Page 26 of Until the Storm Breaks (The Midnight Men #1)

“You texted me that you were bailing on movie night because you needed to process at the beach. Where else would you be?” She drops onto the log beside me, careful with her ankle. “This exact spot, this exact log. You’re predictable, Mare.”

“I’m sorry about movie night.”

“Don’t apologize. Romcoms can wait.” She pulls a water bottle from her bag, takes a drink. “So. Calvin gave you a first edition poetry book and then told you you’re losing your home. That about cover it?”

“How very succinct.”

“I’m efficient.” Lark throws the ball for Laila, who’s returned with her tongue hanging out. “Talk to me. Start with the book.”

I hold up the notebook in my lap, then gesture back toward the cabins. “The book—the poetry book—is back in my cabin. Too valuable to bring to the beach. But it’s not just any book, Lark. It’s The Burned Hour. My favorite poet. And the exact edition that kept me sane after my parents died.”

“The one you quote sometimes?”

“Yeah.” I describe the signature, the inscription. “First edition. These cost hundreds of dollars. Maybe more. And this notebook, this pen...” I run my fingers over the linen cover. “He left it all on my porch last night with a note saying it’s time to write my own stories.”

Lark is quiet for a moment, processing this. When she speaks, her voice is certain. “That’s not a casual gift, Mare. That’s a declaration.”

“A declaration of what? He’s leaving in a few weeks.”

“So?” she asks.

“So everything. So I can’t let myself want this. So I’m losing my home and can’t handle losing him too.” My voice cracks on the last part, and I have to stop, breathe, watch the water until I’m steady again. “God, Lark, I’m such a mess.”

“You’re not a mess. You’re dealing with a lot.” She puts her arm around my shoulders, pulls me against her side. “Tell me about the housing situation. What exactly did Dominic say?”

“He didn’t say anything to me. That’s the point.

Ten years, Lark,” I continue, anger building.

“I’ve paid rent every month for ten years.

Never missed one. Never been late. Fixed things myself when they broke, painted the walls, planted that whole herb garden, made it home.

And Dominic just... sold it out from under me? Without even a conversation?”

“Bastard,” she says with feeling. “Complete asshole. What are you going to do? Where will you go?”

“I don’t know.” I pick up a handful of sand, let it run through my fingers. “You know what the rental market’s like here. Everything decent is taken or crazy expensive.”

“I think Tom from the bar is looking for someone to rent out his second apartment,” Lark suggests. “The one above the hardware store?”

“Way out of my price range.”

“Damn.” Lark throws the ball again for Laila. “What about buying something? A trailer or something small?”

“Maybe. I’ve been saving, but I’m not sure if it’s enough.” I dig my toes into the sand, watch them disappear. “But, either that or I’ll probably have to move further out. Find something in one of the other towns. Commute.”

“That would add so much driving time.”

“What choice do I have?” The frustration bleeds through me now. “I’ve given everything to this town. Run the bar, taken care of people, been part of this community. And none of it matters. Disposable.”

“You’re not disposable.” Lark’s voice is fierce. “And you know you could stay with me while you figure things out.”

“Lark, your place is a studio. You have one room.”

“So? We’d make it work. Get a divider thing. Or I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I reach over and squeeze her hand, grateful for her beyond words. “I appreciate that. Really. But that’s not fair to you. You need your space.”

“Fuck fair. You’re my best friend.” She squeezes back hard. “Just think about it, okay? You’re not going to be homeless or move out of town. We won’t let that happen.”

“Tell that to Dominic. Tell that to the buyers who want ‘vacant possession.’” I make air quotes around the words. “Like I’m just clutter to be cleared out.”

Lark is quiet for a moment. “What else did Calvin say?”

“He wants to fix it. But what can he do? Fight his brother? Stop the sale? He doesn’t have that kind of power, and even if he did...” I trail off.

I dig my toes deeper into the sand, feeling the coolness underneath.

“I know it’s not my property. I know I don’t own the cabin.

But god, Lark, that place feels like home.

The herb garden I planted, listening to the waves every morning, all those evenings with Susan on the porch.

It’s not just walls and a roof. It’s ten years of my life. ”

“Oh honey.” She squeezes my leg and I take her hand, grateful for her presence.

“Besides, even if Calvin did have the power to stop it, what then?” I continue, “He’s still leaving. So maybe he delays things a few weeks, helps me find some crappy apartment. Then what? He goes back to Seattle feeling like he helped, and I’m still here, displaced, starting over.”

Laila returns with the ball, drops it at our feet, and flops dramatically in the sand. She rolls onto her back, legs in the air, wiggling with pure contentment, and I envy her simplicity.

“You’re falling in love with him,” Lark says suddenly, her voice soft but certain. Not a question.

The words hang there between us for a moment. I’ve been avoiding saying it out loud, thinking it, like that would make it less real, less dangerous, less inevitable.

“Yeah,” I finally admit, my voice barely above the sound of the waves. “I am. Completely. Stupidly. Despite every reason not to be.”

“Does he know?” She shifts on the log to face me better, studying my face.

“I don’t know. We’ve had these moments, but we’ve never talked about it. I can barely admit it to myself, Lark. And what would be the point?” I can hear the exasperation in my own voice. “This is so stupid! We haven’t even kissed.”

“What do you mean, what’s the point?” Lark picks up a handful of sand, lets it run through her fingers. “The point is you’re in love with him. That’s not nothing.”

“He has a whole life in Seattle. A career, a reputation, everything.” I pick up a piece of sea glass, smooth and green, turn it over in my fingers. “This was always temporary for him. A summer to deal with the estate and then back to reality.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s as scared as you are.

” She brushes the sand off her hands, looks at me intently.

“Mare, the man found you a first edition of your favorite poetry book. He left you writing supplies with an encouraging note. He’s fighting his brother about your housing situation.

These aren’t the actions of someone who’s already got one foot out the door. ”

“He feels guilty,” I offer weakly. “Responsible. Susan asked him to look after me.”

“Bullshit.” The word comes out decisive. “Complete bullshit and you know it.”

I throw the sea glass toward the water, watch it disappear into the waves. “Plus there’s the whole tattoo thing.”

“The tattoo thing,” Lark repeats, shaking her head like I’m being ridiculous. “Mare, you got that years ago, before you even really knew him as a person.”

“But now I do know him. And I have his words literally etched on my skin. Permanently.”

“So?” She stretches her legs out, toes digging into the sand. “It’s not like you got his face tattooed on your ass.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “That’s your bar for creepy?”

“I’m just saying, scale matters here.” She grins, then grows serious again. “You could just tell him.”

“Right,” I say. “‘Hey, funny story, I permanently marked my body with your words back when you were just Susan’s son who visited twice a year and I was a grieving kid who found comfort in your book’?”

“Or you could frame it as his words saved you when you needed saving.” She watches me carefully, her expression serious. “Which is the truth, right?”

“It doesn’t matter how I frame it. Either way, I look like some obsessed fan. Like those people who show up at his readings with their books already signed, wanting more.”

“No, you look like someone whose life was touched by his art. There’s a difference,” she says firmly. “Besides, from everything you’ve told me about him, he doesn’t seem like the type to judge you for finding meaning in his work.”

“Maybe not judge. But it changes things. Makes everything weighted with this... history he doesn’t even know about. This connection I felt before I knew him.”

“Everything’s already weighted,” Lark points out. “You’re falling in love with him. He’s leaving soon. You’re losing your home to his brother’s business deal. You share a kitchen and sexual tension thick enough to cut. What’s one more complication?”

I laugh despite myself. “When you put it like that, the tattoo seems like the least of my problems.”

“Exactly.” She nudges me with her shoulder.

The sun is bright overhead, warming everything. The couple has disappeared around the point. It’s just us and the gulls and the constant sound of waves. I watch Laila investigate a tangle of kelp, her tail wagging at whatever mystery she’s discovered there.

“God, when did everything get so complicated?” I ask, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Six months ago I had a home, a routine, everything simple and safe.”

“And were you happy?” she asks.

I consider lying, but Lark knows me too well. “I was... settled.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I know.” The admission sits heavy between us. “But settled felt safer than... this. Whatever this is.”

“You know what I think?” Lark says, digging her own toes into the sand.

“You’re so sure Calvin’s leaving that you’re not even giving him a chance to surprise you.

What if he’s not as set on Seattle as you think?

People change their minds, Mare.” She gives me a meaningful look.

“Maybe he’s just as confused about what comes next as you are. ”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you. That’s my point. You’re protecting yourself from an ending you’ve already written in your head.”

I pick at a piece of driftwood, its surface worn smooth by the water. She might have a point. I’ve been so certain he’ll leave that I haven’t even considered he might be reconsidering. The way he looked at me this morning…

“The housing situation is shit,” Lark continues, her voice gentler. “Dominic’s an ass for how he’s handling it, and it’s fair to be furious. But that’s separate from Calvin. Don’t let potentially losing the cabin keep you from exploring whatever this could be with him.”

“It all feels tangled together though. The gift, him fighting Dominic about my lease, these feelings I have. How do I separate what’s real from what’s just... proximity and crisis?”

“You don’t,” she says simply. “Life doesn’t come in neat compartments. Sometimes everything happens at once and you just have to trust your gut about what matters most.”

I pick up the notebook, run my fingers over the linen cover. All those blank pages waiting. “What if I tell him how I feel and he leaves anyway?”

“Then at least you’ll know. At least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you’d been brave.

” She pauses, watching me carefully. “And Mare? You’re going to figure out the housing stuff.

Whether that’s finding another place here, or fighting for something better, living with me, or something we haven’t even thought of yet. You’ll land on your feet.”

“With or without Calvin,” I say.

“Exactly. This isn’t about needing him to save you. It’s about deciding if you want to take the chance on something that could be amazing, even if you don’t know how it ends.”

Laila abandons the kelp and comes back to us, carrying a piece of driftwood she looks particularly proud of.

She drops it at our feet and flops down in the sand, panting happily.

Her contentment is absolute—no worry about tomorrow or next week or where she’ll live.

Just this moment, this beach, this satisfaction.

“I wish I could be like her,” I say, gesturing at Laila.

“A dog?”

“Present. Not constantly worried about what comes next.”

“You could try it,” Lark says. “Just for tonight. Just for one conversation with Calvin. Or something… else with Calvin. See what happens when you stop overthinking everything.”

We sit in comfortable silence, the afternoon sun warm on our faces.

The Sound stretches out before us, endless blue meeting sky.

The notebook rests in my lap, and I think about all the stories I haven’t written.

All the chances I haven’t taken. Maybe Lark’s right.

Maybe it’s time to stop protecting myself from possibilities.

“I’m scared,” I admit quietly. “Of wanting something this much. Of letting myself hope. Look how things ended up with you and Brandon.”

“Calvin is no Brandon. Brandon was a boy in a man’s body.

A controlling rotten baby who fooled me temporarily.

I’m not saying Calvin is perfect. But that man is a man.

Emotionally and, I’d bet, physically.” Lark lets that hang there, then squeezes my shoulder.

“Plus, being scared doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. ”

We sit quietly for a while, watching the water. Laila is now digging an impressive hole near the waterline, sand flying everywhere, completely absorbed in her project.

Lark’s arm is still around my shoulders, solid and reassuring, and for now that’s enough. Just sitting here with my best friend, watching my dog dig holes, letting the sound of the waves wash over everything else.