five minutes ago. I jumped to my feet, my heart racing. I shook my head in disbelief, the world momentarily tilting. I grabbed my jacket off the chair, barely thinking. This was too big to process alone.

I slammed my door behind me and jogged over to Mrs. Henderson’s place, making my way down the gravel path. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft pink glow over the yard.

I reached her door and knocked, not bothering to wait for a response before pushing it open.

“Clare!” I called. “You won’t believe this.”

Clare stumbled out of her bedroom, blinking at me with a sleepy frown. “What? Is everything okay?” Dressed in a pair of silky baby-blue pajamas, she looked adorable with her bed-head hair and makeup-free pink cheeks.

I held up my phone, showing her the picture. Her eyes widened as she squinted at the screen.

“No way!” she gasped. “That’s where they’ve been? Vegas? Together? What happened to the nursery?”

I nodded, my mind still trying to make sense of the fact. “Apparently, they had more important things than peach trees on their minds.”

Clare let out a small laugh and clapped her hands together. “Well, I guess that explains their disappearance. Guess we’ll have to throw them a party when they get home!”

I grinned. “Yeah. We’ll need to figure out when they’re coming back.”

Just then, the lights flickered overhead, followed by the hum of the house's electrical system kicking back on. The television across the room flashed to life, and the refrigerator buzzed as it powered back up. I looked around, blinking at the sudden brightness. It had been days since we’d had electricity, and for a moment, I didn’t know whether to be relieved or more on edge.

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Clare muttered, rubbing her eyes.

I quickly grabbed my phone again, still trying to process the text from Grandpa. I sent him a quick reply: When are you two coming home?

The reply came almost immediately: We're traveling around the world for a bit first. Need Clare to take care of Mrs. Henderson's place.

I stood there for a moment, processing.

“So, they’re leaving the renovations to me?” Clare asked, with amazement.

“Looks like it,” I said, texting back: Got it. Safe travels.

The moment the message sent, both our phones buzzed simultaneously, the notifications pinging in harmony. Clare grabbed hers first. She glanced down at the screen and raised an eyebrow.

“From Mrs. Henderson,” she said. She read aloud, “ Hope you're doing well. Don’t worry, I trust you to do whatever you want to the basement. Don’t worry about the cost. We’ll be in touch soon. Take care, both of you. ”

I frowned, quickly reading the text that had popped up on my phone.

From Grandpa: If you need anything while we're away, just let us know. We’ll send postcards. Keep an eye on my house for us, too. And tell Clare thanks again for helping with the all contractors. We both hate that sort of nonsense.

“Nonsense?” Clare echoed the last word. “They think renovating is nonsense?” She paused, letting this sink in.

“Well, it is, sort of.”

“Don’t let my mom hear you say that. She thinks creating beautiful spaces is a gift from the divine.”

“Well, it’s that, too.”

“It can’t be both.” Clare stamped her foot.

I studied her. “Did you just stamp your foot?”

She folded her arms and glowered. “What of it?”

“Is that something you do when you’re mad?”

“I’m not mad, I’m just...well, maybe a little insulted.”

I grinned. “It’s cute.”

“Here’s a tip. When your girlfriend is mad, don’t call her cute.”

“Girlfriend, huh?”

Clare swallowed.

I threw my arms around her and held her tight. “If you’re my girlfriend, then I’m your boyfriend.”

“And we’re going steady?”

I answered her with a kiss.

When I pulled away sometime later, I said, “I wonder if Vegas was part of Mrs. Henderson’s plan all along.”

“I wonder if your grandpa had used Celeste to make Mrs. Henderson jealous. How long had they been neighbors?”

“Decades. I’m glad it didn’t take us decades to get here.”

“Where exactly are we?”

I tightened my embrace. “Right where we belong.”