Page 29 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Ethan

Just after lunchtime the next day, my phone chimed with a text.

Garrett

Beautiful day. Want to take a break, get out of town, and visit a lighthouse?

I glanced at the word count on my manuscript.

Progress had been solid this morning, a flow I’d been missing lately due to the worry hanging over my head.

The thought of spending the afternoon with Garrett, away from my keyboard, away from the stalker, made me smile.

I flexed my shoulders, trying to work out the knot from sitting too long, and typed back.

Love to.

Pick you up in fifteen.

The sound of his Escape pulling into my driveway sent a little jolt through me. I grabbed my jacket and headed out. Garrett greeted me with an easy smile, and I climbed into the passenger seat.

The drive south along the coast was breathtaking. Sunlight danced on the waves, the ocean stretched endlessly to the horizon, and the salty air, tinged with the faintest hint of kelp, infiltrated the SUV’s interior.

In the background, the radio softly played “More Than a Feeling,” and I caught Garrett tapping the beat on the steering wheel with his thumb.

“You know, for a guy who is all business on the job, you’ve got a serious soft spot for seventies rock.” I watched him from the corner of my eye.

He didn’t deny it. Just gave me a shrug and the faintest grin. “Good music is good music.”

“I’m starting to think you’ve got layers, Deputy Whitlock.”

He glanced at me, amused. “You just now figuring that out?”

“Maybe,” I said. “So far, I’ve learned you like classic rock, you and Noah live on boxed mac and cheese and chicken nuggets, and you own exactly zero spices besides salt.”

“I have pepper,” he said, deadpan.

“Oh, forgive me. A kitchen wizard.” I laughed. “Do you cook anything that doesn’t come from a box?”

“I make grilled cheese,” he said with mock pride.

“What a gourmand,” I teased. “But points for effort.”

He chuckled, then added, “You want to know something else?”

“Always.”

“I watch a lot of home renovation shows,” he admitted. “Like…a lot. I redid my bathroom after bingeing six episodes of Modern Fixer .”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“I find it satisfying,” he said. “Taking something broken, putting it back together better than it was. Demo day is therapy.”

“I had no idea you were a secret shiplap enthusiast.”

He gave me a look. “It’s about texture and warmth. You wouldn’t understand.”

I snorted. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. The last time I tried to build a bookshelf, it leaned so hard it basically collapsed under the weight of a single paperback. And I followed the instructions. With pictures.”

“Tragic,” he said, but his grin softened. “Noah’s better with an Allen wrench than you, huh?”

“Embarrassingly so. I think the cat I had growing up had more construction instinct.”

He glanced at me with quiet amusement. “So, you cook to relax, and I build things. Not a bad balance.”

“Until we need shelves,” I said. “Then it’s all you.”

He smiled, and the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened just enough to make something tighten in my chest.

Maybe it was the music. Maybe it was the way the sunlight caught in his hair. Or maybe it was just the way we kept peeling back layers without even trying. But whatever it was?—

We fit.

When the lighthouse came into view, perched on a rugged promontory, I drew in a breath.

“Wow,” I whispered.

The Pelican Point Lighthouse was stunning—a 115-foot conical tower of whitewashed brick rising stark against the vivid blue of the sky.

At its base, waves crashed against jagged rocks, and beyond them, at low tide, a colony of harbor seals basked in the sun on a rocky reef.

Their barks punctuated the rhythmic sounds of the surf.

Above the seals, pelicans glided in long, graceful lines, their wings skimming the water.

Garrett pulled into the gravel lot and shut off the engine. “You’re going to love this,” he said with a grin. “It’s one of Noah’s favorite places.”

As we walked toward the lighthouse, gulls wheeled above us, their sharp cries carried by the breeze. The chilly, briny air stung my cheeks, but Garrett’s presence beside me kept me warm.

The lighthouse itself was closed for restoration, but we wandered the grounds, taking in the view. Nearby lay an enormous chunk of a schooner’s hull—a haunting relic of a shipwreck.

“This place has history,” Garrett said with a quiet reverence.

In the old fog signal building, we explored exhibits detailing the lighthouse’s 145-year-old story.

The centerpiece was the original first-order Fresnel lens, a massive, brass-encased beehive that had once sent its beacon miles out to sea.

The prisms and bull’s-eye lenses captured the light pouring through the narrow windows, casting rainbows that shimmered across the room.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured and stepped closer to study the intricate glasswork.

“It is.” Garrett stood close beside me, his eyes on me instead of the lens. “Let’s get a picture of us with it in the background.”

I hesitated for a split second. Garrett had been wary of public displays of affection. But something in his tone told me this moment was a step forward.

He raised his phone and angled it to capture us in front of the lens. At the last second, he turned and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek.

The click of the photo startled me almost as much as the warmth of his lips. I turned to look at him, our lips a breath away, and my heart caught at the softness in his expression.

“What?” His crooked grin teased me.

“Nothing,” I said, though my throat was tight. “Just…thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this.” I gestured to the lens, the room, the day. But what I really meant was him. For showing me that this— us —wasn’t something to hide. At least, outside of Seacliff Cove. The implications for his career if we were found out in town were something I understood.

His hand found mine as we left the building, fingers intertwining. The simple touch sent heat radiating through me.

The drive back was quieter, a silence that felt like companionship rather than awkwardness. My thoughts lingered on the moment he’d kissed me, the casual ease of it, and the weight of what it meant.

When we pulled into the driveway, Harper’s car was there. Garrett frowned, and he reached for the door handle. “She wasn’t supposed to be here yet.”

Concern tightened his voice, and I reached out and brushed his arm with my hand. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

But the worry didn’t leave his face as he stepped out of the vehicle.

My heart, still full from the day’s quiet revelations, now held a flutter of unease.

Whatever awaited us inside, it couldn’t erase the implications of his actions at the lighthouse—but I knew our time was over for the day. I rushed after Garrett, my chest tight.

The front door flew open as we approached, and Noah launched himself onto the porch like a small whirlwind. “Daddy! I missed you!”

Garrett dropped to one knee just in time to catch Noah and wrapped him up in a hug that looked like it was the answer to every unspoken prayer. “I missed you, too, buddy,” Garrett murmured, his voice thick. He kissed Noah’s cheek and held him close.

My heart squeezed. The sight of them together was enough to make my guilt blare to life like a warning siren. I’d kept them apart. Because of me, Noah had been homesick. Because of me, Garrett had missed his son.

A woman—a few years younger than Garrett—appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame with her arms crossed and an affectionate smile tugging at her lips. Her dark hair fell in waves around her face, and her piercing blue eyes—so much like his—darted to mine with an assessing glance.

“He wanted to come home early,” she said. “Kept asking for his daddy, so here we are.”

Garrett stood, his arm still draped protectively over Noah’s shoulders. “I’m glad you brought him back,” he said, his gaze full of gratitude. “Thanks, Harper.”

She waved him off with a grin. “You know I’d never keep him from you.” Her eyes flicked to me again, her expression curious but kind. “I’m Harper. You must be Ethan. My parents mentioned you.”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, my voice uneven. I extended a hand, feeling more exposed than ever. Did Garrett’s family know I’d brought danger to his doorstep? Judging by Harper’s grin, I doubted it. So I simply said, “Nice to meet you.”

Harper’s handshake was firm. “Same here. Don’t let him scare you off,” she added with a nod toward Garrett.

“Too late for that.” I tried for humor but was unable to shake the weight of my guilt. I glanced at Garrett. “I should go. I don’t want to intrude.”

“No!” Noah piped up, his bright eyes fixed on me. “We’re having burgers for dinner, and Auntie Harper’s making fries! You should stay!”

My gaze darted to Garrett, who shrugged and grinned. “He’s already invited you. Can’t let him down.” He mussed Noah’s hair.

I hesitated, torn between the warmth of being included and the persistent fear of bringing the stalker to the house. But the hopeful look on Noah’s face and the casual acceptance in Garrett’s smile tipped the scales. “Okay,” I said, my voice soft. “Thank you.”

Dinner was noisy and joyful. Noah dominated the conversation with tales of his weekend adventures with Harper—a visit to the library, hot chocolate at The Coffee Cove, and a blanket fort to read in.

Harper provided occasional commentary. I found myself pulled into Noah’s orbit, asking questions and laughing at Noah’s animated storytelling.

For a moment, the weight I’d been carrying lifted, replaced by the fullness of belonging.

Harper watched my interactions with Noah and Garrett with a smirk that only grew as the evening went on.

When dinner was done and we were clearing the dishes, I lingered at the table, unsure whether to help clean up or play with Noah in the living room.

Then I heard Harper’s teasing voice from the kitchen.

“I like him,” she said, light but pointed. “He’s good for you.”

Garrett quietly mumbled his agreement.

My cheeks heated. I wasn’t used to being the subject of approval. But her words settled something inside me, a quiet reassurance that I hadn’t entirely misstepped by staying for dinner.

Harper lingered long enough for Garrett to walk me home. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the warmth of the house, but the silence between us was charged with the significance of the day.

I approached my porch with trepidation, but I breathed a quiet sigh of relief when there was no “gift” waiting for me. Had we escaped the stalker by leaving town?

Garrett turned to me and cupped my jaw with strong fingers. “I had a great day with you. And thanks for staying for dinner,” he said, low and husky. “It meant a lot to Noah.”

I met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes making it hard to breathe. “It meant a lot to me, too.”

He took a step closer, and his lips met mine. The kiss was soft and unhurried, the fitting end to a day of belonging. When we finally pulled apart, Garrett’s smile was small but teasing. “Now get your ass inside and lock the door.”

I chuckled. “Yes, sir.”

As I threw the deadbolt and armed my alarm, I knew I was in trouble in a way no security system could save me from.

My feelings for Garrett Whitlock, with his tender heart and fierce protectiveness, were growing stronger by the moment.