Page 3 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

CHAPTER THREE

Garrett

Noah burst into the Tides & Tales bookstore, and his excitement radiated through the quiet shop like an electric spark.

His sneakers pattered against the polished floor.

He streaked past the display of recent bestsellers and made a beeline for the counter.

Barely slowing, he announced, “Mr. Mason! Mr. Mason! I’m going to get a Halloween book! ”

I trailed behind and soaked in the store’s scents—crisp paper, fresh ink, and lemon-polished wood.

Noah was the reader in our family. I liked a good story, but I preferred it on-screen, action-packed with explosions and heroes who saved the day in under two hours.

A new thriller series was coming to a streaming channel—starring a crime-solver named Jake Slate—and I couldn’t wait to watch.

Quiet movement on the second level caught my eye.

My breath hitched, and I stuttered to a stop.

A tall man searched the shelves on the balcony upstairs.

Auburn hair curled around the edge of his ball cap.

Ethan . I’d only seen him coming and going since our encounter at the coffee shop the previous weekend.

I couldn’t help it—my gaze roamed from his curls, down his broad back, to his sculpted ass cupped by fitted jeans.

My thoughts screeched to a halt. What the hel—eck?

I hadn’t really noticed a man’s ass in years—not since high school, when I’d had an ill-advised crush on Leo, the center to my quarterback position.

He’d had an easy swagger and a grin that made my stomach flip.

But in the locker room, under the weight of machismo and expectations, attraction was dangerous.

I’d kept my eyes forward, my mouth shut, and my hormones buried beneath pads and bravado.

But I’d also found myself drawn to the head cheerleader—the way her breasts bounced, the way her laugh lit me up. She was safe. Acceptable. I asked her to Homecoming, played the part, and from then on, I only dated women. I suppressed the other side of myself.

So, what was it about Ethan that cracked something open?

I mentally shook myself, forced my gaze away, and ambled to the counter. I tried to act unconcerned even though my heart raced with a weird, restless energy.

“Garrett.” Mason greeted me with a casual nod and a smile. He glanced at Noah, chuckled, and handed him a basket. “Go on back to the children’s nook, kiddo. I have some new books for you to look at.”

Noah flashed Mason a grin and took off, the basket swinging crazily at his side.

“We’re only buying two books!” I called after him.

Mason laughed, and his eyes twinkled with amusement. “Good luck with that. I bet you leave with eight books.”

I shook my head. “Three.”

“Five.”

I rolled my eyes. But encouraging Noah’s love of books was worth the hit to my wallet.

As I followed Noah, I took a moment to drink in the sight of my kid.

He sat on a colorful carpet, surrounded by picture books, and his small fingers carefully flipped through the pages.

There was a warmth in my chest, a mix of pride and love that had stuck with me since the day he was born.

My girlfriend had shocked me when she told me she was pregnant.

We’d always used a condom. But Noah was proof that condoms failed, and he was the best surprise that ever happened to me.

He was a little miracle disguised in messy hair and scraped knees.

He placed a book into the hand basket, and I smiled. We would be buying five books.

Ava and I had broken up over her drinking habits. She’d been dry during her pregnancy—thank Go—odness. But her excessive drinking afterward had given me full custody of Noah.

Ava had died in a solo drunk-driving accident when Noah was two.

I’d been the first on the scene and had been as crushed as her car. She was an alcoholic, and she’d needed the help I’d encouraged. She didn’t deserve to die from her disorder.

Noah didn’t remember his mother, and my mom and sister had stepped into the role. But every once in a while, he asked why he didn’t have a mom like his friends at kindergarten. Every time, the question was an arrow to my heart.

He threw a book into a discard pile. “Be gentle with the books, bud.”

Blue eyes so much like my own met mine, remorse in their depths.

“Sorry, Daddy.” He was the best kid I could have asked for.

Sure, he was a picky eater and begged for a few more minutes at every bedtime, but those were typical of five-year-olds.

He had my heart wrapped around his little finger, and he knew it.

Just as I settled onto the floor beside Noah and relaxed, a loud gasp from the counter snapped me back to attention. Mason’s startled, “Oh my God!” cut through the quiet hum of the store and sent alarm surging down my spine.

“Stay here, Noah,” I ordered, my heart in my throat. I leaped to my feet. I had my badge with me, but I wasn’t carrying. That wouldn’t stop me from going to Mason’s aid, though. I pulled out my phone, and my thumb hovered over the keyboard, ready to call for backup.

With quiet footsteps, I approached the corner of a bookshelf where I’d have a view of Mason and the counter. I peeked around the edge and frowned, confused.

Ethan stood at the counter with a finger pressed to his lips, signaling for silence. His frantic gaze darted around the store.

I stepped out of hiding, strode to the desk with long strides, and aimed for calm authority. “Is there a problem?” I asked in my most commanding cop voice.

“Garrett!” Mason whisper-shouted. “This is Ethan Quinn!” He practically vibrated with excitement.

Oh, was that his last name? I drew my brows together. “So?”

He rolled his eyes and blew out a breath. “He’s the author of the Jake Slate novels! And he’s here! In my store! Can you believe it?”

My eyes flew wide. I wasn’t familiar with the books, but meeting the creator of the show sent a thrill through my stomach. “Really?”

“Can we keep it down?” Ethan pleaded and glanced around the shop like he half expected a mob of fans to rush him. “I’m just Ethan Cole here. I don’t want attention.”

Mason’s gasp was audible. “You come to Seacliff Cove often?”

“I’m…visiting,” Ethan replied hesitantly, quietly, as though he chose his words with extra caution. He shot me a glance, something between curiosity and wariness flickering in his eyes. I figured I knew what he was thinking—was I going to tell Mason he was my new neighbor?

I shook my head and kept his secret with an amiable smile.

Still, something felt off, a silent uncertainty beneath the casual exchange.

Ethan was hiding more than just a pen name, but it wasn’t my place to pry.

Not yet anyway. I wondered, though, how long he’d be staying.

Would he move out abruptly in the middle of the night like he’d moved in?

Why did the thought sink like a stone in my gut? I didn’t even know the guy.

“I’m Mason Carter.” He placed a hand over his heart. “And I own this bookstore.” With reverent awe, he said, “Let’s have a book-signing! I have an events room that?—”

“No!” Ethan exploded, and he sounded almost panicked.

He quickly recovered and murmured, “No, thank you. I’m not…

making public appearances right now.” He placed a thick hardback on the counter.

“I’ll just take this and leave.” His fingers tapped anxiously as Mason rang up the book and slipped it into a paper bag.

As Ethan made for the door, he turned back, and his eyes found mine for a split second longer than necessary. He nodded. “Garrett.”

“Ethan,” I nodded in return, and the odd gravity of his gaze pulled at me.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Mason whirled on me, betrayal written in the scowl on his face. “You met him, and you didn’t tell me?”

I shrugged. “We met at Cooper’s, and I didn’t know who he was. It’s not like he had a flashing neon sign above his head that read, Famous Author .”

Mason grumbled, “Well, you might have recognized him if you read something other than children’s books.”

An idea—probably a stupid one—formed in the back of my mind. “Where…?” I lazily searched the store with feigned nonchalance. “Are his books?”

Mason pointed. “Right there on the front display. They could have bitten you when you walked in.”

I strolled over to the rack and kept my steps casual. Sure enough, eight of Ethan Quinn’s Jake Slate books lined the top shelf. I grabbed the first book in the series. I peeked at Mason and returned his smirk with a glare.

I made a show of ambling through the bookstore as if I didn’t have a care in the world and tossed Mason a look of indifference when I passed the counter.

I ended up in the children’s nook. Noah sat cross-legged, utterly engrossed in a Halloween picture book, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Around him lay a small fortress of books.

“Time to clean up, buddy.” I crouched beside him. A swell of pride swept through me as my eager reader quickly set his current book aside to sort through his piles. The smell of new books, that sharp scent of binding glue, wrapped around us.

“But, Daddy,” he whined. His hand darted protectively over the stack he’d already gathered. “I need all of these.” He fixed me with wide, pleading blue eyes.

I huffed a sigh and pretended reluctance. “You know the rule. We’ll save some for next time.” I gently coaxed the pile down from ten to five, allowing him to debate each one, his lip between his teeth as he made his hard choices.

He darted toward the counter. “Mr. Mason! I got five books!” He held up his hand in a proud display of five fingers.

Mason gave me a smug grin. But he gave Noah a kind, approving smile as he took the basket and rang up the books. “All good choices, too.”

I slid Ethan’s book onto the counter alongside Noah’s stack.

A quirk pulled at the corner of Mason’s mouth. “Do you know how to read anything but picture books, or is this your first dive into big-kid literature?”

I grunted and glared at him. “Ha-ha,” I shot back. “For your information, I know how to read perfectly well.”

But I had additional plans for that Jake Slate book.