Page 18 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ethan

I unscrewed the Mason jar of beef vegetable soup from the farmers’ market and the lid gave a satisfying pop as it released. The savory aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs swirled up and teased my senses. My stomach growled, but my mind remained detached, far beyond the walls of my kitchen.

I poured the chunky soup into the pan, and the vegetables tumbled out with a muffled plop. I turned on the burner and reached for a loaf of artisan bread. Golden and dusted with flour, its yeasty scent mingled with the simmering soup. My serrated blade sliced through the crust into the soft center.

But I was on autopilot, my movements mechanical, my thoughts consumed by a single, electrifying moment—Friday night’s kiss with Garrett.

I’d replayed it in my mind so many times over the past three days that it felt like I could recall every tiny detail.

The slight intake of his breath before his lips touched mine.

The firm yet tender pressure of his kiss, filled with a confident warmth that had made my heart stutter.

The faint, residual sweet taste of cherry ice cream.

The way his hands had gripped my waist and settled me, even as an electric charge zipped through my veins.

Was it spontaneous? A sudden burst of courage on his part?

Or had he been thinking about it for days, carefully waiting for the right moment?

And now that it had happened, how did he feel about it?

Did he relive it the way I did, or had he pushed it to the back of his mind, chalking it up to a fleeting impulse?

The knife faltered mid-slice, and the question lingered like a weight on my chest. Was he bisexual? Bi-curious? Exploring? Did he regret the kiss?

For me, it was anything but a regret. That kiss was a connection I hadn’t dared to hope for. But did it mean the same to him?

I hadn’t heard from him all weekend. The logical part of me tried to rationalize it—he’d told me he was spending time with Noah, that it was their father-son weekend. Still, doubt itched at the edges of my thoughts, persistent and unwelcome.

I gave the soup a halfhearted stir and watched the bubbles break the surface.

A flicker of something hopeful whirled low in my stomach.

Maybe that kiss could lead to something more.

Something real. My pulse quickened at the thought, and I imagined what more with Garrett might look like—late-night conversations, stolen moments in the quiet safety of our homes, more kisses.

More than kisses.

But the hope came tangled with the same knot of fear that had been tightening in me since I’d come to Seacliff Cove.

I’d only be here until Garrett arrested the stalker.

Then what? Did I have the courage to see where this could lead, knowing it might only be temporary?

And what about the danger? By letting Garrett in, wasn’t I putting both of us at greater risk?

Not to mention the risk to his career.

I sighed and gripped the edge of the counter as the beefy aroma of the simmering soup filled the kitchen. My chest ached with the weight of it all—the uncertainty, the fear, the raw, undeniable yearning.

All I knew for sure was that I wanted more. More closeness, more connection.

And more of Garrett’s kisses.

The doorbell echoed through the house and shattered the fragile quiet of my afternoon.

My shoulders tensed instinctively; the ever-present unease from the stalker lingered like a shadow, even though there had been no incidents lately.

My pulse quickened as I plucked my phone from my pocket and tapped the screen to view the front door feed.

Garrett stood on the porch, hands braced on his hips, his ramrod posture exuding authority. It was lunchtime, and my stomach twisted. Was this an official visit or something more personal?

I turned off the burner. The soft beeps of the alarm system as I disarmed it seemed overly loud in the silence. I opened the door to find Garrett’s expression carefully neutral, the only sound his tactical gear creaking faintly as he shifted his weight.

“Garrett?” I betrayed a flicker of apprehension. “What are you doing here?”

“May I come in, sir?” he said, clipped and professional.

The formality in his voice sent an uneasy ripple through me. I frowned, and my thoughts raced. What the hell was going on? My gut churned as I stepped aside to let him in. He moved past me with quiet efficiency, the faint scents of gun oil and sporty body wash trailing him.

I closed the door and set my back to it. He placed an arm on the door above me and leaned in. “Do you have anything new to report…sir?”

His lips quirked at the corners, and the anxiety in my chest snapped like a rubber band.

“You bastard.” The breath rushed out of me in relief. I grinned as I swatted his hard tactical vest. Ouch. “You worried me.”

Before I could pull my hand away, he caught and clasped it against him. His thumb brushed across my knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion and sent a shiver skittering down my spine.

“That’s battery against a police officer. I should put you in cuffs,” he said, low and husky.

A smirk tugged at my mouth. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His eyebrows waggled, a glint of mischief lighting his eyes. “Only if you would.” He paused, his voice softening. “But I really came to do this.”

The air between us shifted, charged with unspoken desire. He leaned in hesitantly, his gaze locked on my eyes, and silently asked for permission. My chest tightened, but I gave a small nod, and he closed the distance.

His lips pressed to mine, tentative at first, then with growing confidence. His arms circled around me, drawing me close, and I let myself fall into him. The hard press of his vest against my chest was an afterthought compared to the warmth of his embrace.

The kiss was everything I remembered—and more. A spark ignited and raced down my spine as Garrett’s tongue flicked against the seam of my lips. I opened for him, and he deepened the kiss, stealing the air from my lungs and the coherent thoughts from my mind.

I lost track of time—seconds, minutes, eternity—but too soon, he leaned back. Our breaths mingled as his forehead rested briefly against mine.

“I can’t stop thinking about Friday night,” he confessed, his voice roughened with emotion. He brushed a light kiss to the tip of my nose, and my heart swelled.

“I can’t, either,” I said, barely above a whisper.

“I had to come steal another kiss.” He nuzzled my face. “Love the feel of your beard against my cheek. Had to make up an excuse to come see you.”

A soft laugh bubbled out of me. “Well, you can report that I haven’t had any more incidents.”

He stepped back, and the sudden absence of his warmth left me bereft. “That’s good news,” he said, his voice gentle. With one last quick kiss, he turned to go.

“I’ll wait on the porch until I hear you lock the door,” he said over his shoulder, ever the protector.

I nodded and watched him leave, his movements light for a big man. The soft snick of the bolt sliding into place felt strangely final. Moments later, his SUV rumbled to life, and the sound faded as he drove away.

I returned to my soup, and the smile stayed on my lips. My chest felt lighter, as though something fragile and hopeful had taken root. We were moving forward.

But where were we headed?