Page 32 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ethan

A few days had passed since Garrett told me about the written warning he’d received from Sergeant Rodriguez, but the anger still simmered beneath my skin. A fucking written warning for going to the redwoods together.

I paced the length of my living room, frustration buzzing like static in my chest. He was in trouble because of me. Because we had chased Finch through the redwoods, because Garrett had filed an honest report instead of covering it up. And now, his department was punishing him for it.

But that hadn’t stopped Garrett. We still exchanged text messages, then late-night phone calls, filling the distance between us with quiet conversations. I told myself it was just to check in, just to make sure he was okay, but we both knew that was a lie. I needed to hear his voice.

Still, it gnawed at me. What if this was just the beginning? What if his sergeant escalated things? If we kept ignoring the department’s warnings, would they suspend him? Take him off the force entirely? The thought made my stomach twist.

Should I break things off with him?

I barely glanced at my phone when it rang, expecting another spam call, but the moment I saw Garrett Whitlock lighting up my screen, a slow smile spread across my lips.

Over the past few days, our conversations had shifted—what had started as brief case updates via text had morphed into calls, ones neither of us seemed eager to end.

I started piecing Garrett together like one of my character profiles.

He hated noisy, crowded cities—said they made his skin crawl—but the quiet, unhurried rhythm of Seacliff Cove suited him.

He told me that driving with the windows down and breathing in the salty air made him feel alive, like something inside him unlocked.

He loved teaching Noah basic life skills—how to check the oil, sort laundry, hammer a nail straight.

Things I’d never learned growing up in a city where grocery delivery and maintenance men were the norm.

Garrett was built to protect, like it was coded into his DNA.

He didn’t talk about it as a job—it was just who he was.

Me? I found comfort in control. I labeled my file folders, color-coded my outlines, and found peace in tidy structure.

I could lose myself for hours in a bookstore, running my fingers over spines, building worlds in my head.

He confessed he was a potato chip junkie—barbecue flavor, specifically.

I admitted that junk food made me feel like I’d swallowed a paperweight.

Different worlds. But every message, every call, felt like a bridge between us.

I swiped to answer the call and sank back into my couch with a grin. “If this is another attempt to convert me into a home reno addict, I should warn you, it’s working. I watched three episodes of Dream House Disaster today, and now I have strong opinions about exposed beams.”

Garrett’s low chuckle came through the line, warm and easy. “Knew I’d get you hooked. Next step is convincing you that undermount sinks are superior.”

“I’m team integrated quartz.”

“Ugh. You’re killing me.”

I laughed, stretched my legs out, and rested my socked feet on the coffee table. “What’s up, Deputy?”

A pause, and then, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

The question hit me sideways, and my grin faltered. I hadn’t expected the conversation to shift there. “Uh, not much?”

“You’re…not?” He sounded thrown.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s just me this year.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Then Garrett’s voice turned firm. “Nope. Not happening.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, ‘nope?’”

“You’re not spending Thanksgiving alone.” His tone brooked no argument. “Come to my parents’ place.”

A warmth curled through me at the offer, but I tamped it down, my practical side kicking in. “Garrett…” I sighed. “That’s really generous, but I don’t want to intrude. Thanksgiving is for family.”

Garrett scoffed. “So? My mom will be thrilled to have another person to feed. And they won’t tattle to the department about us.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, and my fingers traced the seam of my jeans. “Still. I don’t want to impose. Or…put anyone at risk from Finch.” My voice dipped at the last part. The thought of his family being dragged into the mess with Finch knotted my stomach.

Garrett exhaled heavily. “There’s been no sign of Finch for days. And you’re not imposing. Trust me, if my mom knew I let you sit at home alone on Thanksgiving, she’d disown me.”

I hesitated. The idea of being in a warm, bustling house for the holiday, surrounded by food and conversation, instead of alone in my silent rental, eating a baked chicken breast, was more appealing than I wanted to admit. “Are you sure?” I asked, still uncertain.

Garrett’s voice softened. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Something in my chest eased. I let out a slow breath, finally allowing a small smile to return. “Well…if I can bring a pie, I might be convinced.”

Garrett chuckled. “You can bring as many pies as you want. And my mom will probably send you home with enough leftovers to feed a small army.”

“That’s a hard sell,” I admitted and feigned deep contemplation. “Fine. I’ll come. But if your dad tries to interrogate me about my intentions, I’m blaming you.”

Garrett laughed, and the sound lit me up. “Deal. I’ll pick you up at noon on Thursday.”

As I hung up, I stared at my phone for a moment, that lingering warmth still curling inside me.

A knock sounded at my door, and when I swung it open, I barely had time to register Garrett’s warm smile before Noah launched himself at me.

“Mr. Ethan!” He wrapped his arms around my legs in a tight hug. “I missed you!”

My chest squeezed, and the simple affection hit me with a pang, easing the ache of not spending Thanksgiving with my own family. I rested a hand on the back of his head for a moment and let the warmth settle in my gut. “Hey, buddy. I missed you too.” Honesty rang in my voice.

Garrett stood behind him and shot me a knowing look, his eyes crinkling with a grin that made my stomach flip. “Hope you’re hungry. Mom’s been cooking since dawn.”

I gestured toward the pie sitting on the side table, neatly wrapped in cling wrap. “I brought reinforcements.”

Noah gasped dramatically. “Is that apple pie?”

“Sure is.”

His eyes widened. “You made it yourself?”

“Sure did.”

Noah turned to Garrett and stage-whispered, “He can bake apple pies. That’s even better than dinosaur nuggets.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. “All right, pie expert, let’s go before Grandma sends a search party.”

We piled into Garrett’s Escape, and Noah chattered away in the backseat about how many rolls he planned to eat.

“You have to eat turkey too,” Garrett admonished.

I turned my head to see Noah pouting and suppressed a grin.

When we pulled up to the house, a sixties ranch home with a festive fall wreath on the door, my nerves kicked in. I was new to meeting parents, and this felt significant.

Garrett’s mom opened the door before we even knocked. Her face lit up as she pulled Garrett into a hug. “You’re late,” she scolded, but she said it with affection. Then her gaze landed on me. “I’m Carol. You must be Ethan.”

“That’s me.” I offered the pie. “Happy Thanksgiving. I come bearing gifts.”

Her eyes twinkled as she accepted it. “A man who bakes? I already like you.” Then, with a pointed glance at Garrett, she added, “You must be someone special—because my son has never brought a man home before.”

Heat crept up my neck, but I forced a casual smile. “Good to know I’m breaking new ground.”

Garrett groaned. “Mom, please .”

“Don’t ‘Mom, please’ me,” she shot back. “It’s true. Come on in. Food’s ready.”

Inside, the scents of roasted turkey, stuffing, and something sweet and spiced filled the air. Garrett’s dad gave me a nod and a firm handshake. “John Whitlock.”

Harper greeted me with a hug. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered in my ear, settling the nerves in my stomach.

Dinner was a spread straight out of a holiday commercial—a golden turkey, mashed potatoes heaped in a steaming pile, cranberry sauce shimmering in a delicate glass bowl. Plates were passed, wine poured, and before long, conversation flowed as easily as the food.

“So, what’s it like being a bestselling author?” John asked with polite interest.

I took a sip of wine and considered my answer. “Equal parts amazing and exhausting. There’s nothing like seeing your book in readers’ hands, but the pressure to follow it up with another hit is real.”

Carol leaned in, intrigued. “Where do you get your ideas?”

Garrett cut in before I could answer. “Mostly by people-watching at Thanksgiving dinners.”

I shot him a mock glare. “Hey, I also make things up sometimes.”

Harper smirked. “But do you get writer’s block?”

“All the time,” I admitted. “It helps to step away for a bit. Or, you know, kill off characters from Thanksgiving dinner.”

The table erupted into laughter, though Noah scrunched his forehead in confusion. The warmth of the family surrounded me, and I felt something I hadn’t in a long time—belonging. This wasn’t just a meal. It was a home.

Then, as if to cement that thought, Noah piped up. “Grandma, tell Mr. Ethan about the time Daddy got stuck in the fence.”

Garrett groaned. “Oh, come on.”

His mom grinned. “It’s a classic.”

“I like this story already.” I smirked as Garrett glared at me.

Carol launched into a tale about five-year-old Garrett, a game of hide-and-seek gone wrong, and a broken redwood fence. By the time she finished, my stomach ached from laughing, and Garrett had dropped his head into his hands.

“I should never have brought you here,” he muttered.

Noah patted his arm. “It’s okay, Daddy. I got stuck on top of the jungle gym this week.”

Garrett sputtered. “How did you get down?”

Noah shrugged his shoulders. “I fell.” He stuffed a roll in his mouth.

A look of horror swept across Garrett’s face, and he paled.

I chuckled and shook my head. “This is the best Thanksgiving I could have asked for.”

And it was.

As I looked around the table—the way Harper teased Garrett, the way his mom beamed at her grandson, the way Garrett’s hand lingered just a little too long against mine when we reached for the same dish—I felt something shift inside me.

I wanted this. Not just today. Not just a dinner invitation. But this . A life that included Garrett and Noah and embarrassing childhood stories told over pumpkin pie.

Could I really walk away from this?

Would danger always keep me at a distance?

Garrett caught my eye then, his expression questioning. As if maybe he was wondering the same thing.

And for the first time since I’d come to Seacliff Cove, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave when Ballard caught Finch.

As we finished dinner, Carol turned to Noah and smiled. “Would you like to stay the night? You can help me decorate the Christmas tree tomorrow.”

Noah’s eyes flew wide. “Really?”

“Of course,” she said warmly. “You have extra clothes and a toothbrush here, so you don’t even have to go home and pack a bag.”

Noah turned to Garrett, bouncing in his seat. “Can I stay, Daddy? Huh? Huh? Please?”

Garrett chuckled. “All right, buddy. But be good for Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Yay!” He threw his hands into the air.

“It’s settled.” Carol stood and started gathering dishes.

“Please, sit down and relax. We’ll do the dishes.” I raised my eyebrow at Garrett and dared him to disagree.

He shot from his seat. “Uh, yeah. Sit down, Mom. You cooked. We’ll clean up.”

Harper smirked and mouthed to Garrett, “Kiss ass.”

I suppressed a grin as I stood and stacked the dirty plates. Harper and Garrett joined me in the kitchen with loads of dishes.

Harper stored leftovers while I scraped plates, and Garrett filled the sink with soapy water. “Looks like you two have the night to yourselves.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Garrett rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Harper.”

But I couldn’t help the thrill that ran through me at the thought of spending another evening with Garrett.

After cleaning the kitchen and saying goodbye to his family and Noah, we left with enough leftovers for an apocalypse.

But when we arrived at my house, a chill settled over me.

Sitting on my doorstep was a photo of Garrett and me at the redwood grove.

During our lively conversation at dinner, I hadn’t noticed the chime of my security feed.

When I pulled up the video, I discovered that Finch had looked directly into the camera.

Garrett tensed beside me. “He’s getting bolder.”

My stomach churned. “What now?”

“Call it in. But I’m staying here tonight,” he said firmly. “No argument.”

I just nodded and unlocked the door, knowing sleep would be impossible tonight.